12:36 and at home. Brunch ordered in for wife and I, time with little Emma, then I hope to take a curt nap. Cue coffee for 1A meeting. May only keep them 1 hour, a bit more, then go through content from yesterday— read through Mon Petit Mise.
Brainstorming now on a legal sheet on desk.. Emma groans as she feeds, can’t get the milk quick enough. And I can’t write these thoughts quick enough, get to my travels and lectures quick enough. Be totally Well, quick enough. But I read, study, no TV only words and blogs, books, self-instruction. Cash in pocket, but no more spending for day.
My birthday approaching, and I dwell, I dwell on the dwelling, here in my Autumn Walk dwelling. But that means I’m thinking, right? And not about trivial shit.
Waking at 4. The war persists, with the 4AM hour decidedly so far having me defeated. But I’ll change that, soon. Possibly in the morrow. I’ll keep trying. Woke this morning at 3:40-something to help with Emma, but went right back to the pillow, and that goddamn blanket which is most obviously allied with the 4AM hour.
Thought yesterday while behind the bar that I need to be more of a fighter with my writing, with the blog and my business. No one writes more than me, nor more honestly than me. I’m set on showing students that I’ve done it, IT, the writing life; traveling and speaking and sharing ideas that could help them, from elevated ethos.
3:13. 4-shot mocha at right in adjunct cell.. had brunch with Alice, fit in power nap, and now I can’t decide how much I believe the imagery around me— like a dream state that I can’t write, that I don’t know how to appreciate. Hoping the caffeine helps and if it doesn’t, then the oddity will stretch into class. Who knows, it may help the lecture.. not at all hinder.
Not sure what plan is for 1A, today. This evening, or afternoon, or late evening.
1 – begin with Kerouac quote
2 – word of day: moil (to work hard)
3 – have them get in groups for accounts and testimony on paper ideas; walking away with “my partner urged me to think of…”
4 – honesty with self: How’ve you been doing this semester—
NO. I hate the silence while writing, while they write. Keep conversation going this session..
4 – What have you learned in the development of your idea? (paragraph for essay)
5 – Why people should listen to YOU (ethos/credibility). Why your position is credible… discussion following
OR, maybe I should just let them go for the day, ensure they have fully-completed drafts by next meeting. I’m chasm’d, schism’d, the usual me. But that’s changing, now or eventually. Letting them go would assure me time to work on the blog, and whatever else I need to, business shit, etc….. But that’s escapist. I’m not that. Don’t know what I am, post-nap. This mocha and its 4-shots don’t seem to be interested in assisting the adjunct. Not a problem, as little on this campus is. Certainly no “trustee” members, which I’ve only been shown I can never trust.
UGH… just can’t move quick enough. Bought a water at sbux with this mocha.. should start sipping that, maybe.. this is all adjunct symptomatic of our symptoms and what we’ve gotten ourselves into.
5:29. Lucky time for the writer. Class done. Full-timer in here eating some salad annoying the shit out of me. Class went alright, but I wasn’t as prepared as I wanted to be. Shouldn’t have taken that nap. She leaves, the full-timer, washes out her plastic container of soggy romaine and raspberry vinaigrette, leaving me here alone, peace and so much quiet I nearly feel like I had an extra shot of espresso in that mocha. But it’s just the moment inspiring me; the wellness and Zen I feel in this sitting, this chair, sitting not at the top section of the ’T’ formed by the tables but to the side, lower toward the bottom. Newness, even in small simple acts.
Feel hankering for a beer. Not so much wine. But I deprive Self of suds tonight, efforts of Wellness and new habit and pattern, consciousness, take the stratospheric priority beacon. Mon petit mise, here in this room, hearing doors out in the halls open and close. The goal of all these new and renewed efforts, a new character. A new form and fold of Mike Madigan. Obsessive writer, capturer of moments and reflections and life encompassingly. Now I’m just rambling, I know. But the moment is mine, here in this room. ALL. MINE.
Thinking of that old past friend who owns his own business, has a bizarre number of followers on one of his sights… HOW? I need to outwork him. And the crazy wedding planner I used to write for. And the wine shop owner. And the insurance agent. All of them. By Fall, I won’t be at SRJC, but in my office, in Healdsburg. Traveling. Everything I want.. but the goals need to be strict, and dangerously demanding, testing my character.
TOMORROW:
4AM wake
3000 words
upload and play with three images
write lectures for Wednesday
workout
meditate
Just talked to ‘A-M’, my favorite full-timer in the department. She’s reading Ariel by Plath. Not sure if it’s for class, or pleasure, or a future class. Want to ask her, but I’ll just imagine, write what she’s doing not concerned with the actual. She’s reading it for a future course, maybe. She doesn’t know. Then another full-timer walks into the mail room, ‘J’. She’s sweet. We’re not close, but she’s cool.— Lost my thought train again, fuck, look at clock, 5:45. 15 more minutes to write.. what to do when home.. WHAT. Don’t know. Well, be a father, of course. Have the little pages on me. OR, just live. Be a dad. ‘A-M’ tells me she has to grade papers, in her office, and sounds like dread, loathing of her position. But she’s a full-timer, why’d she take the job? Cuz she had to? I don’t want to be in that position. I won’t. I’m on my way, I tell her, to educating independently, writing, traveling. The Bottled Ox hitting the Road and observing, living and eating from the observations.