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.