again but not grading papers, not telling the students to write this way – THIS IS HOW YOU WRITE A FUCKING ESSAY.
What?
How do you know?
Where is that written?
Always thought the course outlines were such a fucking joke. Think I’ve found a writing direction… reacting to my years teaching at the community college— I’m sorry, colleGES as they kept me a fucking adjunct no matter how many times I applied.
Loved the students, miss our conversations on Kerouac and Langston Hughes, Sylvia Plath… any author. Promising myself to read today, at least an hour, AT LEAST. Want to re-visit The Alchemist but can’t find my copy. So then, Lawson. I’ll start with her, read it quick… book club of one.
Hmmm, there’s an idea.
10:14, could have wagered it were later. Sipping coffee slow, looking through journal entries again. Where do I go from this sitting, these words this morning, this coffee, last night with the Nurse and her driving the big kids to the loft. She told me about their conversations and how it was nonstop, even approaching her about topics of gravity, that most kids would only go to a parent for.
Interesting. Assuredly tells me something.