Carving out time

Jazz is fed up with driving to Dunkerque.

He's gone to seek refuge at the back of the car. 

I have my hands free.

So how do I carve out time to write?

iPhone. 

I am constantly making notes.

Photos.

Quotes.

Tweets.

Sounds.

I am relaxed in this space.

I am not writing to form, to format, to deadline. 

This is a space of freedom.

I can travel.

I can time travel.

I can take Barbie's dress and put it on Action Man.

I can make Hermes fly Virgin.

How do I carve out time?

I started by ordering my work so I could, so we could function, so that time wasn't stuffed with stuff.

I stopped all time consuming nonsense like photocopying and most meetings.

I have classes which are learner centred. Sometimes I write during classes - while the other learners are busy writing. 

I write before classes after taking the kids to school.

I write while doing the cooking (on phone)

I write while watching TV.

Sometimes I write in the middle of the night. I wake up and have to write (it's a bit like the urge to go to the toilet/loo/washroom/bathroom/John/lavatory/ but worse - it takes longer.

Sometimes I write in the car.

He takes a photo to prove it. 

Sometimes I don't write at all.

I never NEVER EVER think I should write.

I hate should.

I don't think too much unless I am writing thinking stuff, academic stuff, stuff which must be aimed at a particular audience.

You see.

You (blind faith) are my reader.

YOU read this nonsense. 

YOU respond.

Sometimes...

Thank you.

Freedom.

Faith.

Fun.

Fellowship.

Marginalia?

You'll have to take my word for it. 

I am that shadowy presence there; so barely discernable that I can only appear annotated.

This is insignificant I grant you.

Nobody else would remark it. 

My attention drifts around the tables.

Conversation

Laughter

Guffaws

Giggles

"I have scaled these city walls, 

Only to be with you..."

All is interrupted by a clatter of plates in the scullery.

We are criss-crossing sound-traces of vitality.

We are incidentally thus.

A table number?

A beer?

A steak?

A sticky-toffee pudding?

The IPA tasted good.

There is a folded napkin.

It is next to an empty glass.

"I still haven't found what I'm looking for."

There is no life here but marginalia.