My husband & I are feeling a bit lame. We'd just gotten comfortable in pajamas, ready to settle in for a night of work, when our friends sent us a message. Could we meet them at a wine bar for drinks? I thought of the lesson plans looming over me. I couldn't tear myself away from them. I was honest when I refused: Sorry, guys. I'm 85 years old and must plan my lessons daaaays in advance. Text me tomorrow?
I stayed up until midnight, getting a lesson in order: literary terms, their phonetic spelling, their French counterparts, questions we can ask about them. I'm teaching three sessions of oral comprehension to third years this semester, which is basically teaching them how to talk about literature–how to analyze and defend it. I couldn't be happier. I am throwing myself into this class head first and diving way, way into the murky stuff.
I stayed up after that to finish "Sunshine", a book I'd been hesitant to start (as it involves vampires & I'm always skeptical about the writing quality). I had to finish it. I couldn't stop myself. It's the best written vampire novel I've ever opened (since I suck–haha–at finishing them). This may have more to do with the fact that the girl loves to tie her hair up in a scarf, spend entire days reading and spend the rest of her time baking her heart out in a family-owned café. Let's say I could relate to the character.
I woke in a strange whirl of emotions that only whirled faster as the day went on. I'd had a dream about vampires attacking an amusement park I worked at, an Epcot sort of place designed to look like Luxembourg. (Believe me, this is even less bizarre than the David Bowie amusement park I dreamed about the other night.) The dream switched to one where our apartment was burning. I woke up in an apartment that smelled like an ashtray: neighbors had another party & smoked in the corridor again.
I got some surprising news from another graduate school–the response was looking for most. I spent time staring out the window, wondering what it all meant. When I'd hear from IU, I'd felt so sure that it was what I was meant to do. Now it seemed like my soul was torn in half, like I'd used some sort of bad magic. (These are thoughts you have when you stay up into the sunrise hours reading vampire novels.) I couldn't stop swimming in my thoughts, eyes glazed over with exaggerated pauses between blinks. I needed to get out of the apartment to let it all settle.
I stepped onto the sidewalk. There was no one. The only sound was, well, less sound and more the pressure of the air's stillness against my cold ears. The cold was good; for once, it was what I needed. For ten seconds, I had France to myself. I had time to thank it for everything, something we usually miss our chance to do. In those ten seconds, I felt myself settle.
For now, maybe, it is enough to know that the professors would write the letters or that the program had enough faith in me to give me a shot. Maybe I didn't need the program in the way I thought I did–to foster the true writer in me. Maybe I just needed a real (and really expensive–ouch, application fees) way to throw myself into the world and see what stuck. I began to feel as if, instead of pulling me in two directions, the second letter was saying, "See? It's in you. Somewhere. And if you go to another program, you'll still have it. It's already there."
So now I wait for financial assistance to fall into my lap. In the mean time, I'm still planning our next few years in Indiana–and which coast we'll fly to after that for the next stage of life, because we both feel that we need a new piece of country to play in.
We've ordered our tickets for our spring break adventure. I've worked my hands into the pastry for the dessert I'm making with Lauren tomorrow, while we plan classes and watch the entire Bourne saga (mmmm–yes, attractive, but ARE there actors more all-around talented these days?). I've learned how to properly use our wine opener, and I've poured myself a heavy glass red wine, to continue the afternoon mellow. I've even turned on the coffee to pick me back up and carry me through today's reading (and yesterday's, since I was distracted by vampires) of War & Peace. Joe is way better at staying on top of our shared reading than I am...
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Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
one hundred twenty-eight
I've been distracted this week. I've put off all blog posts, yoga, health foods and term papers. I have managed to busy myself with the small things, though.
Yesterday, Joe, who's in town for the week, helped me take our sofa in from outside. The couch came to us from the Salvation Army. That is, SA rejected it and Joe brought it here. The cat hair-encrusted mess was slip-covered, and I've spent the last two years trying to forget what is underneath.
When we hauled the mess outside to be picked up with our other garbage on Thursday morning, our lamp fell over. This is nothing new: it's been less than level for a year. This time, the concrete bottom that worked as a balance complete shattered. I drug the lamp outside and propped it on the couch, then added old closet doors (used as a partition) and a broken dining room chair. It amounted to an odd sort of modern art.
We went about our day and came home near dusk. The couch and lamp were gone. Now, I'm looking around my room for other small things that can be shed from my life. This anxiety of school and long-distance for four more months is one of them.
Joe leaves tomorrow. He's been with me this week, sitting next to me as I get my reading done for class or drink a beer and watch CNN or drink a coffee and watch Democracy Now (all while doing reading for the term papers I'm not yet writing).
It is our last week like this, and today is our last full day. Joe will not spend another week in Muncie, will not visit me as a student. In May, he'll help me move. He'll watch me walk across the stage and leave this place. He'll visit me this summer, in Ohio. But our time long-distance college student visits comes to a close today.
He'll go back to St. Louis tomorrow, be a graduate student and bookstore employee and writing lab tutor and contract faculty English professor. I'll be behind on my translation and ahead on my reading and ready to do all of my final presentations. Final in all ways.
This week, we bought our wedding bands. When he slipped the band onto his finger and rested the hand on the glass display case, I realized how close everything is. The next time we see each other, there will only be the summer. We will be tan and smiling and packing for our life together.
Joe's asleep right now. I should be reading about managing PR departments. I should be making diagrams and presentation boards. I should be stoppping Baby from chewing the carpet under my bed. I should be packing my belongings into cardboard boxes.
Yesterday, Joe, who's in town for the week, helped me take our sofa in from outside. The couch came to us from the Salvation Army. That is, SA rejected it and Joe brought it here. The cat hair-encrusted mess was slip-covered, and I've spent the last two years trying to forget what is underneath.
When we hauled the mess outside to be picked up with our other garbage on Thursday morning, our lamp fell over. This is nothing new: it's been less than level for a year. This time, the concrete bottom that worked as a balance complete shattered. I drug the lamp outside and propped it on the couch, then added old closet doors (used as a partition) and a broken dining room chair. It amounted to an odd sort of modern art.
We went about our day and came home near dusk. The couch and lamp were gone. Now, I'm looking around my room for other small things that can be shed from my life. This anxiety of school and long-distance for four more months is one of them.
Joe leaves tomorrow. He's been with me this week, sitting next to me as I get my reading done for class or drink a beer and watch CNN or drink a coffee and watch Democracy Now (all while doing reading for the term papers I'm not yet writing).
It is our last week like this, and today is our last full day. Joe will not spend another week in Muncie, will not visit me as a student. In May, he'll help me move. He'll watch me walk across the stage and leave this place. He'll visit me this summer, in Ohio. But our time long-distance college student visits comes to a close today.
He'll go back to St. Louis tomorrow, be a graduate student and bookstore employee and writing lab tutor and contract faculty English professor. I'll be behind on my translation and ahead on my reading and ready to do all of my final presentations. Final in all ways.
This week, we bought our wedding bands. When he slipped the band onto his finger and rested the hand on the glass display case, I realized how close everything is. The next time we see each other, there will only be the summer. We will be tan and smiling and packing for our life together.
Joe's asleep right now. I should be reading about managing PR departments. I should be making diagrams and presentation boards. I should be stoppping Baby from chewing the carpet under my bed. I should be packing my belongings into cardboard boxes.
one hundred fifty-seven
A big status update: I am two days away from Spring Break, still unsure what day I'll be heading back to Ohio. It all still depends on this crazy school schedule that really caught up with me today.
Well, really it started yesterday. I felt sick, didn't want to eat, thought I was getting the flu, then passed out at 11 p.m. My phone rang a few times, didn't phase me and barely woke me up for my 5:30 alarm. I ate some cookies, thinking I'd be working for a few hours and would hold off on my actual breakfast (genius). Then I fell asleep until 8:30, woke up nauseous and said that work was a horrible idea.
Two assignments down and four to go, I'm feeling better. I've packed some things away, to bring home to my parents' attic over break, and gotten a handle on another assignment. I've also made myself some food–my first sit-down meal in a while: a plate of roasted zucchini and carrots next to a heaping pile of oven-baked, spicy sweet potato fries. I feel better already.
But this was supposed to be a status update. So, here is what Spring Break looks like for all of you wedding-curious readers:
Sunday– meet with painist after 10 o'clock mass
Monday– flower shopping
Wednesday– meeting with decorator for the hall
Undecided– order bridesmaids' dresses, write wedding announcements, start making invitations (if we get them from the printer)
(now, my reminders to myself)
In my free time, I'll be:
Honestly, I'm getting tired of this life. It's a life of preparation for the next thing, of focusing on the "big picture," but being so lost in the details that it doesn't seem to matter. People are hesitant when I say this, but I know that it's true–I know that we won't let ourselves go on busing between nine jobs and classes–I simply cannot wait to be married.
I cannot wait to have a job and Joe to come home to. I can't wait to know that there is someone willing to put up with all of my whiny shit without feeling like he has to compete with a busier schedule or a more horrible class. I can't wait to come home from work and write only if I want to, which I do, we so desperately do.
I can't wait to wake up early on Saturday because it is what I do, not because I have a full day of assignments. I'll hear the birds and not be confused about what the clicking noise outside my window is, like happened earlier this week. These are complaints that every college student has when they get this near graduation, but spelling it all out and cutting it up into smaller timelines is helping me swallow it. I'm looking forward to dessert.
Well, really it started yesterday. I felt sick, didn't want to eat, thought I was getting the flu, then passed out at 11 p.m. My phone rang a few times, didn't phase me and barely woke me up for my 5:30 alarm. I ate some cookies, thinking I'd be working for a few hours and would hold off on my actual breakfast (genius). Then I fell asleep until 8:30, woke up nauseous and said that work was a horrible idea.
Two assignments down and four to go, I'm feeling better. I've packed some things away, to bring home to my parents' attic over break, and gotten a handle on another assignment. I've also made myself some food–my first sit-down meal in a while: a plate of roasted zucchini and carrots next to a heaping pile of oven-baked, spicy sweet potato fries. I feel better already.
But this was supposed to be a status update. So, here is what Spring Break looks like for all of you wedding-curious readers:
Sunday– meet with painist after 10 o'clock mass
Monday– flower shopping
Wednesday– meeting with decorator for the hall
Undecided– order bridesmaids' dresses, write wedding announcements, start making invitations (if we get them from the printer)
(now, my reminders to myself)
In my free time, I'll be:
- translating 1.5 hours a day, to make up for lost time
- reading The Bell Jar
- reading Lady Chatterly's Lover
- reading Bordeaux
- writing my paper for the presentation at St. Louis University's undergraduate symposium
- completing paperwork for my Nancy visa and teaching position
Honestly, I'm getting tired of this life. It's a life of preparation for the next thing, of focusing on the "big picture," but being so lost in the details that it doesn't seem to matter. People are hesitant when I say this, but I know that it's true–I know that we won't let ourselves go on busing between nine jobs and classes–I simply cannot wait to be married.
I cannot wait to have a job and Joe to come home to. I can't wait to know that there is someone willing to put up with all of my whiny shit without feeling like he has to compete with a busier schedule or a more horrible class. I can't wait to come home from work and write only if I want to, which I do, we so desperately do.
I can't wait to wake up early on Saturday because it is what I do, not because I have a full day of assignments. I'll hear the birds and not be confused about what the clicking noise outside my window is, like happened earlier this week. These are complaints that every college student has when they get this near graduation, but spelling it all out and cutting it up into smaller timelines is helping me swallow it. I'm looking forward to dessert.
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