19:37…. Class done, and I’m not slowing even a millimeter. Need to get more focused with my vino letters. The next one, about wines sipped.. maybe comparing notes, not sure, but there will be a more obvious nexus in the next communication. In the prose of the letter jotted I knew the letter was wandering… but that’s not an excuse. Just because you acknowledge the error or blemish in your writing doesn’t make that blemish go away or just not exist anymore. Class done, should go home, but I need some time to self before going home and throwing self to daddy mode. Note, please, reader — I can’t wait to see my babies, but I merely need a collective moment before walking down the Emeritus staircase walking across lot to Passat, driving to Elliott Ave the to Armory, Steele and Cleveland and whatever else. Hungry, what’s for dinner.. don’t know. Am I slowing? Not sure this has a anchoring topic, but you can’t cite me too harshly, right? Day’s end, and all…
Hear an odd noise on the other side of the wall behind me. The theatre room’s there, so some maintenance guy may be trying to fix a light or some curtain, or projector, I don’t know. Maybe I’m imagining the whole thing. Famine blended with exhaustion. Interesting senses with this condition. Certainly heightened, and more or less accurate but maybe too much of both. Should go, yes I know. There’s always been weird sounds in this office, the shared adjunct “cell” as I’ve always dubbed it. Maybe that’s intentional. Maybe they’re trying to drive us mad, make us quit, or just see how we react. But there’s not a single full-timer or chair or admin in this building? Yes, I’m going mad.. like Kerouac in that Big Sur cabin. But he left, I won’t. This office is comfortable In the way it pushes me to unknown composures. I focus solely on this room, this room that’s not so much an office as it is a pen, a part-time professor box. I make it work for me. Right now, this room (however you want to categorize it) is my nexus, my gifting centrality.. canvas, page, idea trough, street.