exhaustive

I decided on the title for this post before I decided what this post would be about. Actually, I still don't know what this post will be about. The life and times of PepperGirl, possibly. Or just an itemized list of what I'm thinking right now. Hurray for multitasking.

1. I know everyone is tired of hearing about it, but the identity crisis based on hair color continues with someone asking me yesterday after class "Eg, what color is your hair anyway?" My students continued the thread today with one of them commenting, "Don't worry, Eg. We know you're a blonde at heart." Apparently I'm ambiguous at heart. . . and at the roots.

2. I brought doughnuts to my students today. Doughnuts and chocolate milke (and 1% which no one touched). Is it pretentious to spell it "doughnuts"? Oh well. I am pretentious. Just because I like the word "pretentious." And the words "quixotic" and "hyperbolic." But I was talking about doughnuts and how I brought them to my students and how if anyone asked I said it was a lesson on being on time--those who got there first got first choice of a wide variety of doughnuts--but really it was because I have good students who are attentive and do their homework and are just fun people to spend three hours with each week, plus at least 22 more hours thinking about (22 hours includes office hours, 610, grading, class prep, and those creepy dreams where I show up to class prepared but then realize that it's a massive section of Biology 100).

3. In five minutes I'm going to stop typing to go see Trapped by the Mormons with about two dozen people who I adore. And that was an example of hyperbole, class.

4. Today was another great day for the English reading series. Brian Doyle, an essayist and apparent genius, read. I was toying with the idea of not going, but JeffT convinced me and I'm glad I went. His prose was like poetry. . . do the two have to be exclusive?. . . but he also regards writing as prayer, a religious act. Which is a rarity in writers I think. I bought his book and began reading it. I'm startled every time there is a profession of faith. Startled and pleased. It also made me think about my resistance to writing prose, particularly the personal essay I still owe Gideon from spring. I never feel like myself when I'm writing in that voice. . . it's kind of a "oh, this is me toned down so I don't scare my nonexistent reader." Reading Doyle makes me wonder if I can find a balance between my polished academic writing and my confessional-narrative-don't-know-the-right-word poetry. I'm actually kind of excited to find out. Maybe I'll start by posting some things here. Warning, though, they'll most likely be about London. I heart London. I don't think I've ever hearted anything before, but it seems appropriate here.

The clock has struck 6:00. I'm off. And yes, the movie doesn't start until 7:00. But the doors open at 6:30 and I'm anal about this kind of thing. Consider it endearing.