The weather is suddenly cooler, and I guess that's nice. I mean, that's what weather is supposed to do this time of year, right? This time of year, my thoughts turn to nesting, winter time reading. Alas, I can't find Jane Eyre, which seems like exactly what one should be reading just now. Recently, I read The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield, who is apparently a first-time novelist. And it wasn't terribly literary or deep but was a good read. And it reads in some ways like a 19th century novel, which may be part of the point. Still, it made me rather long for Jane Eyre, which it references several times. In the absence of Jane Eyre, I could turn to Jasper Fforde's The Eyre Affair, which is a spectacularly fun read! Dolce Carina described it as being something like Harry Potter and good detective fiction all in one, and she's right, as she so often is. I highly recommend Fforde. He's just lots of fun. Lots of literary in-jokes.

OK, last week, T. asked me if I wanted a copy of Kerouac's On the Road. T. is teaching a class on beat poetry next term, and the publishers had sent him extra desk copies. Well, I almost never turn down a free book, and since I've never read Kerouac, it seemed like a good opportunity. And so on Sunday, I started On the Road. I read maybe the first third. And that was enough. It generally annoyed me. And it somehow seems trite, overdone, self-involved, and all kinds of other icky things. But my question is this: am I a washed-up, old fuddy duddy if I don't LOVE Kerouac? Seriously. I mean, I want to be all hip, and so I'm supposed to like his brand of drivel, right? But I just couldn't do it. I wanted to like it; I really did.

And now I'm back to P.D. James's Inspector Dalgleish. I'm rereading the first Dalgleish novel. And it's grand. And I remember why I liked James in the first place. I think that the Zoloft has made me even more enthusiastic about reading that I'd normally like. I mean, I'm always all for a good novel, but I'm really having this sense of reveling in my reading lately. This is a good thing.

So I'm not going to bother to proofread before posting; please excuse the inevitable errors!

Ok, so I don't really know what exactly I want to say, only that the Zoloft seems to be a good thing, at least for now. And really, I don't like the idea of being on meds, but I suppose that it's worth it if I feel better. It's like suddenly, I feel motivated to do all the things I'd been putting off. And I'm feeling less worried, less upset. In fact, I'm even relatively unfazed by the mouse problem I'm having. I just sorta feel like I can deal with it and like everything will be OK. This is how I should feel, right?

Ok, I think it's just best to be really honest and open about this: I am depressed. Yes, I've diagnosed it myself. I've also put myself on Zoloft. You see, I'm a doctor. Well, I'm not that kind of doctor. But I know myself well enough to realize that things aren't so OK, you know? And I'm sure that if I knew how to use the whole DSM thingy, I'd find that I'm suffering from depression, accompanied by an anxiety disorder. But for me, anxiety just seems to be part of life. It's like it's part of my make-up or something. Doctors, "real" doctors, say that there's a genetic component to this sort of thing, but my mom insists that she doesn't know of anyone on either side of the family who struggles with anxiety. And this all makes me wonder, what did we call panic attacks, say, 100 years ago? I mean, I assume that panic attacks, anxiety disorder, OCD, and all the rest are not recent developments, new conditions. Or maybe they are; maybe these are just symptoms of societal post-modernism or something. Or maybe it's all just some sort of post-feminism, I-can't-do-second-or-third-wave-anymore kind of affliction. Seriously. I feel like we Gen-X women, we 30-somethings females are under all this pressure to be all things to all people. And I know that so-called third wave feminism is supposed to be about having choices. But I feel like society (yes, that nebulous, non-personal "society") is telling me that I'm supposed to be Super Mom, to have a fulfilling, stellar career, to spend six hours a week at the gym, and to cook like Julia Childs all at the same time. And I'm convinced that most of us can't do all those things. I know that I tend to rant about this too frequently. But it bothers me.

And so, I am, at the end of the day, depressed. I keep going, keep getting out of bed, keep going to work, keep paying the bills, keep answering e-mails (well, I answer most e-mails, anyway), but I'm tired, and there are days when I don't want to keep going. I want to stay in bed and pretend that it's not happening, not like this. I feel, again, like I'm in Wonderland, stuck in a life that I couldn't have imagined, a life filled with nonsense. I'm stuck in relationships where communication breaks down, and we're all finally alone.

I really don't have a lot of time to sit here and write. But I wanted to say that I'm just tired, tired mostly of always doing what I think I "should" do. There's something in me that wants a month or a week or even a day off of all the "shoulds." I want to lie in bed all day and eat ice cream. I want to think only of myself, of what I want for a while. I want to be able to relax. I want to stop concerning myself with what everyone else thinks. I want to walk away from the stacks of essays and papers.

Beowulf

I feel like I need to say this out loud:

I LOVE Beowulf, love it, am excited by it, adore it. But I'm finally admitting it: a book can't keep me warm at night.

Ok, I'm plagiarizing here, but lately I feel like "House of No Momentum." Seriously. (Side note: I'm way overdoing the "seriously" in my own writing--I realize this.) I don't know what my deal is lately, but I'm having a really hard time getting anything done. I shouldn't say "anything;" it's more like I'm having a really hard time getting professional stuff (and laundry) done. It's like all I want to do is read, write, crafts, cook, whatever. But my teaching feels sucky, and grading just isn't happening. This is unlike me, and it rather concerns me. First, I'm not a procrastinator by nature; I'm just not. I don't like to let things pile up, even first-year essays. Second, I'm not one to wait around until I feel "motivated" to do work. I firmly believe that action begats motivation, that if I work at something, eventually momentum gets built up, and that's where the feeling of motivation comes from. Still, it's like nothing is getting done. And really, part of it's this whole weird anxiety / perfectionism thing: I feel like I can't get down to working, to grading, to even reading for class until I get my desk and my office area all neat and organized. Maybe that's a backwards kind of procrastination, or something.

I feel sluggish. And I keep telling myself that I'll be OK if only I do more yoga, which I somehow seem to never get to either. And all I really want to do is read popular fiction and threaten to read Virginia Wolf, although serious reading isn't really happening for me either. I want to knit and crochet and make soup and take photos of everything interesting that comes my way. And crafts, paper crafts especially.

OK, so now that I've turned this post into a big, whiney rant, I might as well go for it. I also feel like sucky teacher lately. I'm only teaching three classes this term. One is loads of fun and is going reasonably well, although the students aren't always as responsive as I'd like. This may be attributable to the 8:00 time slot. And another is going mostly OK, although I'm drowning in grading that just isn't getting done. The third is painful. And I can't figure out what the deal is. It's a class that I've taught at least four (I think more) times before, and I think I've been succesful in the past. I waltz into class each day with my usual enthusiasm, give my usual song and dance, and the students just aren't into it. They don't answer questions, don't even seem to pretend to be interested. And I don't know what to do about it. I'm sure that part of it has to do with the actual, physical classroom. The class is overenrolled, and there aren't enough seats if everyone shows up, which is kinda a problem. And the students are all kinda squished in, and there's this derelict looking TV and VCR on a cart in the corner. I don't know; it's just not, apparently, super conducive to learning or something. And so there I am, putting in my three hours a week, play acting in front of an audience that positively exudes apathy. Ah well, only eight more weeks of class, and then it all changes.

And then there's the loneliness. The more that I think about relationships and such, the more I come to believe that companionship is really what I want, you know? Someone to share the silences and empty spaces with, someone who's somehow willing to play along with popcorn and BBC adaptations of murder mysteries. Does that make sense? And really, "a little conversation," provided its with the right people would go a long way.

And what is it about Virginia Wolf? Why do I keep coming back to her? What's going on there that I think I can identify with? I can't figure it out. Kinda makes me think that what I really need is a good psychoanalyst. I mean that only half-jokingly. What is it about VW that I want to embrace or even to be? I can't figure it out. I'm spending my life as what Julia Cameron calls a "shadow artist," always loving words, images, writing, yet not being brave enough to produce art of my own. And maybe that's it. Maybe I want to be VW (sans, the insanity, of course). Or maybe I just believe in the power of words, that reading and writing can somehow save me, can save us all.

Girl Seeks Bliss

Ok, I'm reading (just started) this book: Girl Seeks Bliss. And I'm so excited that here's this book about practical Buddhism for trendy 30-something women. And I'm certainly no expert, but I think that at least some aspects of Buddhism really are compatible with Christianity. Recently, I've been struck by the fact that it's so helpful to simply accept what is, rather than being sad or angry or disappointed over what I think should be. And I don't see this as at all counter to Christianity.

My other big thing, at the moment, is Kimberly Wilson's Hip, Tranquil Chick: www.hiptranquilchick.blogspot.com. I just LOVE her podcasts. And she's totally what I aspire to be, in some ways. The hip, tranquil chick is someone who practices yoga, practices mindfulness off the yoga mat, and still appreciates cool clothes and fun lip gloss. Plus, Kimberly is all about pink. I totally feel like she could, in different circumstances, be my best friend or something. I just really like what she's all about. And, in fact, Girl Seeks Bliss, is a book she recommended in one of her podcasts.

So, I'm no expert about any of this. But I'm enjoying reading what I'm reading. And it's all making me realize that I want to be more committed to practicing both yoga and meditation, not that those two are clearly separable. And maybe I'll post more on this later, but I've also been reading about contemplative prayer as meditation, and that's fascinating too, although I'm not sure that I'm quite ready to incorporate it.

I don't know. I guess that I think it's good to think about being all Zen and accepting and in the moment. I certainly need more if it in my life right now.

Blog, Blogging, Blogged, Have Blogged

Sometimes, I can't believe that I actually use "blog" as a verb. And I know that I haven't posted anything ("haven't blogged") in a while. I think there's a lot that I haven't been keeping up with lately, the last week or so. And it strikes me as especially funny in that weird post-modern kind of way that to blog about not blogging is so "meta," if you know what I mean. But here I am. I'm waiting for my new super-sexy printer to initialize, and I'm using the time to blog about why I haven't been blogging. And seriously, I hope I can handle installing this new printer myself. I'm no techno-wiz; kinda wish I were. But if I were all techno-inclined, I wouldn't be me, right? Isn't it all part of my charm? Maybe not. I hope the printer works like it's supposed to. This sort of thing makes me anxious. But I'm here to say that despite the lapse in blogging, I'm alive. I'm well. Well, I'm getting by at any rate, and maybe that's the best we can hope for.

"Hellow Goose!"

Ok, so this one's mostly for Mom, because it's all rather an inside joke:

This morning on my way to work, I looked over my shoulder at the window in the back seat. And the sun and moisture were just right that I noticed that someone had written "Hellow Goose" with his or her finger on the window, obviously written from the inside.

I giggled and cried.

More On Pretending

Ok, so my method for coping is to pretend. I always think that if I pretend to work, then eventually, actual work will get done. And if I get up in the morning and pretend that everything's OK, then someday, everything will, indeed, be OK. So one of the weird / silly / neurotic ways that this pretending thing plays itself out is in my appearance on any given day. Often when I'm feeling upset or anticipating a difficult, stressful day at work, I try to somehow cheer myself up by dressing in a way that I think is extra cute or extra interesting, which in the eyes of the rest of the world, may just translate into "interesting" or just plain weird. Nevertheless, it's my method, and as Dolce Carina recently said to me, "You do what you have to do to get by, and that's OK." So I'm OK with all of it. Except this morning I think I got a little carried away with the eyeshadow. So I had this outfit all picked out that I thought was cool and hip and a little bit retro, and I had this cool, trendy skinny scarf, and it was all good. But I decided that blue and pink eyeshadow would be the way to go with it all, right? And the blue, which I applied in this kinda dramatic wash, mid lid to eyebrow, was really darker than I realized. And while my fashion sensibility allowed me to approve, it really wasn't terribly appropriate for work. But really, when is my appearance terribly appropriate for work? Seriously. And of course by the time I realized it, there wasn't time to wash it off and start over fresh. So I went to work, pretending as always, with a pink stripe of eyeshadow nearer my eye and irridescent blue all the way up to my eyebrow. And pink shimmer on my cheeks (not my "cheekies;" there's a difference). And I know that it wasn't terribly professional. And I wonder if my colleagues were like, "What's with her today?" or if, instead, they were like, "Hey, there's that 'interesting' Drennan again!" Either way, it made me feel better about my day, my self, about being in Vermont in the fall, in the rain.

I wanted to say that tonight is, like, my dream-night when it comes to TV. And I'm watching more TV than ever before in my life, and maybe I need to just be OK with it. But really, tonight at 8:00 is House and at 9:00 is Grey's Anatomy, which by the way I like less and less all the time. Then at 10:00 is Dog: The Family Speaks which is some special thing where the Chapman family weighs in on Dog's, Leland's, and Tim's recent arrests. Really, House and Dog--what could be finer. Good thing I have good ice cream in the freezer. This is how we know I'm getting older--TV, rather than going "out"--is super exciting.

Confession: I Heart Dog the Bounty Hunter

Ok, I'm just going to come out about this. And my family already knows. Seriously. I think that Dog the Bounty Hunter is Kick-Ass. Really. And for a while I was afraid to admit it, you know? It's like not wanting people to know that you read the Weekly World News (aka "The Paper"), but I've decided that I should be open about it and confess that I think that Duane "Dog" Chapman is a wonderful human being. Really. He's turned his life around, after doing time. But what I really love about Dog and his "posse" is how they are all tough when they go out on a bounty. They talk really big about how they are gonna kick ass and bring the guy to justice. But (unless the guy is beating on women), Dog and Tim and Leland and the rest turn out to be big softies. They get these addicts and sit them down and try to actually help them. Really, I believe that the Dog, despite appearances to the contrary is really this kind, caring guy. So here's a good Dogism: "This is the second chance business and we are good at it because we are second chance people." And that's what I love about Dog; he's really so about helping people. And I really believe that he connects with his clients because he's been there. Plus, I love it when he talks about being the vacuum salesman. I think he's super smart. And I'm protesting his recent arrest, because really, didn't he do us all a favor by chasing down the so-called Max Factor Heir? Isn't the world a better place because Dog's in it? When I first saw his TV program on A&E (and A&E itself is a rant I'll save for another time. Suffice it to say that A&E is no longer the A&E I knew and loved.) . . .oh yeah, when I first saw his show on A&E, I thought it had camp value, and I'm down with that. A little camp every now and then can be a good thing. But Dog's beyond camp. He's the real thing. And so, let us not forget that "This Dog bites, but only when he has to."

Frustration

So one thing that really annoys me, really frustrates me is when students make appointments and then just don't bother to show up. I realize that things come up at the last minute, that people get sick, whatever, but it seems to me that the least one could do would be to phone or even e-mail to say, "Sorry, I won't be able to make it after all."

Today, for example, my only class is 8:00-9:15, which is really quite a nice schedule. I have one advisee who's been saying for the last two weeks that he really needs to see me. So I made an appointment to see him at 10:30, just before his 11:00 class. Now, I know from past experience that he's kinda flakey, and all morning, I had a creeping suspiscion that he (we'll call him "A), that A wouldn't show up. And I was tired this morning. After class, all I really wanted to do was to go home and rest. I hadn't slept well the night before, and I knew I'd have to be back at work at 3:30 and would have to stay until into the evening for a long meeting. So I really just wanted to go home, get some breakfast, and rest. Of course, I didn't. I waited around for A. I didn't get much work done, but I was here. And guess what--A didn't show up. No phone call, no explanation, nothing. He just didn't show up.

This kind of thing really annoys and frustrates me. I'm just trying to do my job. And I just want to do a good job of everything I do. And I really care about my students, don't mind taking time for them. But I guess that I expect a level of maturity that they just haven't reached.

Note to self: in the future, be more realistic in your expectations.

Weighing In on House

OK, I'm at work, pretending to work, which I'm pretty good at, but not really getting much done. And I realized that what I really want to do is to weigh in on last week's season premier of House, M.D. And I know that I've already had this conversation with at least one person, but I feel like I need to get this on record or something.

So here's your warning: PLOT SPOILER. STOP READING NOW IF YOU DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT LAST WEEK'S EPISODE.

First, I don't necessarily watch a lot of television, with the exception of Law and Order, which in its various incarnations seems to be on all the time. But I really, really love House, or I did until last week. In fact, tonight, I'm planning to go to a poetry reading at 7:00, but I'm really tempted to skip it so that I don't miss the new House, and this is unlike me--to plan my schedule, my social life around TV.

Second, Hugh Laurie is, in my estimation, absolutely brilliant. And I LOVED him in Jeeves and Wooster; I cannot recommend it highly enough. But his role in House, so utterly different from Bertie Wooster, proves that Laurie is this brilliant, wonderful actor.

All that said, I was kinda disappointed in last week's season premier episode. I have to say that last season's finale was kinda dumb. So House is shot by the crazed ex-patient guy, right? And he hallucinates. I found it all to be a let-down; it just wasn't what I'd come to expect. (Side note: don't get me started on the thin, beautiful women that work with House--so unrealistic. And has anyone noticed that Cuddy's necklines get lower and lower? Oh wait, House himself commented on that, didn't he?) So in the premier, House is back to work, thinks he's fully recovered. And, apparently, his leg is fine; he's running several miled each day. He's also off of the Vicodin. And of course, without the Vicodin, he's bored, not himself, engaging with the world in a new kind of way. There was just something wrong about it. And so, at the end of the episode, his leg starts bothering him again, and he writes himself a perscription (on Wilson's pad????) for Vicodin. I don't know. There's just something depressing about it all. I mean, as a viewer, I guess that I don't really want House to recover and be healthy and well-adjusted. That wouldn't be any fun. But to see a partial (and not very believable) recovery only to witness his spiral back into pain, cynicism, and Vicodin just isn't very satisfying either.

Tonight's episode promises to be about a boy who claims to have been abducted by aliens. This seems like a weird stretch. I'm expecting Fox Mulder to show up at any moment.

P.S. Love it when House rides a motorcycle.

Favorite Postmodern Moments

Since posting about Paul Anka this morning, I've been thinking about my favorite recent postmodern kind of moments. And I'll give you a list in a second. But does anyone remember that episode of The Simpsons where Moe redecorates his bar? So there are all these crazy things in the bar, like these weird rabbits running in those hamster wheel things attached to the ceiling. And there's a comment from one of the patrons (Moe's is suddenly really popular with the hip, young set) about it only being OK to watch football if one is being ironic. Anyway, Homer and Lenny and the other guy think it's kinda crazy, and they are like, "Moe, what's the deal?"

And Moe says, "It's Po Mo." Homer looks at Moe strangly, and Moe explains, "You know, postmodern." And when Homer still doesn't get it, Moe further explains, "Weird for the sake of weird."

So I really love that analysis. Anyway, here are some of my very favorite recent post modern developments:

1. Paul Anka singing Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit"

2. Audrey Hepburn dancing to "Back in Black" in the new Gap commercial

3. The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales (Ok, ok, that's not such a recent development, but it's too good to leave out)

4. Anything pertaining to "The Donald"

5. A book becoming a bestseller overnight, just because Oprah says it's worth reading

6. Oh, John Karr's being a big celebrity, all because he's obsessed with poor JonBenet; of course, we, the viewers, must be obsessed in our own way to have latched onto the story the way we have.

7. The mandate that requires Cookie Monster to cut back on the cookies and eat more fruits and veggies. This seems, to me, to be this weird, postmodern conflation of this pop icon with political correctness in a way that just makes no sense. Seriously. Does he now sing, "Celery, celery, celery starts with C"? This is beyond stupid in my book.

8. Having to refer to Prince as "The Artist, formerly known as Prince." Again, not such a recent development, but it's all so ridiculous that I think it's worth mentioning.

9. Does the development and coinage of the "prequel" count? Because isn't there something postmodern about the concept of a prequel, not something that comes before, but something that's constructed after the fact to be as though it came before. And really, not that this has any bearing on anything, but for the record, I kinda liked JarJar Binks.

10. Stephen Sondheim's Into the Woods. Ok, really, I think Into the Woods is really a brilliant show. And I'd say it represents the best of postmodernism, to my way of thinking. I really love the song that Little Red Ridinghood sings after her encounter with the Wolf, where she observes that "Nice is different than good" and that having all this new, adult knowledge is both wonderful "and a little bit not" so wonderful. I can't say enough about how smart I think Sondheim is in his analysis of the fairy tale. Any while the show is quite entertaining, I think it's powerful.

So, if all this stuff were in a novel by Thomas Pyncheon and hadn't actually happened, what would we say? Would we be like, "That's too crazy. That could never happen?"

What are your favorite postmodern moments?

9/11

I'm working very hard to ignore all this 9/11 rememberance stuff. I just don't want to get all emotionally caught up in it; I feel like I can't afford it right now. And besides, I remember. I remember that day, what I was doing, who I was with, how it felt, how I felt in the weeks following. And, I don't know, people die every day, often tragically, in accidents, murders, and they deserve as much rememberance, right? I don't know; although I'm quite studiously pretending it's just another day (and defiantly listening to The Proclaimers to emphasize it all), I feel terribly alone. Life is so short, and I want to live. And I don't want to spend the rest of it alone, I suppose, but each day, I'm more and more OK with the aloneness. And that's a good place to be, right?

Re Paul Anka and Guns N Roses

A couple of months ago, I heard an interview with Paul Anka on NPR. Apparently on his new album, he also does a cover of some Nirvana song (I think it was "Smells Like Teen Spirit," but I confess to being one of those geeks who thinks that all Nirvana songs sound alike. And I'm convinced that the only lyrics go like this: "Come as you are, as you are, however you are, just come like that. . .a mullato, an albino, a mosquito, my libido. . .come as you are, as you are. . ." and so on.)


So Saturday afternoon, we had this teriffic thunderstorm, and I spent nearly an hour listening to "November Rain" over and over and gazing out the window. And I know it's only September, but it all seemed appropriate somehow. And I spent way too much time creating a playlist in iTunes, a playlist titled "Sad, Broken Relationship Songs;" it's cheezy, I know. But it all felt like what I needed--cathartic somehow.

But maybe I do need the new Paul Anka, as someone suggests. And is it really true that Axl Rose is some crazy recluse who's spent, like, the last ten years working on the perfect album and that his old band mates won't work with him anymore because he's all obsessed with perfection and can't get along with any of them? Any information on Axl Rose would be appreciated.

Hair Bands

OK, I've been feeling nostalgic for the late 80s and especially the 90s. And that means that I'm listening, almost obsessively, to that kind of music. And while some of it (Guns N Roses) might be considered OK musically, I have to admit to enjoying really marginal pop music, notably Poision and Def Leppard. Bon Jovi is good too.

Singing A New Sgt. Pepper Song

And so last night, my favorite best friend called around 8:00, and since then, I'm singing a new song. She listened to all my worries and said all the right kinds of encouraging things. I think that you know you've found a really good friend when you tell her all the stupid decisions you've made, and she doesn't make you feel like you are so stupid after all. And so now, I keep thinking, "I get by with a little help from my friends."

I Love You, Billy Shears!

Ok, so I woke up with this crazy headache, which I was sure the perfect cup of coffee would cure. Incidentally, I've a new favorite coffee; it's Green Mountain Coffee Roaster's Harvard Blend. And I'm pretty sure it's only avaliable in New England. But it's this great blend of light and dark roasts, not too bitter. It, however, did not completely cure my headache. And the weird part about all of it is, I can't stop singing the Sgt. Pepper album to myself. You know it's like I'm walking down the hall, hearing "Woke up, fell outta bed, ran a comb across my head." And later: "We're Seargent Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, we hope you will enjoy the show." And still later: "And it really doesn't matter if I'm wrong, I'm right, where I belong I'm right, where I belong. See the people standing there who disagree and never win and wonder why they don't get in my door."