3:32

Decided on Mexican good, to take myself out to lunch. Reasoned I deserve. Can’t remember the composition of that reasoning, or if there was any, but I’m here and I’m fine with it. Sparkling water. Staying with my vision of drinking more water.

Get up early, I keep telling myself. Walking all those Albany hill streets Nd imagining running them.

Will meet with Caleb’s team, check in and get an update, canvass with them a bit then head back to Santa Rosa. I know what I’m learning from the day, but don’t have time to write it here. Not now. But will later.

At 3:35pm I’m in a mood to write everything, try everything

with my writing as I urged when I started working at the tech company.  “TRY EVERYTHING” I boasted, and still do.  So what do I do with my day.  Have a sweater on, and feel a bit warm and uncomfortable.  There’s another instructor in the room with me now, obviously an adjunct as she uses one of the incredibly outdated computers in here and snacks on crackers she brought.  I feel hunger again, and not sure I can resist the hunger.  Would love a burrito or something from the cafeteria.  Have to save money.  Don’t do it, Mike.  If you get something, I say to self, use the change in the backpack.  There’s too much in that small outer pocket and it would make the bag lighter, so use that.  Maybe I will.  No more caffeine, after this cup which is almost done.  Want tonight’s lecture to be different.  For me, more than them.  I talk transformation but what I really mean is relocation.  Quite truthfully, I’m tired of this campus and the feel of the building the smell and sounds of the rooms, not having an office.  I really am resigned, not eager to offer effort to anything here.  So I move on, more than fine with the actuality of not having a class here in Fall.  So what, I say to myself.  I’ll teach independently, somehow.  Or, just put lessons out there, no charge, see who follows or signs up, responds.  I am hungry, and feeling venomous.  I do what Hemingway suggests and use it for my work, for this, my Now, right here in this larger cell of a conference room, opposed to the smaller cell that’s the shared adjunct office which anymore I refuse to set even a single foot in.

I look left and see what’s she’s doing on that computer.  Looks like grading something submitted to her from a student, either a paper or some online midterm or something.  My skin retracts and I feel anxious.  I have that stack I need to grade, in my bag, but refuse to touch it till after 5.  Right now is MY hour, time for me and my thought, my Now, my life.  We let so much be dictated for us.  Ever notice that?  Or that’s what I’m thinking now, looking at the wall of instructors, their older self and a shot from their youth.  And now, aged at least ten years from the submitted latter portrait.  Time is not our ally, or rival, just a force that pushes past the present.  Admirable and deplorable in the job it does, as I see it.  Can still hear her typing, and it sounds like the keyboard is one of those older PC plug-in’s, which it is.  I need a walk.  I need a new scene, new campus, new beat, new habits new music new story new project new everything.  So I try everything, again.

The cold brew, one more sip in it.  Starting to taste skunky, like the last half-sip of a beer in a pint glass.  Beer sounds incredible right now.  A full-timer walks in, looking much older than his later-in-life shot on the wall, with a long gray beard and slightly hunched, slow walk.  He exhales in the whistle fashion, not hitting any note but just blowing air.  He leaves this area then goes back into his office allowing the door to slam behind him.  I don’t want to be that, when I’m that.  Older.  I’m going to get older, I know, but what if I mock the aging.  What if I only vow to move quicker as the world around me expects slower beat?

 

At a certain point in Feast Hemingway says that he knows he MUST write a novel.  I’ve always wanted to, myself, but always either give up and lean on journaling and something resembling memoir or essay, or submerge in poetry.  I run the other way.  What if…. What if I took one of the dozen or so legal pads from the mail room right in front of me, in a drawer labeled “Yellow Notepads” or something, and wrote one.  Right now.  Okay, so that’s decided.  Or about to be tried.  Tried again.  Try everything, I sing in head looking at the last half-sip, I look at Feast, the current page, where he remembers a novel he wrote that was lost.  He writes about letting pressure build.  Is that what I’ve been doing all these years, up to now on 40’s lawn about to walk up three or so steps to knock?

4:03.  Writing a bit in journal, detailing expenses over past couple days.  Candy for babies, espresso drink bought at Los Altos gas station on drive back.  I put the journal back in bag and feel like I need to get out of this room, this conference room.   The only other place an adjunct can work.  Not much difference from the small shared office, just a bit bigger.  Still shared.  Will have to give into hunger here, in a minute.  Not able to write other than there’s not one idea in my head other than the one to get a yellow tablet, start writing.  You know, I bet if I just start writing I might finish.  Only other time I’ve attempted a novel was in a word processing document on one of my goddamn laptops.  This lady to my left and her chewing and typing and angry under-the-breath exhale-groans test my nerves and composition.  Going to walk around campus, however I can.  Maybe go eat then go to library and write or—shit, the stack of papers.  Won’t be saddened when this semester dies, I can tell you that.  Transformation, grateful I can.  I will.  Changing Roads and changing ME.

The novels starts with, her.  She goes to a café, starts sketching something, then is interrupted by a friend of hers from work. The friend wants to talk about work and everything happening there that has nothing to do with there.  Gossip.  She’s too nice to say anything.

Morning thousand for book done.

Day 15 of the 100 day shift.  In office, or close, by Day 100.  What happens in the office?  Everything ME.  Creative… blogging and writing and photog, video production, wine and education and wine education.

 

Done editing video.  Didn’t edit that well.  Guess when I have my office I’ll need to somehow hire an editor, or bribe them/pay them with wine.  Either way, it’s done now I need to post.  Would rather write.  Hungry, tempted to just get something for breakfast but no.  I write about the fast, the restraint, the deprivation and what it does.  Right now I can feel self get a bit agitated, but I laugh it off, have another coffee sip.

 

Eating nothing till lunch.  At 2.  I’ll get a sandwich here, sparkling water, maybe some chips, healthy ones if I can locate.  Sun Chips are healthy, aren’t they?

 

More and more I thinking of writing in strong and liberated, liberating steps.  Freewriting yes but more than that.  And I just noticed this computer didn’t underline ‘freewriting’ in red.  Says something to me.  Or maybe I’m looking for that something to be said, conveniently analyzing what I typed.  The freer you write the freer and healthier you are as a writer.  It’s about freedom and composition and the freeing nature of composition.

 

2/27/19

Second to last day of month.  See what today delivers.  New obstacle thrown in story, may have to cancel meetings and go to field.  I’ll see.

 

4:44.  What a day.  In such a gloriously luminous, loving and enigmatic way. Everything done.  Just finished lunch a bit ago.  Took it quite late as a result of consecutive meetings.  Not  much in writing today, I know.  But it couldn’t be helped.  I should be explaining it to self or apologizing.  Today could be written about, singularly, as a narrative or story or lesson, lecture, something for me. Like a longer note to self.

Today’s taught me to be more versatile, flexible, maneuvering in day-to-day, also to hold self to aims and visions.  To embody what the aim truly is in all its facets.  I’ll write about it, today, when on campus.  Won’t be keeping them long, note.  I need more time to write.  I mean really write.  Finish this goddamn book, Thought.  Thought… and what it is what it’s meant for why be in it, why have it be so integral in your functionality as a Human.

Realize I’m writing in too many places. 

If you want to know, three laptops….  Troublesome (this one), Wife’s (in backpack, where the newest book effort waits), and Sonic.  Coffee being made here in home, vowing to quick Starbucks, angrily.  Babies upstairs doing some puzzle thing.  Back to Brentwood today.  Again.  Told one of my Leads that I would ride with him but I have things to catch up on, so I’ll again be riding by myself across 37 then down 780, then 80, I think, then 680, then 4.  Something about the drive there that unsettles me.  Not going to give it thought, now.  

Haven’t written any aims or visions for day yet, taking my time.  Yesterday said I would shake my world and all worlds.  Did’t do much shaking, if you know need.  Today, going to again be in observation mode for sakes of thoughts and deconstruction.  While walking on some Brentwood street, with palm trees and trees that look as though they’re a part of the plan family, I thought about travel, then was utterly occupied and controlled by travel thoughts.  Writing about not just restaurants and hotels, but the trees I see, the people, the sounds and voices, the bees and steps, streetlights and cars, traffic lights, the sky.

The richest thoughts are in travel, I understood and now almost painfully conceptualize.  How do I get there, and is that my truest aim, travel?

Kids come downstairs and take attention.  They don’t have to take as I’m more than eager to not only offer but immediately give.  Both request yogurt and granola.  Yogurt is Strawberry type, granola is standard, I guess, or what one thinks of when they think of granola.  I make more coffee in line with my swearing off of anything Starbucks or any coffee shop-related.  Satisfying business aim before self with a latte or meal out.  New day, new discipline, new song, new story.  New book, soon new travels, Newness compounded…. Philosophy and not, just furthered acknowledgment of the Now.

For class, reading.  Writing.  The journal.  Open mic, but for something else.  I want tonight to be reflective of my mood toward the academic institution, but with kindness.  A dose of defiance.  I have no class for Fall and I don’t know if I would take one were I offered one.  After today’s talk on Kerouac, I feel more self-sufficient, -reliant.  I don’t want to need them.  Then don’t, I tell self.  My thoughts on it all are non-thoughts.  But one.  It’s time to move on.  It’s time to test self, teach independently, be free of the composition confines of a campus classroom.