Thursday, July 26, 2007

losing my mind (again)

the evidence
  1. I have started responding verbally to the questions my chair has written on the draft of my thesis. I've also scribbled answers on the pages before writing the revision. The most common answer has been "Fine dammit."

Monday, July 23, 2007

how I will celebrate the returns of Sven and Kapka

  1. Drinking Apple Beer.
  2. Letting my students watch an entire episode of The Office.
  3. Buying Circumstance. (K and I already have the Pomp taken care of.)

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

losing my mind

The evidence:

  1. Yesterday I ordered a pizza. I kept working on my thesis at my kitchen table, which happens to be near the front door. I forgot about said pizza, becoming engrossed in the archival mess of contemporary American poetry. Almost an hour passes. There's a sudden banging on the door. I scream. And then laugh, awkwardly, because I think it must be my sister or someone I know. I answer the door saying "I'm going to kill you." The dark-glasses-wearing, scruffy pizza guy answers "It said to knock loudly."
  2. I just spent an unreasonable amount of time just now trying to decide between "Alfred Einstein" and "Albert Einstein."

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

the world's first unmanned flying desk set--all over again

I'm back.

Maybe you didn't notice that I was missing, but I did. A lot. It's hard to be with yourself when you're gone. My gratitude and apologies to those who were present when I wasn't. A sentence that doesn't make much sense--I am so back.

I started unpacking tonight. Not just books and movies--those things are always with me, I shelved them immediately. But tonight I started designating places for things. I think I'm finally ready to move into this basement, finally ready to live here, rather than just stay here. It's far from perfect, but so am I. I think we'll be just fine. (Especially if we find ourselves a few friends who don't mind that my apartment is personified.)

Today's class went really well too. Not that it was too hard to beat Friday's class--which, for the sake of my job, I won't post about here, but email me and you'll get all the gorey details. But they were talking and they were excited and they were laughing and I was in my element. I like my element.

The "flying desk set" metaphor first came up my freshman year on a day when everything finally clicked--I distinctly remember me strutting through the leaves on campus, toward the JSB, feeling like I could do anything, take on anything or anyone. For the record, I was wearing a long-sleeved sky blue shirt. Tonight I'm feeling exactly that. Tomorrow I'll tackle my thesis and some more unpacking.

Ladies and gentlemen, the world's first unmanned flying desk set.

Sunday, July 08, 2007

white nights

L.M. Montgomery always describes her heroines (Anne, Emily) having "white nights": nights where there life comes to a crisis, where they have to examine their souls and decide what they want.

I think I'm in the middle of one.

The thesis is, of course, not done. It's also not as close to done as I was hoping it to be. I'm having immense problems with will power and focus and carpal tunnel and poetry and just being able to do this right now. It's come down to one night to do as much as I can. Tonight. In the morning I'll deliver what I have to Trent's door.

I've actually been composing funny blog posts about this subject. How I'm going to make it look longer (pull quotes, illustrations), "how to write a thesis" without doing any real work, etc. But tonight is panic time and I'm scared for my life. For my future. Because this is what I've always said I wanted to do: write, teach. You have to write to teach, but what if this isn't what I'm cut out for? And then the teaching goes away. I suppose there's always creative writing, but I'm seriously doubting my ability in that arena right now. I'm looking at three brilliant poets. I'm too scared to send anything out. I'll just be a girl with an MA who teaches part time and writes reviews of real poets.

White night, here I come. See you in the morning.

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

By George

I think she's got it!

Well, at least for the Lee chapter. Now I'll have the rest of the week to freak out over Osherow and the ghastliness of the intro.

Just one question: Who the hell is George?

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

thoughts at 3:36 a.m.

Have I come this far to fail, and fail miserably?

Do you tell him? Should you tell him? Does he already know?

Why is the rum* gone?

*And by rum, I mean chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate.

Sunday, July 01, 2007

Little did he know? I taught a class on "Little did he know."

Yes, I am avoiding the thesis. Even though I don't have time to avoid it any longer. I did add my face to facebook, courtesy of TB's influence and my curiosity regarding the marital status of various friends. This turned out to be oh so true.

I've been in Bountiful for the weekend. One cousin wedding, one sister baby shower. I won't bore you with the details, mostly because I don't want to bore myself with the details. I will say that the wedding will forever and ever be known as the Fiddler on the Roof wedding (the bride was Jewish and I'm afraid that FotR is the only exposure most of the family has had to Jewish wedding traditions), and that my name came up during the toasts, but only because the best man had written a poem for his toast and joked about not knowing I would be there. I confess to being amused.

The baby shower went off without a hitch, unless you consider my parents' living room looking like the inside of a PeptoBismal bottle a hitch. This baby will be well-dressed and well-diapered.

And now, the thesis. Oh, the thesis.

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