I should be working, so I'll keep this brief. In case anyone's interested: I'm markedly less depressed. Things suddenly feel normal. This is a big improvement!

Things I Like. . .

1. Over-the-knee socks

2. Bubble baths

3. Boston Terriers

4. Brothers

5. Nieces

6. Pie

7. "Friday I'm in Love"

8. Autumn

9. Inspector Morse

10. Stripes

11. Make-up

12. The sky

13. The Beatles

14. NPR

15. Harry Potter

16. Pigeon Pose

Ok, so I'm increasingly depressed. And I can't seem to get anything done, and I feel really stupid about it all. Just getting out of bed in the morning feels like a Hurculean struggle, and I'm normally pretty morningish. But my first thought on waking is something like, "I wish I could go back to sleep and pretend that today isn't happening." Only today is always happening. And I'm not anxious so much all the time, just really depressed. I'm like a slug, although I practiced Yoga for an hour yesterday. Still, it's like nothing's getting done, and I can't even make myself WANT to get things done. And, to be honest, I'm starting to worry about myself. I don't know. Maybe this post is really just my cry for help. Or maybe I'm being over indulgent, somehow.

I just realized, about an hour ago, that I hadn't posted in a while. So, here's my big news: I just dyed my roots pink. Now, those of you who have known me for any length of time probably know that I seem to have more than my fair share of hair color disasters. This I attribute mostly to my propensity to decide, without much real consideration, that my hair NEEDS to be a funky color (or just something different) right this very second ("immediately, if not sooner"). And sometimes, it just doesn't work out quite the way I had planned. For example, there was the time when I decided that my black wasn't black enough, was too ashy or brassy or something. So using blue "Fudge" seemed like a good solution to, you know, cool off the color somehow. And I used it, rinsed it off in the shower, and while my hair looked good, my skin was tinted blue for the next week. While this is maybe not strictly a hair color SNAFU, some claimed that I rather looked like a Smurf. Now that I think about it, I wonder if I looked like the black-haired, evil Smurfette, because really, I always thought that although evil, she was kinda sexy. SIDE NOTE: I don't subscribe to the blondes-have-more-fun theory; I think brunettes and red heads are often prettier. Then, there was the time, not too long before I moved to Vermont, when I tried for pink streaks. That didn't work at all. And apparently, I didn't learn from that mistake, because I used the same product tonight. However, I must say this: My method was different. Apparently, it's all in the method. And I guess, really, that I can't be so terrible at this hair color stuff, because Carina let me color hers once. Wait. She ONLY let me do it once. Oh, and then there was the time I bleached my brother J's hair. Only, I didn't apply the bleach very uniformly. It resulted in his being dubbed "Patches" at summer camp.

Ahhh. . . so many colors, so little time!

Overheard Conversation

"I just want to be able to go out into the woods and drag something back and be like, 'I killed this with my bare hands' or 'I found a rock and sharpened it'"

I Blew Chunks

Ok, on Saturday, I had a "rather unpleasant, unclean experience." And I know that most people would feel great embarrassment if this had happened to them. But I just keep thinking that it's somehow funny.

On Saturday morning, I left for a day trip to Salem, Massachusetts; yes, home of the infamous Salem Witch Trials. In between memories of The Scarlet Letter and The Crucible, I learned that John Lennon had made a point of visiting Gallows Hill, the site where 19 of the accused witches were hanged. And I had this great day, visiting The House of the Seven Gables, among other stuff.

However, just after lunch, I started to develop a headache, and it got worse and worse. I get these headaches that I call migraines because, among other things, they make me feel nauseated. Anyway, by the time we boarded the charter bus to return home, I was feeling pretty sick. And about 15 minutes into the 3 1/2 hour drive home, I threw up (yes, I blew chunks, yawned in technicolour, up-chucked, puked, barfed) on the bus. It was all over my clothes and the seat where I was sitting. And there wasn't all that much cleaning up I could do, aside from what can be done with dry paper towels. And so I had to ride home in my own vomit.

I know this is all really gross, and I realize that I'm forever branded as "The Professor who Puked on the Bus in Salem," but all I can think is that it's just really funny somehow.

I Heart Umberto Eco

I've just started Eco's The Island of the Day Before, thanks to my dad. And there's so much that I want to say about Eco and semiotics and medievalism and postmodernism and narrative theory. I wish there were someone appreciative to whom I could say these things. And although I've avoided it and repressed it all these years, maybe it's time to give in to my urge to study and read and write about contemporary literature and postmodernism and popular culture. And did I tell you that I'm planning to teach The Muppet Show in my 20th century class next semester?

Stalled

It just hit me: I'm feeling stalled. In fact, I dare say, I AM stalled. It's like I somehow can't get going, but am not so distressed about it as I would imagine. Is this merely the antidepressants? This worries me. I'm not getting as much done as I'd normally like to be getting done, but at the same time, I'm not so upset as normal about not getting things done. It's like I'm not making progress somehow, but it's just not grating on my nerves the way it normally would. And I have to ask myself: is this who I want to be? I know that maybe this doesn't make sense. I tried to explain it to J. the other night, and I realized that it's all pretty darn complicated, and it's near impossible to articulate. But it comes down to this: I'm suddenly afraid that I won't be me anymore without stress and anxiety grinding down my psyche. Really. I'm afraid that I'll be stalled forever, that I'll never amount to anything, but that I'll just never care. This is not at all how I perceive myself, at least until very recently, nor is it the way I want to live my life. I want to commit myself to my work and to crafts and to books and to people, and I want to do all these things passionately. Lately, my greatest passion seems to be physical comfort. And so, I find myself stalled. And I don't know what to do. I am wondering if living with anxiety, however debilitating it sometimes became, was preferable to this. I mean, often the anxiety got in the way of my peace and satisfaction, but at least I was getting stuff done. I was knitting and reading and scrapbooking and thinking and reading. Now, it seems that I'm content watching Law and Order, my not-so-guilty pleasure, all night. And more than ever, I'm content with being alone. Contentment is certainly good. But can't I have balance? Can't I have contentment and still work the way that I want to be working?

I consider this post a shout out. . .

. . . to Dolce Carina and the rest of the fidfam, who are on their way to Europe today. And I'm so thankful that Carina and O. are joining M. in Europe, because to me this says that maybe all is still right with the world, you know? I mean, I so appreciate that there are healthy families out there, making healthy decisions. So, this could easily turn into a paean of praise for Carina, but I'm afraid that would embarrass her. But really, I just so appreciate the strength she has to seize what's right for her and to do what works, even when other people don't necessarily understand. This, to me, is quite inspiring. And so, even though I don't take the time to tell her so nearly often enough. Carina is such an encouragement to me; she's the kind of friend who doesn't come along very often.

NOTE TO SELF

Cold sores and orange juice don't mix.

I'm Sick

I think that anyone who knows me (the real me, not the blogosphere me) knows this about me: when I get sick, I'm a really big baby about it, and I get really depressed really quickly. I woke up with a cold this morning. And in addition to looking like crap, I don't feel so hot. And all I really want to do is to drink a cup of tea and crawl back into bed. (SIDE NOTE: As what I want out of a relationship is this: someone to make me a cup of tea once in a while. Dolce Carina knows this; it's not some big epiphany that I've had. All I want is someone to make the tea. I say that, but I suppose that's not totally true; that's not all I want. Still, at times like these, it seems important.) What I don't want is to have to stand in front of a bunch of 19 year olds and try to act perky for 50 minutes, although once I get into it, class will just go, and by the end of it, I'll be thankful for work. I don't know; I'm sick. And I'm already annoyed with having to be sick. I'm already anticipating all the things I'll have to miss out on because I'm sick. Goodness: this is not how the Buddha would handle feeling sick, of that I'm sure!

Hello, my name is Drennan, but I also respond to "Festering, Moldy Rat Ass."

I love pasta, chocolate tea, feta, bleu cheese, C.S. Lewis, Inspector Morse, my friends, my family, my dogs, Law and Order, funky fashion, the Beatles, Hello Kitty, boys, bad pop music, brown ale, Zinfindel, word play, Beowulf, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Johnny Depp,body art, to fit in and pop tarts.

I hate snakes, the oppression of women, high heels, Led Zepplin, "white" Zinfindel, Two and a Half Men, boys, bad pop music, The Old Man and the Sea, backstabbers, to fit in, and belligerant 18 year olds.

I want another tattoo, a pint, to go to England, to write, a boyfriend, another dog, purple hair, a raise, to find a church, to fit in, and to stop thinking about my weight.

The Tattooed Professor

Ok, the funniest thing just happened. This is right up there with the time that I got invited to join some student's D&D group. This guy from the campus paper just came by my office and interviewed me. He's doing a story about tattoos on campus and had interviewed a bunch of students and wanted to get a faculty perspective. So apparently I'm like, I don't know, a side show freak; I'm the Tattooed Professor. So, I talked to him, of course, told him why I have the tattoo that I do. But really, is this what I want everyone to know about me? That although I masquerade as a professional, I secretly have this nerdy tattoo?

Procrastination

I know that maybe I should be working. I should be grading or reading or even preparing my sexy lecture on Little Women. Funny: Little Women isn't sexy in the normally accepted sense of the word "sexy," but I assume that all of you know that I use "sexy" to mean exciting, fun, attractive, and Drennanesque. It's like, "Hey, that pink eyeshadow is sexy!" or "Hey, your paper on the grotesque in Wicked is supersexy." But what I really want to do right now is to write. Well, I want to write and eat the new Buffalo and Ranch Doritos, which are super sexy.

I've been thinking a lot about my brothers lately. Although I know they'll never read this (Jake doesn't "believe" in the internet, so I assume that he doesn't "believe" in blogs either), I just want to say that I love both of them so very much. But more than that, I think both Jake and John are wonderful, interesting, admirable, fascinating people. And having them as brothers has so much enriched my life. This morning on the way to work, I was listening to The Specials and thinking about John and how I think he's super sexy and how I know about The Specials because of him. I don't know; I'm not articulating this very well. Jake especially is so different from me, just as a person. Jake knows about and is competent at all these wonderful, amazing things that I just don't get, but I love that he has enthusiasm for his job and his life. And I feel like I better understand the world and people and all of it because I can sometimes, for a second, see the world from his vantage point. He has such a happy disposition; he's so good with people. He's really so many things that I'm just not. And then there's John, the Goose. John and I are certainly more alike; only I wish that I had even half the talent that he does. I'm so in awe of him. He's just this smart, interesting, artistic, analytic, intelligent young man with superfly fashion sense. I like to think that he gets the fashion sense from me. I don't know; I'm getting all sentimental and sappy. I just really love them both.

"You Just Put Your Lips Together and Blow"

I should totally be grading, but this seems ever so much more interesting. Last night, I watched To Have and Have Not, because I'm onto a whole Humphrey Bogart thingy just now. But I liked the movie a whole lot, and I've decided that when I grow up, I totally want to be Lauren Bacall. I think she's so wonderful and beautiful in this powerful way, you know? She's like, I don't know, pre-feminism, anti-Marilyn Monroe, transcends-Sex-and-the-City feminity. And that's so what I want to be. She rocks. Whatever she does, she makes cool. I saw her with Bogart in The Big Sleep not too long ago, and that was good. But To Have and Have Not was even better. So where am I going with all this? I don't know right now. Only I know that she seems to be the kind of woman that I so want to be.

Hello Blogosphere,

Not much time, as I'm off to class in just a few minutes, but I thought I'd check in since I've not really been posting much lately. There's not too much to tell about. I've been watching Humphrey Bogart films lately, and that's kinda interesting. I think Lauren Bacall kicks ass. I'm all in favor of all this October baseball madness, but I rather miss House. I bought these great red cowboy boots that I'm wearing for the first time today. That's about all there is to say about me. Oh, I saw Flags of our Fathers on Sunday and didn't like it at all; maybe I'll write more about that later. Oh and P.S. 18-month-olds in lumberjack gear, playing with pumpkins are just the sort of thing that makes life worth while, don't you think?

MySpace

Ok, I think that I'm the only one under 35 in my family who doesn't myspace. Seriously. Brother, sister-in-law, cousins, they're all doing it. But I'm not. For a lotta reasons. (OK, and writing in fragments shows just how distracted and bothered I am about this whole thing.) So really, I'm I the only one who doesn't have a myspace account? Is this why I feel so disconnected from everyone on the left coast? Are the rest of you out there, posting, reading, commenting, connecting without me all because I don't myspace? And can I even use "myspace" as a verb? (Side bar: "I don't know the difference between nouns and verbs. I don't understand. I'm not saying I was never taught it in school. It just didn't take." ha, ha--this is Jake and Weiscracker.) So really, I don't want to give in to the whole myspace craze, in part because I don't think I want to make myself public to my students in that forum, not that they really are all that interested, but still. And yet, I feel like I'm missing out.

Homage: Two Words, Five Times, Twice

Ok, I'm getting all meta and intertextual here: This post is my homage to Dolce Carina. I'm going to list five two-word phrases to explain why I've disappeared the past week:

mother visiting
movie watching
Jerry Orbach
painting wall
eating out

And here are five two-word phrases describing all the fun, wonderful thing in my life right now:

dogs cuddling
fire burning
soup simmering
friend visiting
wall painted

It's up to you to make the Jerry Orbach connection; it has nothing to do with Beauty and the Beast.

Arrrrrrrr!

I'm back to work after a week's break. And in my 19th Century Children's Lit class, we're reading Treasure Island, which has me thinking about pirates. Yesterday in class, many of the female students informed me that they really didn't like because female are largly absent. The males, however, said that they liked it because pirates are just "cool." I conceded that I like it as well because pirates are "kick ass," and Johnny Depp, of course, proves it. Is it passe to be in like with Johnny Depp? But really the point that the narrator of Treasure Island makes is that the pirating life and the lust for treasure is dangerous at best, even deadly. Yet, it seems to me that we, as readers, don't really take that away from the book. I mean, by the end of it all, we still think pirates are kick ass, and we still appreciate adventure. Ok, I want to make a plug for the Muppets Treasure Island movie, which I really love. Tim Curry plays Long John Silver, which is brilliant. Oh and another thing about Treasure Island: it represents what is best about the boys' adventure novel.

Ok, so I know I've not been posting lately. I AM alive and am just fine. My mom's been visiting for the last week or so, and I've been busy with her, hence the lack of posts. There's not much to tell. When things settle down a bit, I'll post a pic of my newly painted dining area. Mom helped me paint it, and it looks lovely.