I always dread class for some reason—

or maybe not dread it, in fact no I don’t dread anything, but I have anxiety about it, lately.  The past two semesters and especially this one all being on the blog.  But today, I just did it.  Saw it and would only se it as a writing project.  Part of a book.  SRJC is paying me to write rather than eat my soul whole.  The students in the 5pm section were so quick and full of reaction…. I’m shooting a longer #professormikey video tomorrow, avowed to self.  And going to bed earlier tonight. Sipping some Chardonnay right now but will be in bed early.  Again, to SELF avowed.

Class over.  7pm is next.  Had lunch late, so not that hungry, which is good.  Don’t want to have a heavy dinner.  And we don’t usually.  Or really ever.

Enjoying this current quiet in house. The kids were fucking crazy before they left.  But then I miss them horrendously when they’re gone.  Of course.  Dad symptom… new quarantine symptoms, giving me new music and beat to me already set beat.  Had music playing earlier, the LoFi Spotify channel, but turned it off.  This quiet has its own beat to it, its own reverb and verse sets..

Maybe I’m driving myself to a certain mania at my age.. 41.. 40-1… FOURTY and a ONE.  I think about this too much.  My dad is 75 and cool, composed, placed as a character and his conversation still causes me to move and re-evaluate.  Doubt I’ll be like that, when I’m his number.  But it’s just a number.  Yeah I know I know, but it’s its not.  To me.  In my head.  How sod I remover that view?