Anne Lammot

Just wanted to say real quick that I'm reading Anne Lammot, and she's pretty amazing.

I really promise to blog more often; I need it!

D

"Sucks to your ass-mar"

So I've just been diagnosed with a "reactive airway," which according to my doctor is what "we used to call asthma." Apparently, "asthma" is a relatively broad term, and the medical establishment is trying to be more precise. It's really not all that big of a deal, for the most part. I have this cough that won't go away, but that's about it. And I can use an inhaler to open my air ways. The thing is that the inhaler makes me feel all amped, you know? Like I've had about three too many lattes. So I try not to use it at night.

Sometimes, I lie in bed and cough and can't stop. And all I can think is, "Sucks to your ass-mar." And that just makes me giggle which, in turn, makes me cough even more.

Green Beans

I just ate the yummiest green beans. My digestive system seems all "off" lately, and I've been feeling kinda icky. I attribute it to eating too much fried stuff and carbs. Since moving, all I want is bread, pasta, pizza, and fried sea food--not a very healthy diet. So for the next couple of days, I am only eating fruits, veggies, yogurt, and soy milk. Using EVOO and spices is fine, you know, to season and dress things. But I feel like I just need to eat really natural, cleansing kinds of stuff for a while to get back on track.

So earlier, I just quickly boiled some frozen green beans, just until they were tender, not soft and gushy. I should add that I particularly like green beans prepared just about any way. I felt like Rachel Ray or something though when I tossed them in a little sesame oil, rice vineggar, soy sauce, a tiny bit of onion and garlic powders, and a tiny dash of hot sauce. It was just like yummy, healthy, Asian green beans. Seriously, I've been watching way too much Rachel Ray. But it was divinely good!

House Pics--Interior

These shots aren't very good and don't really do justice to the interior, but here you go anyway. What they don't reflect at all are the cathedral-style ceilings in the living area. The kitchen / dining / living rooms are really one open, kind of great room.

This is the living room. What you can see here is the great window, which has a lovely view. You can also see (just a little) my new furniture.









This is a shot of the kitchen, which is still rather a mess. It's not a huge kitchen, although much bigger than what I had at my last apartment. But it's a great lay out in that the space is all totally usable. The window looks out to a gorgeous back yard.












This is the dining area, which is separated from the kitchen just by a bar. It has a great sliding glass door, as you can see, that opens onto the deck and provides this great view of the back yard. The sliding glass door is nice, as it allows Guinnie and Polly to bask in the sun.












Finally, this pic shows the view from the glass door in the dining area.

House pics--Exterior

Some of these aren't the greatest, as things are still rather disorganized around the place. But this will give you a sense of what it's like and of the projects I've been working on. I think the layout of the pics on this page may end up being kinda wacky--I have trouble with getting them just right!

Here's the front yard and the front side of the house. I just installed the solar lights along the walk way.















This is a shot of the back yard, which is quite spacious. What you can't see here is that there's a great little brook running just behind the trees. I can hear it gurgguling along when I sit in my HOT TUB!








Here's the back yard from another angle. You should note my two tier deck with a large HOT TUB! It's beautiful in the evenings to sit on the deck and listen to the birds and the brook--no city noises really. I've been working on water-sealing the deck the past couple of days

Steven Winwood, Yoga, and Emotional Eating

Here's a confession: once in a while, I enjoy Steve Winwood. There's something about Steven Winwood and George Michael that takes me back to about 8th grade. And I get nostalgic for a world that seemed simpler. However, I'm pretty sure that I'm a better person now. At the very least, I'm more comfortable with myself now, and that counts for a lot.

In addition to writing more, I need to get back on the Yoga wagon. Let me rephrase (in keeping with my work in 10 Days to Self-Esteem. You can say what you like about the concept of "self-esteem," but the book was really helpful): It would be beneficial for me to get back on the Yoga wagon. I want to feel more centered, you know? More in the moment, less of my mind in the elsewhere and "elsewhen." So I'm just articulating this in hopes that if I say it publicly I'll be more likely to follow though. Also, I say it in hopes that I'll have some sort of accountability in the sense that one or two of you will care enough to say, "Hey, D. how's your Yoga practice going?"

The other thing at the moment is emotional eating. I realize that people who have mega-metabolisms and who are not prone to emotional eating just don't get the whole thing. But I do have a tendency to eat for emotional reasons. Lately, I think it's a nesting instinct, since moving. This nesting instinct is not in itself bad. However, eating food I don't need could be destructive. I guess what I mean is that I just want to be more aware of why I'm eating when I am. And really, there are times when other activities would be more healthy than eating, activities like writing, drinking a cup of tea, relaxing, that sort of thing.

All random, I suppose.

Update on the Sock Project

I just realized that since I got busy with end of the semester and moving, not only did I let my writing go, but I also let the Sock Project slide. And it's really too bad, because I think it's one of the best ideas I've had in a long time, certainly better than the time I decided that when my roller-ball pen quit writing I should suck on the end to get the ink flowing.

Well, here's an update. A couple of weeks ago, we had graduation, and naturally we had to wear gowns and the whole regalia thing. Well, I feel pretty silly in all that, and in the past, I'd just pretended I was a student at Hogwarts as a coping mechanism. However, this time, I decided I'd wear pink, stripy knee-highs peeking out under my gown, just to add interest and to set me apart from the rest of the group. A week or so before graduation, I announced this intention to some colleagues, and T. also wore bright red socks for graduation. The effect, however, was somewhat lessened for T., as they were hid beneath his pants and shoes. But I thought I was pretty kick-ass to wear pink socks for graduation. Now I wish I'd taken pictures!

I was quite proud and thought I was certainly the most interesting faculty member that day. That is, I thought I was the most interesting until the next day when I heard that C.P. vomited (yep, hurled, blew chunks, barfed, yawned in technicolor) during the ceremony. That's way more interesting than my socks. Well, easy come, easy go, I guess.

I haven't been writing lately, I know. And there's something inside me that makes me feel like I need to be writing. So I'm renewing my committment to blogging. I figure if I say it publically, then I'm more likely to follow through.

I need to be writing and here, blogging is just the least of it, a warm up, really. I'm afraid I'll loose my sense of self if I let go of writing. I know that this sounds neurotic to those of you who aren't writers, but those of you who know what writing can mean will understand.

Well, more tomorrow, the first day of the rest of my life.

I'll write every day, starting now.

Update

Although I'm still unpacking, I'm all moved! My parents have been here all week, and between moving and visiting with them, I simply haven't had time to post anything. The move went fairly well, thanks mostly to friends and my parents. I'll post more soon. I'll e-mail you my new address soon.

Velouria

Drennan (singing): My Velouria, my Velouria / Even I'll adore you / My Velouria

*sigh* some days life is so perfectly beautiful

I'm just so tired, almost all the time. It's like any little thing tires me out, and the worst part is that it's really difficult to get much of anything done. Here I am with all this grading and packing to do, but all I really can do is sleep. Just taking the dogs out seems to require all the energy I can find, and then I feel like I need to rest for a while. And I'm pretty sure I'm not just lazy, but it's all really frustrating. And I saw the doctor again today; he wants to run more tests of one sort and another. I'm frustrated with not feeling well and frustrated with having to spend time getting all these medical things done. I don't know what to do anymore.

I know that I haven't been posting much lately. I feel absolutely overwhelmed with moving and end of the semester stuff. Really, I feel like if one more thing comes up that I have to do, I could explode (or implode, which is really much more interesting and probably less messy.) Earlier today, I was out doing errands of one sort and other. I went to the bank to make sure that I had the correct amount of money in my checking and savings accounts so that I'm all ready for the big home purchase later this week, and afterwards I planned to go to the grocery store. As I left the bank, I started to feel panicky, and I wasn't sure that I'd be able to make it to the store. I really thought I'd have a panic attack in the grocery store parking lot. But the good thing is that I was able to take a deep breath and talk myself through it all. I'm getting better and better at that. So although it was highly unpleasant, I was able to do it. I have to tell myself things like, "Ok, all I have to do is park the car. That's all I have to do," and once the car's parked, I say, "Ok, now all I have to do is lock the car and walk into the store." I know it sounds crazy, but breaking it into tiny pieces is the only way I can manage when I get panicky.

After the store I came home and made myself a calzone, which was really good, and had a beer, which was even better. FYI, my new favourite is this local organic micro-brew called Wolaver's, and I LOVE their brown ale. It's so tasty! And, really, don't we all need a fav beer? I know that some would say that 2:00 is rather early to start drinking, but I say, "It's 5:00 somewhere!"

Interesting Links:

Ok, TS sent me the following, and I think it's super-cool in that not-quite-goth kind of way:

www.michaelpaulus.com/gallery/character-Skeletons

It's totally worth checking out, in case you ever wondered what, say, Pig Pen looks like below the surface.

Here's another good one from JS:

www.houseoffame.blogspot.com

It's a blog purportedly by Geoffrey Chaucer. And really, what could be more fun than that?

Finally, no one wants to miss out on uber-geek Wil Wheaton of Stand by Me and ST Next Generation fame:

www.wilwheaton.net

If you are really in love with Wil, you can subscribe to his podcasts, apparently. That's going a bit further than I really want to go.

Maybe it's nerdy that I like all this stuff, and I'm fine with that.

Not Quite Myself. . .

I don't really like this phraseology, nor am I sure how accurate it is, but I cannot think of a better way to say it. I just feel not quite like myself lately. I'm not unhappy. I don't feel sick (like I did for a while) or sad or even discontent. I told my mom yesterday that I felt out of sorts, but that doesn't really cover it either. I just feel different, somehow. She said that it seemed to her that I was doing well lately, and I suppose I am in a lot of ways. She suggested that maybe whatever's happened in my life in the past two year or so has in some important way changed who I am, that the important things that happen to us do affect who we are. I agree with that, in theory. I don't know yet if it's applicable to me or not.

A couple of days ago, I told A. that I felt "cut adrift but still floating." Although using U2 lyrics to describe one's emotional state may be cheezy (although you all know that I have the whole thing about thinking all would be well if only there were the perfect song for each moment, the perfect soundtrack for each day), that line, as much as anything, describes what I feel. (I should attribute, I suppose: that line is from "So Cruel," which is not one of U2's better known songs. I'm pretty sure it's on Achtung, Baby.) But I am still floating; I get up each morning and breathe in and out and go to work and do what needs to be done. Inside, I feel unmoored or something. Does that make sense?

The other part of it is (maybe this is just being overly introspective and insecure on my part) that I feel like I used to be this interesting person who did interesting things and read interesting books and had interesting things to say to those who would take the time to listen. Now I feel like maybe I'm just going through the motions and am not nearly as interesting as I used to be. I have no idea why being "interesting" is even so important to me. Is this simply the manifestation of some other insecurity that I'm not acknowledging? I hope not. I have worked and continue to work on becoming a stronger, better, emotionally healthier person. I don't want to be stuck in insecurity any more.

I guess I'm just trying to sort things out. I am allowing for the possibility that maybe I'm just tired and overworked and that once the semester is over and I move this will all take care of itself. I'm also allowing for the possibility that this is simply a symptom of the larger loneliness I feel.

Reflection on Blogging. . .

I just decided that instead of posting silly, obligatory posts, I will only blog when I have something to say, like, "Hey, isn't that Wil Wheaton swell?" or, "Does anyone know a good recipe for strawberry sorbet?" No really, I'm only going to post when there's something I want to say or I'm having that need to write, the psychological, emotional one that makes me feel like I better write NOW or I might implode (which is much more interesting than exploding). I figure I'll just spare myself and all of you having to read some banal thing about how I'm writing because I think I have to and blah, blah, blah.

But the more I think about it and the more I do it, blogging has come to serve this important function in my life. And there are things besides blogging that can do it too; I mean, I write in my journal or e-mail Dolce Carina for some of the same reasons. So I guess that I don't exactly need to blog. Still, it's good for me, like the whole pressure valve thing, if you know what I mean.

Incidentally, with each passing day, I am increasingly confused (or maybe just increasingly honest) about what it is I want from an intimate relationship. Still, I am convinced that I'll know it when I see it. But the weird part about it is that I am OK with being confused; I'm mostly comfortable with it. And that's unlike me. I guess maybe it represents emotional growth that I can be accepting of myself in this way. Still seems weird though. Oops, this whole paragraph is not clearly within the stated focus of this post. I think I'll leave it anyway. It seems important somehow.

The great thing, the empowering thing about blogging is that I'm honest and then all that honesty is just out there. I mean, it's empowering in that I'm, maybe for the first time in my life, saying exactly what I'm thinking and feeling and not worrying about what other people will think, you know? I just say it, and it's there for the world to see. I guess it feels like I'm being totally honest about what I believe and what I'm feeling, and for once, I don't feel the need to apologize for it. I like this. This is reason enough to blog.

So I know this was all pretty random and that most of you aren't too interested, and that's OK too. To me the important thing is not who reads it but simply that I write it.

Da Vinci Nonsense

Ok, so lately, with the film scheduled for release and all, I've read all this crap about Christians all up in arms about the whole daVinci Code deal. And just for the record, here's my 2 cents:

I haven't read the novel, so I guess I don't know much about it. Except this. It's a NOVEL; it's fiction. And I don't think it claims to be anything else. So what's the big deal? I mean do Christians out there really believe that a piece of fiction is going to draw people away from Christ? I recently read someone skwacing (I didn't spell that correctly, did I?) about how it's trying to redefine Christianity. I think that's just a stupid statement. Like it said, it doesn't claim to be theology, does it?

As you can probably see, I'm really not interested in the whole debate. I don't think it's even worthy of a debate. And I wonder whether people really don't have anything bigger to worry about.

Da Vinci Nonsense

Ok, so lately, with the film scheduled for release and all, I've read all this crap about Christians all up in arms about the whole daVinci Code deal. And just for the record, here's my 2 cents:

I haven't read the novel, so I guess I don't know much about it. Except this. It's a NOVEL; it's fiction. And I don't think it claims to be anything else. So what's the big deal? I mean do Christians out there really believe that a piece of fiction is going to draw people away from Christ? I recently read someone skwacing (I didn't spell that correctly, did I?) about how it's trying to redefine Christianity. I think that's just a stupid statement. Like it said, it doesn't claim to be theology, does it?

As you can probably see, I'm really not interested in the whole debate. I don't think it's even worthy of a debate. And I wonder whether people really don't have anything bigger to worry about.

So some days I ask myself what the point og blogging is if it's just some stupid, obligatory post that I'm writing because of some stupid rule that I made for myself. Here I am. And I'm writing because I think I have to write something. And is there a point to that? I don't know. I guess it's a way to say to the world and to myself that hey, I am still here. That was a lame-tastic (lame ass) sentence. Maybe I won't even bother to post this. I'm tired. That's the thing. I'm so often tired lately that it makes it hard to be enthusiastic about much of anything. I pretty much only do what I think I have to do.

Hey, ask me later (maybe not here) why I had to move my blog. Right now, it all seems really dumb, but it'll be pretty funny in six months or so.

Some days, I start to think it's all more than one person is able to deal with, you know? I'm overwhelmed, nearly all the time, by work and tasks to be completed. And I don't know how I'll get it all done. And it feels like all I want is just a little help, or even just support and understanding. And I really, truly think I'm going crazy, or something that feels remarkably like crazy. And just when I think that I really can't do it anymore, I realize that I do have support and understanding. Just when it's nearly unbearable, that's when I get the phone call that reminds me that people do care about me, or the phone call with an offer of help. Or other times, just when it becomes unbearable, all of a sudden the task that seemed insurmountable is taken care of. Maybe this is part of what it means to trust God, that when things really do seem to be more than I can cope with, there's someone there.

Sir Gawain and Perfectionism

I've been grading tests on Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and as I've been reading the responses, I've been thinking about what the poem seems to say about perfectionism. Forgive me if I've posted something similar before. I suppose that it seems to me that the root of Gawain's failure (or what he perceives as failure, the other characters don't) is his own perfectionism. Gawain finds himself in a situation in which, by his own standards, standards imposed by himself alone, there is no good solution. In this sense, the work even seems to harken forward to postmodernism--the sense that there's no right answer to Gawain's delimma. And yet, the other characters both his adversaries and Arthur's court see him as ultimately successful. He's the only one who perceives himself to be a failure. Although I'm not articulating this very clearly, what I mean to say is that maybe the lesson here is that we perfectionists would do well to remember that humans are not perfect and would do well to see ourselves as other see us.

I don't know; maybe I'm not making a lot of sense. I do know what perfectionism is something that I think about and am affected by far too often.

Ok, so here I am; don't know what to say. I'm behind on just about everything, and I'm panicked. All I really want right now is my dad. Well, dad and a good turkey sandwich. I guess I'm writing because I feel obligated, my daily post and all. Here it is. *sigh* Maybe I'm just tired.

I realize that the following post published three times. Blogger is acting up, so it was either three or none. And it was really too good to waste.

Scene: Family Sunday dinner. Family sits around dining room table, finishing meal.

Teen age son: You know, I think Rachel Ray will be one of those celebrities who dies young, under mysterious circumstances, you know, like Jim Morrison or Marilyn Monroe.

Family looks on, rather agog, as teen age son pushes his chair back from the table.

Teen age son (leans back in chair): But you didn't hear that from me.

Scene: Family Sunday dinner. Family sits around dining room table, finishing meal.

Teen age son: You know, I think Rachel Ray will be one of those celebrities who dies young, under mysterious circumstances, you know, like Jim Morrison or Marilyn Monroe.

Family looks on, rather agog, as teen age son pushes his chair back from the table.

Teen age son (leans back in chair): But you didn't hear that from me.

Scene: Family Sunday dinner. Family sits around dining room table, finishing meal.

Teen age son: You know, I think Rachel Ray will be one of those celebrities who dies young, under mysterious circumstances, you know, like Jim Morrison or Marilyn Monroe.

Family looks on, rather agog, as teen age son pushes his chair back from the table.

Teen age son (leans back in chair): But you didn't hear that from me.

Guinnie, Polly, and Beck

Oddly, Guinever and Polly don't seem to care for Beck. Normally, when I listen to music or watch TV or whatever, they don't seem to pay much attention at all. But they don't like Beck's music, or so it seems. When Beck comes on, they look at the speakers as though they are confused. Polly, who's normally so docile, will actually bark at "Where It's At." It's not like I'm this huge Beck fan, so I guess that this doesn't have to be an issue or anything. Still, I think it's werid and worth noting.

If I were good with photoshop, I'd make a silly picture of the two little dogs barking at and biting Beck. It's just the weirdest thing.

Thoughts on Breakups and Relationships

I've been thinking. I wonder when we allow ourselves to become close to others, truly close, either in friendships or in more intimate relationships, whether we give little bits of ourselves away to those people. It seems to me that we do. Or it seems that I do, anyway. I don't necessarily think that's a bad thing, but it does mean that I'm easily hurt. I'm thinking specifically of J, of course. Once we were so close, and even now, he probably knows me better than anyone else does. But we aren't close anymore; we aren't anything anymore, although I love him in a different kind of way and wish him great fulfillment and happiness. It's just that it still feels like there's this part of myself, part of my soul, I suppose, that is still with him. It feels like he has it and I never will again. That sounds like I'm sadder than I actually am. With the loss of a very close relationship, isn't also a potential future and dreamed of happiness that are lost too? I think so. So maybe what I'm feeling is only the loss of what I believed could have been.

I don't know. It's like I am, in some small but significant way, a different person than I was with him. This is not a bad thing, necessarily. I think that, in the end, I'm probably a healthier person, maybe a stronger person. I do think that I have learned something about being content, and I suppose that counts for a lot. Still, it feels like there's this part of me that he has and always will have. And I don't think there's any way around that.

Excuses. . .

I'm tired of excuses, especially from my students. Maybe I'm just getting old and crochety (isn't that a great word???), or maybe I'm just not being very understanding. But it seems that every semester I have a couple of students who explain to me that they are suffering from depression and anxiety and that I can call either their mothers or their therapists to verify this and that they are starting or stopping medication and that if there's any way I can be sympathetic and understanding and simply overlook their absences and missing work, they'd really appreciate it. And normally I try to be kind. I tell them that I, too, suffer with anxiety and that I know how truly terrible it can feel. I tell them that I'm so sorry to hear that things are difficult, which I am, and that I want to do what I can to help them get through this. But the truth is, I'm tired of being understanding and saying the right thing. I wonder if they assume that because I'm a relatively young female that I'll be nurturing and understanding.

What I want to say deep, deep down is something like this: "I'm really sorry that you feel crappy, and believe me, I've been there and I know how it feels. But it's no excuse. It's no excuse for missing class or missing work. I know this because I've gone through some really traumatic things, more difficult than you can imagine. And you know what? I didn't miss class or work. I didn't drop out of life. Even when I felt like I didn't want to ever get out of bed and face the world ever, ever again, even when I was probably suicidal, I just kept showing up. I kept doing all the things I was supposed to be doing, and that was the right thing to do. So if you want my sympathy, fine, you have it. I feel sorry for you. But don't think that gives you license to slack off. I've been where you are, and I know that you need to just keep showing up, even when you feel like you can't. I've done it, and I expect you to, too."

Is this absolutely the wrong response? Because I think it's totally true. And there's a part of me that just wants to say, "Enough with all your excuses. Either keep showing up and doing the work, or drop the class. Either way is fine with me. But don't stay in my class, be a big flake, then expect my sympathy."

The House

I'm in the process of purchasing my first home. Here's a photo of the exterior.

What I Wore Today

As you can see, these are great pink and tangerine and tan argyles! What could be better?

Just One More Update

I am feeling much better, although I'm still very easily exahusted. But I'm feeling back to myself, you know? I'm feeling like I want to write and read and bake muffins and do all the things that make me me. I've been touched by the concern that many of you have expressed, and I so much appreciate it.

Rest assured, that I seem to slowly be coming back to life!

One More Word About Photos

I really am interested in photography. If I thought I could, I would make a living out of it. I suspect that I'm not that talented. I realize that the sock project, as I'm now calling it, does not represent my best work. However, there's something interesting about the challenge of photographing one's self. It sounds narsissistic, but it really isn't. It's just more like a fun game. Someday, when I'm feeling more serious and have given up on the sock project, I'll maybe share some of my more serious work. I never used to think of myself as an artists. But photography is art, right? And then there's my writing. About six months ago it came to me like an epiphany: Hey, I really am a creative person! When I think about these things, I'm happy to be me.

Over the Knee Socks

Let me clarify: I do not assume that all of you are really all that interested in seeing photos of my socks. The sock project is really for my own entertainment. All of a sudden, taking photos of me in socks seemed like a really good idea. And for now, it brings me enjoyment (or at least giggles), so it's worth something.

That said, this particular photo is really of over-the-knee socks. And these are extra special because Carina sent them to me for my birthday. What a great friend! She's maybe the only friend who would realize that, "Hey, pink, striped over-the-knee socks somehow epitomize who Drennan is."

In case you are wondering, yes I do actually wear this stuff out in public. In fact, I wear this sort of thing to work. I know that my not seem all that professional, but why should I let that stop me?

I'm basically quite vain about my appearance, and I'm OK with that. The thing is that I don't want to be beautiful; I know that I'll never be beautiful. But I do want to be interesting looking. And you can't deny that a college professor who wears striped knee-highs is interesting looking.

I'm tired (again!) and headachy and don't know what to write. So here I sit, typing my obligatory daily entry. Only I don't even know what to say. I'm tired; I'm annoyed; I'm frustrated by being tired all the time.

Oh well, maybe more later.

Random: Happiness and Loneliness

All of a sudden, there' so much I want to say. And this makes me excited because if I'm wanting to write, it's like I am feeling like myself again. So here (for my benefit, as much as anything) are my current random observations about what's going on in my head.

Nearly every day, I feel overwhelmingly lonely and deliriously happy by turns, sometimes both at once. Happiness makes me want someone to share it with. And earlier today, I read Dolce Carina's reply to my post awhile back about relationships, and she confirmed that what I want is entirely normal and healthy and possible. And something about that makes me so happy.

I've been thinking today about all the labels I give myself: Christian, teacher, writer, friend, daughter, sister, neurotic, strong, independent, insecure. I wonder; am I merely the sum of all these labels? I wonder which of these is most important. I wonder if anyone will ever appreciate me for all instead of just some of these. But what does it mean that I label myself a writer? I mean, I don't go out telling people, "Hey, I'm a writer," because I don't exactly write professionally. But I do write stuff that moves me along professionally. So maybe I do write professionally sort of. But I know I'm a writer because I need to write in order to live fully. I think that some of you understand that.

Oh here's something else. And this is no exaggeration. Since moving to Vermont, I am moved on a very deep level every day by how beautiful the sky is here. When it's clear, it's a blue I don't remember in California. But when it's cloudy, that's best of all. Each morning on my way to work (it's this lovely, perfect 13-mile commute!), I think, "God, thank you for giving me this beautiful sky." So as corny as this may sound to some,I am so thankful for the sky each day. And the stars are the best of all. I've often thought that there must be a God who loves me simply because of the stars. They seem to serve no purpose; they are just beautiful. What a creative, brilliant, loving God to give us such beauty every day.

And there are all these things, these experiences, that are so full of joy each day (it's those 11 moments), that I am moved to tears (a trite expression, I know). And I think that life, just to breathe and smell and feel, is such an amazing, inexplicably wonderful thing. And I feel perfectly joyful.

But then, almost instantly, I'm aware that I want someone to share it with, that the beauty would be even fuller if only I could communicate (oh, paltry words!) just how much it all is. And that, for me is loneliness. Loneliness is the phone that doesn't ring each evening. Loneliness is the birthday card that doesn't come in the mail. Loneliness is hoping that someone wants to listen to me exult in the start, but no one is there. And I suppose that's part of why I blog. It at least gives me the illusion that I can communicate with someone who cares.

And here's the other thing. I swear that I love my friends more and more each day. Partly, I love some of you because I know that you do read this and that means I'm not alone, even if most of you are far away from me. And then I'm happy again. It's a pendulum, I guess.

My mother has often reminded me that there are to ways to have balance in life: to find rest somewhere in the middle of things or to be like a pendulum moving between extremes. Those are my words, not hers, but that's the general idea. I think that finding rest in the middle is maybe the sanest way to live. But I guess it's just not who I am. I seem to exist at the margins or the extremes or something. I used to fight it, to try to situate myself in the middle, to be quiet and meek and conservative and to follow the rules. But that's just not who I am. And as non-sane as I think moving between extremes may sound, I'm learning to embrace it because it's who I am and because it all adds up to joy in the end.

Can I laugh and cry at the same time? That's how I feel now.

Oh, but I'm here and I'm alive and I feel and I'm writing about it. And this is me. And I like it.

The Cat in the Hat

So I love these sox. And whenever I wear them, I can't decide if I feel like Pippi Longstocking or the Cat in the Hat. But I think they are super fun, especially with Mary Janes, as you see here.

I don't know why, but taking photos of me in fun knee socks seems like just such a good idea! There's something very cheerful about stripey socks.

Dreams

I seem to have a particular talent for remembering my dreams. If I dream about a particular individual, I tend to tell him or her what I've been dreaming. I suspect that others may find this rather disquieting. I'm not sure why I feel compelled to tell someone, "Oh, I had this dream about you last night, and you and I were going on a picnic, when. . ." or whatever.

But here's what I dreamed this morning:

I was in class, and the students were taking a test. There was a group of about six sitting in the back, and they were clearly cheating on the test. Also, they were making quite a lot of noise and disturbing the rest of the group. I asked them to leave the room. But they wouldn't. Naturally, I felt both angry and threatened, so I telephoned public safety for an officer to come and escort them from the room. The public safety officer laughed at me and refused to come to my classroom. He asked me how old I was and tried to tell me I was a student, not the instructor, and as such had no right to throw anyone out. Meanwhile, the students continued their blatant cheating.

What really gets to me about this dream is that the students weren't just vague, generic "students," but actual individuals I have had in class in the past or who are in my classes right now. Also, I really did give test to both my sections this morning.

Does this mean I'm insecure? I'm not sure that I think dreams mean much of anything beyond the possibility of reflecting what's on our minds. But I am suddenly feeling like I need to psychoanalyze myself or something.

BTW, don't be too put off if I should ever telephone or e-mail just to tell you that I dreamed about you last night. I tend to do that.

So, this is going to be a really banal post, I'm afraid. Today, I went back to work. I'm finally feeling a lot better. Well, my symptoms are mostly cleared up, but I still feel tired a lot. In fact, I'm exhausted now. Also, I had an echocardiogram today. I'm still not sure why the doctor ordered that, but I got to hear the different valves, and that was kinda cool. It sounded like a lot of liquid moving around in something kinda squishy, which may very well be what goes on in the human heart. If only matters of the heart were so simple.

I'm tired, and I guess I don't have much to say. But I felt like I should contribute my daily post.

My New Obsession: Knee Sox

Ok, so my new obsession (along with tea, good books, and bubble baths) is now knee socks. This has been coming for some time. I love, love, love wearing cute / funny / quirky knee highs. They are so comfy with a comfortable skirt. And in my opinion, they are perfect for work. And so what I think I should do, as I'm making a concerted effort to wear them more often, is take all kinds of pictures of me (or maybe just my legs) in fun / funny knee socks. Isn't that loads of fun?

So look for pictures of me in interesting socks. In part, I have DC to thank for this obsession.

P.S. I also have a thing for tights in interesting colors and textures.

The Golden Compass, His Dark Materials Book I

I'm reading Philip Pullman's young adult novel The Golden Compass.


I have read the book at least three times before, and I've taught it at least twice before. It is a book that fascinates me, but I can't say the same for the other two in the trilogy, oddly. I guess that I'm here writing just to sorta collect my thoughts on the first portion of the book before we discuss it in class tomorrow morning.

SIDE NOTE: My panic has subsided! I'm drinking chamomile tea and pondering the cool knee socks that Dolce Carina sent me that I plan to wear tomorrow.

Back to Pullman: So he opens with an epigraph from Paradise Lost, and the trilogy becomes this weird response to Paradise Lost and by extension to traditional Christianity. But it's this really strange, unsettling, distasteful, almost adolescent response to Christianity. But that becomes more evident later in the trilogy. Now you may be wondering (sometimes I myself wonder) why I, a professed Christian, am so fascinated by this really weird, juvenile attack on Christianity. Maybe it's because I find the criticisms hard to take seriously. Several years ago at a conference this trilogy came up in a round table discussion of YA fantasy, and I remember one participant saying that Pullman comes off like a teen ager who has decided that God doesn't exist and is angry at God for not existing. And I think that observation gets at what it is about Pullman's critique that strikes me as groundless, silly, and even adolescent in nature.

At the same time, I find this first installment in the trilogy fascinating. I suppose that one thing that is interesting about it is the way in which the conventions of fantasy as a genre seem to be questioned. But then maybe not. WARNING: THIS POST WILL BECOME A PLOT SPOILER, SO STOP READING NOW IF YOU ARE SO INCLINED!!! Really, Lyra, the heroine, discovers by the end of the novel that the people she's been idolizing are really her biological parents. But THEN she discovers that both biological mother and father are the real villians of the piece; it really hearkens back to "I'm your father, Luke!" But that's troubling. Maybe this is the larger issue: in Pullman's world good and evil, right and wrong are never clear-cut. Some would argue that this is realistic. But it's so unlike the way that fantasy typically works. This is interesting.

Pullman writes, in this particular novel, of a world that is different from ours, yet very like ours in this way. I keep meaning to ask my physicist friend about all this, but apparently there's some theory (maybe part of quantum physics?????) that there are these alternate worlds out there, one created each time a major historical event happens. Only in the alternate world, it happened the other way. And so, horror of horrors, I suppose there's some world where Hiltler lived and dominated the Western world. In the case of The Golden Compass, it seems that Lyra's world is a world in which the Protestant Reformation deviated from what we know. This seems to be this historical point of departure. Again, this fascinates me. I say that the Reformation seems to be the separating point because there is a reference to trouble which began when "Pope John Calvin" moved the papal seat from Rome to Geneva. SIDE NOTE: John Dee is also mentioned along the way; I am always on the lookout for references to Dee.

I don't know what to make of this novel. How can I so much enjoy something that so overtly attacks what I really believe in and trust and love? I suppose it's because that Pullman is critiquing a version of Christianity that, really, is unlike the Christianity to which I hold. Maybe that's my way of justifying my interest in this novel.

So I've written all this and haven't even gotten to the most ineresting, engagin thing about Lyra's world--the presence of daemons. Each human is attached to an animal daemon, which is rather like a soul, a conscience, and a familiar all rolled into one. Humans are constantly with their animal daemons, who are physically present, and they communicate with them. Daemons work to structure the development of the characters, and here is Pullman's particular genius. This is really interesting to read about.

Oh, I've not really said all I've wanted to, and I'm not sure that I've clarified my ideas at all. But just writing through some of these things is helpful. I don't really assume that any of you really want to read all of this; I write it for myself. And it is useful to me.

Panic!

For some reason, I'm feeling really panicky for the last two hours. I went to church, went out to lunch, came home, took a very brief nap, did my taxes. And all of a sudden I felt panicky. When that happens, I worry that it will become this weird, full panic attack, so I try to take measures to prevent that from happening. Usually, it's helpful if I can telephone someone I trust and say that I'm feeling panicky and talk for 15 minutes until I get distracted enough to feel normal. That seems to work. But today, there wasn't really anyone I felt like I could call; I would have tried my mom but figured she was busy with church and family stuff. So that line of defense was out. The other big line of defense is to take drugs!!! Now wait, I know that taking pills just to stop panicking may seem to you like a bad / unhealthy / crazy thing to do. If that's what you think, I don't blame you. I used to think that way too. But about four years ago, my medical doctor convinced me to try meds for my anxiety. I don't have to take them all the time, just when I feel a panic episode coming on. Apparently, this is good because it gives me the illusion of being in control. I've had therapists and medical professionals over the years encourage me to take my meds more freely. The thing is that there is a potential for addiction, so I try to be really careful and only use meds when I feel like I need them. But they tell me I can and maybe should use them more often. So when I realized that there wasn't anyone to phone, I did take a Xanax, my current med of choice. But it hasn't kicked in the way I'd hoped. So here I am, blogging about my anxiety. I've found in the past that trying to describe my symptoms and how I'm feeling to another person, someone I trust, has been helpful in working through the anxiety. I know that it's only a feeling, yet it feels very real in the middle of it. And talking seems to help. There's no one to talk to, so this seemed like a reasonable alternative.

So there we go; I'm out of the closet about anxiety and panic attacks. Most of you already know all this about me anyway. I'm thankful that I no longer feel as though I have to hide it. I've also accepted that however unpleasant anxiety and panic feel, it all doesn't mean that I'm defective. I used to feel defective. Nor do I think it means that I'm not trusting God, a diagnosis that some have given.

Sometimes, I'm just going through my day, and things are going fine, and out of what seems to be nowhere, panic strikes. The good news is that I have learned in the last year or so to manage it much, much better than I used to.

I'm starting to bee some better. It's taken long enough. Still, this morning I went out to do some simple, enjoyable errands, and after about and hour and 20 minutes, I felt like I had to come home and take a nap. Is being old like this, I wonder.

I did want to say that I'm reading this Margaret Atwood novel, Life Before Man, that's really interesting. It's about a love triangle, but the interesting part is that it's told from the perspective of all three participants. I think Atwood is really quite a good writer, and I checked out a couple more of her novels from the library today during my excursion.

There's more I want to say about Atwood, about buying a home, about relationships in general, about Polly and Guinn, and I suppose I'll get to it when I get time and energy enough.

Relationships

So, I've been thinking a lot about what I'm looking for in a "relationship" and whether I really even want one or not. Is it way too personal to post that kind of thing in what is ostensibly a public forum? Probably, but when have I let that stop me before?

So I think that I do want to get married someday, provided that I meet just the right person. And that's seeming increasinly unlikely, as I'm looking for a rather unusual combination of qualities / characteristics. Some might say that I should try to be more open-minded. But I can't help the things that are important to me, even if they seem silly or minor to someone else.

A couple of years ago, a friend introduced me to a man that she thought might hold "relationship" potential. She was trying to make conversation with us, and she says to him, "So B., what kinds of books do you like to read?" knowing that I'm very bookish. He said, "Oh, I don't read much at all; reading puts me right to sleep." And he really seemed nice, intelligent, accomplished, physically attractive, had a very good job. But I was immediately put off by that comment. And that was really the end of that. Am I silly for discounting someone just because he hates reading? I just can't imagine spending each evening trying to make conversation with someone who doesn't read.

All I want is someone who will occasionally make me a cup of tea, read me John Donne's poetry, and go to church with me. Well, that's not ALL I want. But it's a start. Is that asking so much? Oh, and someone who will take my car in to get the oil changed for me. And in exchange, I'm willing to cook and do laundry and all that domestic stuff. Really, in spite of my career aspirations, I like domestic things. I love the idea of creating a comfy, homey space. Maybe I do have an inner homemaker.

I'm delirious, I know, so maybe none of this makes sense, but it's what I needed to say right now.

I went to the doctor again today--my ear is bothering me again. But here's the really great thing about it. After prescribing a nasal spray to help open up my ear, the doctor also prescribed a mystery writer that he thought I'd enjoy! Isn't that crazy? So I'm supposed to check out Margaret Truman, who is apparently the daughter of the former President.

I know this sounds weird, but I think I have the most kick-ass medical doctor. Sometimes, I wish we could just hang out even when I wasn't feeling sick.

So I'm still sick. And I'm supposed to be in Atlanta at a conference with Dolce Carina, but I was too sick. And I'm fed up with being sick. I know that my health is generally good, so I shouldn't complain, but I'm convinced that some of my symptoms are worse than they were two days ago. The truth is that I'm really starting to worry. Maybe that's really my real, real problem: that I'm a worrier.

On the bright side, it's nice to have an excuse to take it easy and lie in bed (I still have trouble with lie / lay; I mean I have to think about them whenever I write them) and read and watch DVDs. That's kinda nice. And all I really feel like eating is Mac and Cheese; Carina knows my deep, deep love for Mac and Cheese. sigh! I really wish I were with her today.

Oh, so I got all into House MD and watched the first season on DVD, and it was great and all that. But now it's over and the second season isn't out yet, and I don't get it on regular television. And all that to say that I'm having House withdrawals, on top of whatever else.

So there's my update. I'm not my usual thoughtful self. Sick does that to me, I suppose.

Carina, if you read this, know that I miss you today! And I love you lots!

Ok, I am still really sick. Most of you know this because I've e-mailed or called to tell you just how miserable I am. What I've been reminded of during this bout with a rather unpleasant virus is that I'm really bad at being sick. No kidding! I quickly get frustrated and irritable at not being able to do all the things I think need to be done. I really don't know what I'd do if I had some really debilitating, chronic illness. Seriously. I haven't been able to live at the pace to which I am accustomed for 12 days now (yes, I'm counting), and it's really getting to me. Part of me feels like I really need to practice yoga, and I just feel like I can't. I can barely walk up a flight of stairs without having to sit down and rest afterwards. I'm not exaggerating. And I haven't been writing, not anything. That always seems to lead to this weird, disconnected mental and emotional state for me. And that's what I'm feeling--disconnected--in addition to the physical discomfort. For the past week or so, I feel like I've lost myself somehow. I know that sounds really silly. I know that part of the difficulty is that while I was sick my family was visiting from out of town, and I tried to keep up with them as best I could. And I know that that probably just wore me down even further. And I haven't been taking very good care of myself. I haven't been eating very well, for example. I can barely make myself a cup of tea, much less dinner. I know I'm just complaining. But even with being sick, I want to get back on track somehow, and I just don't know if I can. I have so little engergy. Even the smallest task makes me unduly exhausted. (BTW, the doctor did test me for mono, and I was negative. I live in fear of catching mono and being out of everything for two months.) I sorta want to get things done and work and read and be more introspective, all the things that make me, me and make me feel balanced. But all I feel I can handle is sitting on the couch for a couple of hours, then taking a nap. This sort of thing makes me thankful for good health.

Breaking News!

Ok, so that title was a bit misleading. What I did want to say is that I know that I've somehow fallen behind on my mission to blog each day. Here's the thing: I'm really, really sick. And I'm just not getting better somehow. I guess there's more to it than just that. Last night my family left; they'd been visiting me from out of town. So I was busy and occupied with them. But mostly, I am really sick.

Shakespeare

I feel like I'm not supposed to admit this. I like Shakespeare, but I don't love him. Don't tell my brother, whatever you do. I'm reading A Midsummer Night's Dream right now. And it's interesting, and I enjoy it. But I don't love it. Shakespeare is funny. His use of language is fun and interesting. But (and I feel like this just isn't what I'm supposed to say) I just don't find much meaningful in Shakespeare. This isn't what English teachers are supposed to say or think. And I feel funny admitting it. Maybe it's like coming out of the closet. I have heard people say that in the end you either come down on the side of Shakespeare or the side of Milton, that you are the type of person who can love one or the other, but not both. Maybe I'm the type that loves Milton, if that dichotomy is true. I've also heard people say that it's either Shakespeare or Chaucer. If that's the case, I'm definitely a Chaucer kind of gal. Chaucer shows us human nature; Milton shows us "man's first disobedience;" but Shakespeare is just "words, words, words." I know that his tragic heroes have these great, heart wrenching speeches that are supposed to explore the human condition, the human tragedy. But in the end, their speeches always strike me as empty somehow, because the characters are so unable to transcend themselves. Maybe that's my problem. Shakespeare's characters never seem to get beyond themselves. Even the characters I rather enjoy--Benedic, Beatrice, Mercutio, Lear--they are just all about themselves. And nothing more.

I feel like maybe somewhere along the way I missed something really important that I was supposed to understand about Shakespeare and never quite got. Shakespeare is good. He's entertaining. He's a master of the language. But he's not great.

There's a tiny piece of me that fears the defect is in me, not Shakespeare. Afterall, western civilization (or at least the English speaking world) reveres him as some kind of god of literature. But he's missing something. He's missing the bigger picture.

Marshmallow Peeps

Some of you know that I have this absurd Peeps obsession. I find them oddly fascinating, like the whole train wreck thing, I guess. I mean, I don't actually like them as candy; I think they are pretty gross. But here are some great Peeps web sites:

http://www.peepresearch.org/ This site is my fav and shows just how resilient those marshmallow goodies are.

http://www.lordofthepeeps.com/lotp/fotp.html This site incorporates all my favorite things: Lord of the Rings, Peeps, Beer, and boys. Well, maybe not beer and boys. But Peeps act out the LOR.

http://www.millikin.edu/staley/fluff/peep_research.html And here is a study of Peeps and their library and research habits. This appeals to the academic in me.

http://members.ync.net/pdunn/macgab/fun/fun-peep.htm Finally, this site collects wonderful poetry about Peeps.

Really, truly, I think Peeps are gross as food, yet oddly fascinating as popular culture.

More Mix Tapes And Thoughts on Soundtracks

I know that I'm going overboard with all this, but really, this is my nature. When I latch onto something, I really latch. And there's very little I do by halves.

I've been making more mix tapes in my mind (Hey, Carina, remember the Super Booty CDs? I love those!), and I have to admit that I've always had this sneaking feeling in the back of my soul that maybe everything would be OK if only there were the right soundtrack playing in the background of our lives, you know? Like at those 11 moments, when things were just perfect, if there were only a song playing, it could be a way to capture the moment by connecting it to just the right song. Or maybe the tought parts, the 1 moments, would be more bearable if only there were the right song playing. You know, like when I wake up in the morning and have that fatal 3-minute window when I can haul myself out of bed and be successful or succumb to sloth and sleep for another 30 minutes, it seems like it would all be OK if only "Good Day Sunshine" were playing, or even "Here Comes the Sun." And that's another weird thing. Why the Beatles, always the Beatles for me?

It's weird that I'm thinking this because I don't think of myself as someone who's all into music. And I freely admit that I have all these weird, silly musical "guilty pleasures." Ask me if you are really interested to hear abou them.

I'm listening to the Proclaimers right now. If you are looking for recommendations, I think that the Medieval Babes (I think they spell it Medieval Baebes now) really KSA.

Much love and happy listening to all.

Most days, I think it's kinda interesting being me. I mean, I get to think interesting thoughts and do interesting things with my time. But then other days, like now, I wish I could just be "normal," rather than interesting. I know, I know: there are real problems with the whole "normal" thing. But I don't understand how it is exactly that I got stuck in this seemingly-divergent existence when everyone else I know seems to be doing all the normal stuff: having babies, cooking dinner, planting gardens. Whatever. I mean, I know I'm bookish and all, but I like those things too.

And I just read this blog post from this man who was all ranting that single women are single because while others were meeting prospective mates, they had their heads stuck in books and now are too wedded to their academic careers to get married. That really pisses me off. I mean, how dare someone make that assumption about me. I didn't just have my head stuck in a book, and here I am with a career and no spouse, not by choice. I mean, he said things to the effect of: so these single career women made their choice, and now they just need to live with it. That's so not me. To be honest, I always said that I never wanted my career to be more important than personal relationships and particularly than my family. I even took what I thought were appropriate steps so that a career wasn't all I had. And guess what happened.

I suppose I'm just lonely. Sunday evenings do that to me. Why are Sundays the worst?

To counteract all this, my plan is to make a nice dinner and have my weekly "date" with Inspector Morse. That's better than nothing, right?

Mix Tapes

Remember when we were younger, maybe in high school, and if you "liked" someone, you made him or her a mix tape? There was something really neat-o about those old school mix tapes, you know? I mean, I know that now we can download and upload and burn CDs for one another, and I have some pretty great CDs from some of you, but that's really not the same as a mix tape. I think that recording the tape takes more time and energy than simply clicking and dragging and burning. I have a mix tape that Cort made for me in college for my birthday, probably my 19th birthday. I still have it and listen to it occasionally, and I love it because it makes me think of her. One of the best things about it is that written on the label is "I love you, Drenu." That makes me really happy somehow. I bet she doesn't remember all this, but it still means a lot to me. Remember that scene in High Fidelity when John Cusack's character discusses the intricacies and nuances of making the perfect mix tape? There's something loving and meaningful and personal about it.

So I know all this sounds silly, but I'd been thinking about mix tapes lately and feeling kinda nostalgic for the early 90s. And then the last couple of days, I have been making mix tapes in my mind for each of you. And it's become this really interesting exercise. I mean, there are these songs that, for whatever reasons, I associate with particular people. My song for DW would have to be "Particle Man," for example. And my song for Stimerman would have to be that REM song "I am Superman." And this all becomes this fun, nostalgic exercise. So I've been thinking if I were to make a mix tape for each of you, what would it include? Or I'll hear a particular song and think, "This song is so totally so-and-so." There's just this affective association that I keep making.

I don't know. I long for the days of mix tapes.

This Morning

Two funny things have happened to me so far today.

First, on the way to work, I discovered that I know every single lyric of "Tainted Love," and I think that's quite an accomplishment.

Second, when I arrived at work, I discovered that my office was infested with pink bunny Peeps. They seem to be decorating everything. Since today's my birthday, I'm guessing this is someone's idea of a fun / funny birthday prank? A birthday present? What is it about Peeps anyway?

All this and it's not even 7:30!

Gail Carson Levine's Ella Enchanted

I've been rereading Levine's Ella Enchanted for class tomorrow, and although Levine is not a brilliant prose stylist, I think this is a really smart book. Before anyone asks, no, I did not see the film adaptation that came out a couple of years ago.

OK, so this is yet another retelling of the Cinderella tale. But it's smart and interesting without being heavy handed. There's something so likeable and authentic about Ella's character. And Levine explores some of the complexities involved with fairy tale notions of goodness and obedience; this is what's most interesting about this novel. Levine shows that forced obedience is not at all the same as intrinsic goodness. She also explores some of the difficulties and contradictions of the folk / fairy tale, especially in the way that women are represented. But this is more than just another feminist fairy tale, a genre that I often enjoy. Levine explores larger issues having to do with what constitutes goodness while playing with some of the conventions of the Cinderella tale type particularly and the folk tale generally. For example, the notion of fairies who practice magic and can influence mortal affairs is shown to be problematic for the mortals themselves. In this way, I think Levine is dealing with bigger themes: the difficulty that accompanies getting what one wishes for, the relationship between "fate," loosely defined and human will, and the troubling nature of magic in the realm of "faerie." (NOTE TO SELF: I'm way overdoing the specialized terms in quotes lately. It annoys me when others do this. Need to stop.) In the end, Levine offers a variety of options for females including marriage, adventure, and scholarly work all at the same time. Maybe this is why I like this book. Maybe part of me still wants to believe in the possibility of having and doing it all. I'm a really bad feminist, aren't I. OK, I'm going to stop with that line of thinking, in part because I keep resolving that when writing about things external to myself, I won't turn it into something about myself.

I think this is a really fun, wonderful book. I don't think I have much maternal instinct, but when I think about the possibility of having children, I get really excited about what I could theoretically read to and with them. Ella Enchanted would be a good one.

You Know You're an Alcoholic When. . .

Let me start by saying that this happens about every two months.

This afternoon, I came home from work, and my neighbors, across the hall (I live in an apartment) had TONS of empty beer bottles stacked up outside their door. I'm estimating that this is at least 25 six-packs. I suppose they are going to recycle them. I'm perpetually annoyed with my neighbors for one reason or another. And all the empty beer bottles don't help. I just had to take a picture of the stack of bottles. I'm afraid that without the pic you'd all just think I was exaggerating.

But really, at what point does one consider that he or she may have a drinking problem? The girlfriend has two young children; should she and her boyfriend be drinking this much in front of the children? One thing I'll say for them; they aren't drinking Bud light.

The Secret to a Good Mood

I just discovered the secret to arrive at work in a really great mood, and Dolce Carina will appreciate this. The key is to listen to the Pixies loudly the entire car trip. That's all it takes! I wish someone would have told me this years ago.

Wednesday (Wish it Was Friday)

I haven't been writing as much lately as I might normally. This, I know, is always a bad sign. Last night when I asked about "hitting bottom," I don't think I really meant it. In the last 2 1/2 years, I have thought I'd hit bottom any number of times, thought, "It has to get better, because there's no way it can get worse." Almost invariably, it does get worse. I have rarely felt so completely isolated. Maybe I shouldn't say that when so many of you have made a point of reaching out to me in the past week--got a wonderful, happy, encouraging e-mail from Cort a couple of days ago! I've not yet replied. So maybe it's my own fault for feeling isolated. I don't know. All I really want to do is sit at home with my puppies (what could be nicer than puppies?) and read and drink tea. It's so hard to get anything done. It's like disappointment and discouragement and going to work and pretending that I'm OK takes up all my energy. And the maddening thing is that I don't know how I got this way, how everything degenerated to this point. But it'll get better. I have decided that starting right now, I'm making it better. I'm here, at work. I'm showing up and doing what I can. And at least I get to talk about interesting things. I guess that all I can do is keep putting one foot in front of the other, like I've always done, and trust that some day I will wake up and feel better about things. Anyway, I really hope that's how it works, because I don't know what else to do any more.

How do you know when you've hit bottom?

Update

Not that anyone is all that interested, but I am home sick today. I feel so run down, like I can hardly do it anymore, you know?

But then then bus will pull up to a stop, and I'll realize that all of you are on the bus with me, and everything will be fine.

I really love every, single one of you, just for being there!

P.S. Just started a book called Don't Waste Your Life by John Piper. Has anyone read any Piper?

Fed Up!

So, I just want to say that I'm really tired of the snow. And I'm really tired of grading. And I'm really tired of "March Madness" being the only thing on TV.

Guinnie's Memoirs

Guinevere has decided to finally sit down and write her memoirs. It's something I've been urging her to do for a long time. We've decided that she can dictate and that I'll be her scribe. But just a quick preview--you can expect to read about such high points in her life as

when she was working as a waitress and was picked up by a mafia member, thus getting her start in the world

her involvement as a U.N. goodwill pup

her alleged involvement in the Pup of the Year scandal, the scandal that rocked the canine world, leading to the end of the coveted Pup of the Year Award and even the Pup of the Month award.

Guinnie wants you to understand that whatever she's done, it's always been for the "greater good" and not for "what could appear as the bad aspects" of the activity. She also says that she's a Jesuit.

Look for further posts as Guinnie begins the task of composing her memoirs.

Crazy

One more thing. . .some days I think I must be crazy.

Miscellaneous

There's all this random stuff I want to say. I'm drinking tea, and as I've said before, I do wish that sometimes there were someone else to make the tea. But there's just me. All I really want to do is drink tea and lie on the floor and listen to U2 until it's all better, you know?

Today, in class, we were talking about Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and one young woman raises her hand and says, "I know this doesn't have much to do with our reading, but I was just wondering what you think. Do you think chivalry is dead?" (I just talked to Carina about this.) I know that the proper, academic answer would have been to talk about how chivalry is a construct in literature and social history and never really existed, not like she's thinking and blah, blah, blah. I know that's the script I'm supposed to speak from. But instead, I said, "Well, judging from the men I've dated recently, I'd have to say that, yes, chivalry is dead." So, I know that was really the wrong thing to say. But it just sorta happened, you know?

So maybe temporal happiness is U2 and really good tea. Or maybe U2 and tea and a hot bath. And then a episode of House MD. Or maybe just bed in clean sheets. I have this thing for sheets right out of the dryer, you know?

Is it weird that I like George Michael? Does anyone remember back in the day when we could use the word "gay" as a general insult, and that was OK? I miss those days.

Maybe temporal happiness is reading John Donne and drinking tea. Or maybe temporal happiness is 1:00 am with your best, best friends, drinking wine and making biscotti or some such. Come to think of it, there are lots of things I like.

The Cutest Dog I've Ever Seen!

So I know that I'm silly and prejudiced and all that, but I think that Miss Perfect Polly is the cutest dog I've ever seen. Here she is asleep on my pile of dirty laundry. It's nice that my sloth is providing someone with comfort, don't you think? I think she's just beautiful and good and perfect, like an angel in canine form.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

As I've probably mentioned, I'm teaching Sir Gawain this week and next--oh what fun!

And since Archer asked, I thought I'd mention something about the hunt scenes in part III which parallel the Lady's purusit of Gawain. So these scenes are pretty clearly written to mirror one another, I would say. The narrative structure, if nothing else, indicates this for us. What I find most interesting is that on the three successive days, as Lord Bercilak hunts a deer, a boar, and a fox, both the Lady and Gawain seem to take on the characteristics of these creatures. I'd expect Gawain, the hunted, to parallel these animals, certainly, but I think the Lady does too. On the first day, her purusit of Gawain is graceful and apparently noble, like the deer. Gawain's response is the same. As one of my students said today, they are very "deery." On the second day, both are more stubborn, pig-headed even, as is the boar which Bercilak hunts and kills. In both scenes, the literal hunt and the figurative hunt back at the castle, both hunter and hunted show tenacity. Finally, both the Lady and Gwain behave in the manner we traditionally associate with the fox: they are cunning, sly, tricky, and not totally above board. So that's that. And it's interesting.

But I keep asking myself, "But what does it all mean?" And it seems to me that Gawain finds himself in a situation where he can only fail; it's a question of which fault he will pick, I suppose. Again, in the words of my students, he needs to cut his losses and get out with as much dignity in tact as possible. Arguably, this is what he does. But he still feels himself to be a failure. And I think this is exactly what it "means." Humans fail. Expecting perfection just doesn't work. Gawain can't be entirely perfect all the time, as he learns, in spite of his intentions. And, in the end, it's OK. I suppose that as much as anything, this analysis is really coming from where I am right now. (Ok, ok this is maybe not very sophisticated literary criticism, but it's what it is. And really, if we can't learn about ourselves from literature, what's the point?) We try to be perfect; maybe we think we have to be perfect. But we can't. This world just doesn't work that way. And in the end, it's Ok.

I'm entirely honest that I struggle with perfectionism. And it makes me crazy and anxious and miserable, sometimes. And it also means that I do a really good job with some things, but I don't even enjoy my successes because I focus only on the one, tiny thing that could have been better. I'm learning more and more to move away from this, but it's hard. I know that some of you can identify. I was talking to a colleague today, and he seems to think it's a product of being a female of my generation. Maybe there's something to that. Maybe it's the same old issue that I have with feminism--the idea that I have to be all things to all people all the time. Only I can't.

So I've done it again: I have taken a post about something outside of me, and I have made it about me. But I guess this is what I needed to write.

One more thing: henceforth, I want to be known as Pajama Sam.

Some days, you work and you work. And you feel guilty because you've made a student cry. And you come home and work at not having a panic attack. And once the panic subsides, you work some more, grading essay exams, which turn out to be much better than you'd anticipated. But still, the panic is there just below the surface. And you try really hard not to give in to the urge to pick up the phone to call your ex-boyfriend. You just want someone to talk to, but you know that calling him will bite you in the backside in the end. So you just keep working. And all of a sudden the exams are graded, and it's 6:30. So you order a pizza with feta an artichoke hearts. And you watch Empire Records, all the while unable to remember if you've seen in before. And you think how you love this genre of cheezy, high school hijinx movies, all the while telling yourself that maybe tonight's the night to start that "thing" you've been meaning to write. And you hope that bed time comes soon. And you hope that once bed time arrives you'll be able to sleep. And the phone never rings.

Sometimes Blessings Come From Unexpected Places

I'm taking a break from grading midterms for my "Touchstones of Western Literature" course. One of three options that my students had was to write an analysis of the story in Genesis chapter 22, where God asks Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac. I was pleasantly surprised at how many students chose this particular option. I was even more pleasantly surprised by the insight of their responses. So many of them pointed out that doing what we are supposed to do is difficult but that we are blessed in the end, blessed precisely because we do the difficult thing. I suppose this is exactly what I needed to hear, yet I didn't expect to find it among a set of sophomore-level midterms.

It so often strikes me that what we need comes from a source we wouldn't have expected.

iPod and Podcasts

I have little energy for today's post, so I'll keep it short.

NPR's free podcasts are a wonderful thing.

D

Larry McMurtry

I am reading McMurtry again. So far Texasville is pretty trashy. But he's this funny writer.

How's this for an opening sentence: "Duane was in the hot tub, shooting at his new doghouse with a .44 Magnum."

And here's something about Duane's wife: "She had thirty or forty T-shirts with lines from. . .songs printed on them. Every time she heard a lyric which seemed to her to express an important truth, she had a T-shirt printed" Couldn't this be me? Well, Karla does a lot of crap I wouldn't do, but couldn't this description be me in a weird, alternate universe, one where I live in Texas and have the means to obtain all the tees I want???

Lonely / Sad / Alive / Happy / Working

So today I read the first two "fitts" (that means parts, I suppose) of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. I know that I pretty much claim to love everything that I read, but I really do love Sir Gawain. You know, it's all medieval and stuff. No seriously, doesn't Sir Gawain's predicament tell us something about human nature, about how no matter how hard we try, we always fall short, yet others see us as being wildly, dazzlingly successful? What does it all mean? Is Gawain just a perfectionist? The Green Knight / Bercilak forgives him, so why can't he forgive himself? Ok, so I know that theologically some would quibble with this notion of "forgiving" one's self, but you know what I mean. Anyway, it's all interesting. Gawain's character is interesting. The language of the poem is interesting. If you are nerdy enough to care, I'm reading Tolkien's translation. It's all just wonderful and comforting on this very personal level. I realize that I say this kind of thing about nearly everything I read, and that's fine. Most of what I read for work / class is stuff I've selected because I like it so much and find it meaningful.

So Gawain is the good part. But I feel so very alone. I am overwhelmed and anxious. And I want to feel like someone cares, like there's someone I can call who won't be too busy or annoyed or whatever. But right now, it feels like it's just me and Polly and Guinnie, the evil non-genius. I don't want to always feel so alone. And most of the time I'm OK and all. But still.

Well, if you've read this far, thanks for listening to my rant. I love you for it.

D

Diana Wynne Jones

I'm reading Diana Wynne Jones's Charmed Life, and I want to say that Jones is, in my professional opinion (I say that because it sounds funny), one of the most under rated contemporary writers for young adults. She is inventive; she is a good writer. Why aren't more people reading and talking about her novels? I totally recommend her to anyone who is interested in YA fantasy, my current fixation. Jones seems to understand the experience of being a child in the late 20th century; there's something authentic about the perspective from which she writes. And I love it! If anyone's really interested Patricia Wrede is OK, and Jane Yolen can be good, both writing in the same vein. I wish there were something more academic or at least smart-sounding that I could say about Jones's work. In Charmed Life she writes a world parallel to ours where magic is fairly common. What's the theory? Where one posits that for each event (or maybe each major event) that occurs, there's some alternate world where that event turned out differently? If anyone knows the term for this theory, rather common in fantasy, let me know. I should know this. Anyhow, the characters find ways to travel between these parallel worlds, and it's all interesting, a fun read. But more than that, I think Jones has her finger on something about the selfishness of human nature. J.R.R. Tolkien would say that the great thing about fantasy is that it allows us to see truth about ourself in a clearer way by putting human nature in a different setting. (If anyone's really interested, read his "On Faerie." Now I really sound like an academic. I don't know if I can help it; I read, even think, through the lens of Tolkien and Lewis. Sometimes I feel silly about it; other times I just accept it.)

Anyway, I realiz that none of this is too profound. I think I'm writing to begin to collect my thoughts about Jones as much as anything.

It's The Little Things

I often find myself saying that I think, at least for me, one important part of being content each day is appreciating, even reveling in, the little, daily things that one enjoys. Today specifically, I am enjoying and am thankful for really good tea, my iPod (it's hard to remember living without it), Guinnie and Polly, a hot bubble bath, interesting reading material, fun DVDs, my physical health, my emotional health (hey, it's taken me a long time to get to this point!), the way my body and spirit feel after yoga, friends, and most of all God's presence in my life.

I know it may all sound cheezy (is that a technical term?), but I feel so joyously thankful for all this abundance! And I somehow feel as though I should share it with the world.

I sometimes feel invigorated when I wake up in the mornings, knowing that there's so much to look forward to during the day. I even happen to like Mondays.

Update on Augustine

Ok, so I just wanted to quickly say that I am reading the section on memory in the Confessions, and A. is beginning to rectify some of the concers and questions I had about the ability to trust one's memory. I'm feeling better about things. And I'm rather obsessing about A., which I am fine with (or rather, with which I am fine.) My biggest concern is what to read next.

The Office (and other DVDs)

I've spent the last three hours or so watching the first few episodes of the BBC's The Office, and boy, is it funny. And it's really offensive at the same time. And I can't remember the last time I thought that offensive could be funny. But this is. I guess the point is that these characters, while saying and doing potentially offensive things, are presented as real asses. And this is funny to me.

I have also started watching House M.D. on DVD. It's also very entertaining, but it took a while for me to get beyond thinking of Hugh Laurie as Bertie Wooster. But once I did, House seemed brilliant.

Ah, so much TV, so little time!

More on Augustine: This for "PDempsey"

My head is full of Augustine right now. And there's so much I want to talk about, but I am not sure how to organize my thoughts. But here's some of it:

The Confessions is interesting in that it's more about Augustine's intellectual and spiritual growth and less about the external events and trappings of his life. In this way, it rather reminds me of C.S. Lewis's Surprised by Joy, a book that always fascinates me. But how can one really retrace and recount for us his spiritual development. I mean, there seems to be something artificial or constructed about it, you know? I can barely remember what I was thinking last night. How can someone so clearly remember what he was believing and mulling over at a particular period in his life, a period maybe years in the past. I don't think that Augustine is making it up or anything; it just strikes me that he can never really get at the texture and sense and "quidity," to use a Lewisism, of his own mind at any particular time. Yet, I applaud the attempt and generally think that Augustine is successful. (Forgive me for comparing him over and over to Lewis. I suppose that for a variety of reasons, Lewis controls how I tend to think about the world, the mind, and literature specifically. This is sometimes troubling.)

I'm struggling to "get" Augustine's ideas about sin. Before I started reading, I would have been able to give a simple definition, maybe even an explanation, of A's theory of sin; that is sin as a falling short, but also as a kind of nothingness, something that does not exist because God has created all that does exist, yet God could not have created sin. Ok, ok don't jump all over me because that wasn't perfect--I'm just trying to get out the working definition I'd assumed when I began the Confessions. Yet there's something about it that just isn't adding up for me. And I don't know whether the intellectual and maybe imaginative shortcoming is in me or A. or both. But I want to understand. I'd like to better know what sin is (or isn't.) But I am just not getting it. I suppose I just need to keep reading. I'd like to believe that if I keep reading everything will be ok somehow.

I realize that this post isn't very coherent. I'm rather tired (what else is new?), and I'm mostly trying to frame questions. I'm not quite ready to work at answers yet. Maybe the questions are just as important as the answers anyway.

Where Does the Time Go?

I get frustrated often because there never seems to be the time for all the things I want to do, things that I think are important. There's so much I want to read and write about and talk about. But it seems as though my days are filled with meetings and phone calls that I let drag on for too long and doing nothing. Sometimes doing nothing is fine, but I'm talking about the doing nothing that isn't even enjoyable.

I mean, what I really want to do lately is read and take notes on what I'm reading and write about what I am reading. Augustine is calling me. But there are always papers to grade and bills to pay. It's not that I'm lazy or that I don't want to work. In fact, I am by nature, pretty highly motivated and disciplined. It's just that here it is, after 6:00, and what have I accomplished? Not all that much. I proctored two miderms: boring, but a necessary boring, I suppose. I went to a yoga class: three cheers for me, and boy does my back feel better. I had a doctor's appointment for my annual girl stuff: unpleasant, but again a necessary unpleasant made more barable by the fact that my doctor is wonderful. I came home and rested: rather a let down that I rested rather than doing productive things, but seemed needful. I cleaned and organized stuff around the place, athough you may not be able to tell by looking. I watched Dr Phil: this was highly unnecessary, and the silly part is that I watched it only because there was a dog in some of the footage that looked like Guinnie; couldn't miss seeing her again. But, really, where did my day go? And what beyond the work, yoga, and doctor was even meaningful or useful?

I want more time, not just to be lazy, but to pursue things that I believe are important to my intellectual and personal development. And here's my deep, dark secret: I want time to write, not just this silliness, but something meaningful. I think I need to pursue that for myself. But I don't; there's always a reason not to start, to put it off until another day.

I'm not upset. And I'm not being overly hard on myself. I am just baffled somehow.

NB: I realize that I've way overused the colon in this post. It may be my new favorite punctuation mark. The dash is my old favorite.

NB: I'm still avoiding writing about the things that matter to me most: love, pain, faith, doubt, people.

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say. I'm here writing because of some silly rule, some New Year's Resolution, that I've imposed upon myself. But I don't know what to say. I woke up this morning, thought "I can do this," and got myself out of bed. And the day just was. It wasn't anything noteworthy. There were high points and low points. And yes, I cried but only a little.

OK, I have decided that it's OK to cry. C. and I have been talking about this, and my mom and I have been talking about this, and I'm OK with crying. It doesn't mean anything is wrong with me or even that anything is wrong with my life. It could just mean that I'm tired and want a break. And I feel content and satisfied most of the time, so it's OK if I cry sometimes. I guess I have just decided to accpet that maybe this is normal for me. Or healthy for me. Or even if it isn't, it's who I am right now. And obsessing about it isn't going to make it any better or any different anyway, so I might as well just decide that it's fine. Maybe it's the whole 1-11 thing again; maybe I have those 1 moments each day, but it's OK because there are more and more 11 moments all the time.

What I do know is this: that even if I am crying a little each day (or most days, not every day), I am more satisfied and have more direction than I have for the past 2 1/2 years. That's not an exaggeration.

Tehanu

I've been reading Ursula LeGuin's Tehanu for a class. And there a just a couple of observations that I want to record, more for myself than anyone else.

LeGuin deals in this novel with the possibility and paradox of being two things at once--the old woman who is really a dragon, the abused child who really is powerful, and the woman who is both domestic and heroic. Tenar, a central character here, often reflects on her decision to pursue traditional, domestic female roles rather than learn to be a sorceress of some sort. And yet, we are never quite sure that she's made the best choice. It seems to me that Tenar can do both things, be a traditional female and be a radical female, maybe not at once but in one lifetime. Maybe this is what LeGuin is urging each of us to do.

I don't know; I'm still working through this.

"Evil But Not a Genius"

I have a brother J. who is 15. Some of you have known him since he was about 3. And if you know me or him at all, then you know that he tends to say really, really funny things. He also tends to do funny things. He has a way with words, sometimes a tendency to misuse words, that has been a source of amusement for me since he started talking. Here's an example:

About 4 years ago, when our niece E. was a baby, E. arrived at my parents' home wearing a winter time hat. It was a silly little hat, but she looked cute. And here was J.'s analysis. . .

"Hey, in that hat, don't you think like E. looks like she could be one of Santa's minions. You know, evil but not a genius."

Oddly, I think he's used the expression "Evil but not a genius" about my dog Guinevere.

Oh, And One More Thing (The Last For Today)

Also, I realize that I could do things that would maybe cause others to take me more seriously (e.g. not have a blog that screams "pink," not wear rainbow brite tee shirts, not wear a nose stud), but the truth is, generally silliness makes me happy. I don't want to be a pretentious academic who takes herself way too seriously, although I do take my field and my work seriously. I exult in colour (another British celebration) and popular culture and laughter and glitter and suffering and sadness. But I don't want to give up on those things. I want to be someone who can be comfortable wearing glittery make-up and still quote (or maybe misquote) Latin, you know? This is who I am, and I like this about me. Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.

Oh, One More Thing

I also realize that I at some point probably need to transcend the silly crushes on fictional characters that I seem to have developed recently. I get that. But really, I was only half serious in the first place.