Tag Archives: work


27 Sep

Let’s see what I can write and post in under five minutes, before driving, or speeding, to the winery.  In love, this morning.  With the morning itself.  I find it encouraging and revealing, wildly and robustly educating.  Don’t fight or reject the morning, PLEASE.  It’s there to be used as a tone-establisher for your day.  Why be nay when you can be yay, with the morning, or anything?  More and more, I see the classroom as a stark symbol for everything in our lives.  You make the class what you do, and do can be effectuated with every day.

Enjoy your day.  Demand from it.  Or rather, don’t demand, just direct it which way you want it to go.  I’m only now, at my old age, seeing it as that simple.





11 Sep

You’re allowed pause, collection.  Remind yourself that there is allowance for detachment.

At work?

6 Sep

Make it not-work.

Be creative…

What do you do with your days off? 

5 Sep

Some of you might be saying, “What days off?” Then you’re like me.  But, when you do have the occasional day off, I’m of the thinking that that’s when you work harder than you do for the job, and get yourself closer to wherever it is you want to be… professional photographer, writer, independent car mechanic, painter, teacher, sales expert… whatever.  On days off, when you’re not working for THEM, work like a bizarrely hungry animal for YOU.  How else will you get it, your ‘it’?  Your ‘there’?  You, we, need to be tireless, hungry, obsessed with our goals if we ever hope to touch them, live them, and more love each of our days.


4 Sep



Can’t is illegal.

Can is law.


31 Aug

View story at Medium.com


1 Jul


Tonight, I feel tired but unwilling to just jump into some decided sleep.  That’s what I’m SUPPOSED to do, right?  Go to sleep?  What if I didn’t?  What if I stay up and write and collect myself and have a mere moment for me?  The run took most of my fire.  But I can marathon or half-marathon this evening with whatever I can capture in my head.  I’m always urging students to think for themselves and throw themselves into their work like bizarrely mad jackals.  And me, this ‘instructor of record’, only able to think about how tired he is.  Hear the wind outside playing with the decoration on the other side of the door.  The wind’s talking to me, knocking on the door to keep me awake.  Keep my thinking and maybe writing a word or two.  Bag, right, think I have work in there somewhere to do but I can’t remember.  I’ll stay here.  Not many notes taken today, more reviewing ones from yesterday— “…formidable and poised, reasoned and dramatic…” What was that ‘bout?  Can’t remember.  Doesn’t matter, I know think.  I’ll just use the words I rush-wrote into the Comp Book.

Babies asleep upstairs, me here on the couch uncomfortable trying to get a few more words to this bloody screen before either bed or ice cream.  Sleep, sounding better and better but I hear another knock at the front door and I know now, I get it— I’m supposed to be writing, just here on the couch uncomfortable logging thoughts.  I’ve decided, and the gusts entirely aided— no sleep.