Heb code.

Ugh, am sick. On the weekend, too, and a weekend during which I must write a paper. Not cool, body. Not cool. I read Ulysses on a Friday night because I felt too awful to stay awake. Today, more reading, plus all the cooking in the world. I’m on a strange cooking kick–all I want to do is make food. Which is great, because eating in = money saved, but bad because I never leave the house anymore except for school. This week, Vietnamese-style sandwiches w/ teriyaki salmon, Brianna’s famous stuffing, baked apples, crepes (carmelized onion/swiss/shroom and salmon/caper, plus the usual Nutella and lemon curd ones), caprese salad. I am VERY EXCITED TO EAT ALL THIS. I should be writing instead. I should be reading instead. Am waiting for one more round of revision notes on Cthulhu, at which point hopefully I’ll be within a few revisions sending that one out, finally. My routines are still off, but apparently my Get Excited and Make Stuff funnybone is working again. Maybe that means a revision phase is around the corner?

Now if I can just get well, so I can accomplish all the things. Oy, body! Cooperate!

OM NOM NOM NOM

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A creature of lists.

No one likes blogposts that are essentially to-do lists. Okay, except maybe me, because I adore lists. I make lists of lists. I only do things if they involve the checking off of things on a list. Problem: I am in the midst of like twenty different things. I have not had a day off in…forever? I have had scattered hours off here and there, but those scarcely count. So I feel hideously unaccomplished, even though I have been in nonstop work mode for days. It hardly seems fair. Here, a list of things I have actually worked on in the past two weeks, just to remind myself that I am not, in fact, an abject failure.

–finished Flaubert’s Parrot and wrote about it
–finished To the Lighthouse
–read 250pgs. of Ulysses and 200pgs. of Bloomsday book
–Mile 8 organized
–Michael Fried read (and I get two more Fried books on Wed. to read for Monday)
–read most of nonsite, which I now get to reread and write about for next week (yay! no seriously, I’m really excited to write about affect theory. finally.)
–graded almost all my 160 papers (must finish today, sheesh)
–have gone to gym or gone for a run 6/7 days of the week. What??
–built detailed 160 plan for Wed.
–read Ulysses stuffs Farkas sent out
–made wall of breakfast burritos for friends
–shopped for food and kept self fed (why is this so hard? And it counts for so little…)
–revised Cthulhu story (the Clarion submission story) and sent it out for crits

To do:
–work through next 160 unit and make sure I have all the materials prepped
–clean my !@#$ing apartment
–start building argument for next week’s Michaels paper
–finish those papers
–call Rhin, because I miss chatting, and I have been remiss
–read the next chunk of Ulysses/Bloomsday
–take clothes to thrift store
–go to fabric store/make furniture cover/curtains
–Target
–make tea eggs w/ farmer’s market eggs
–exercise
–start revising feral house
–do something fun, for the love of god.

I’m sure things are missing on both lists. Okay. Just looking at these is making me feel better. End pointless blogpost.

All quiet on the western blog.

It’s not that life hasn’t been bass-ackwards with busy. It has been. The silence is the sound of me reeling. I’ve been reading all the things: To the Lighthouse, Barthelme’s 60 Stories, Flaubert’s Parrot, tons of Michael Fried, Ulysses (and companion). Halfway through GRRM, too, which I am dead set on finishing, because I hate holding multiple books in my head at once. I max out at three.
I’m furious at myself for not making time to write. There are a million contests and pub places that I keep staring at longingly thinking, I have a story that’d be so perfect, just a few revisions and…and then I miss the deadline or whathaveyou.
I hate limbo, and limbo is where I’ve been living since pre-Clarion. I feel stuck. Immobility as produced by overwhelm. And I keep changing things, often major things, in an effort to get unstuck, but nothing much helps. Does everyone feel this awful during exam year?
Good news: Becky’s wedding was just splendid. I met such wonderful people–writer people, even!–one of whom is a Chicago-ite, and I danced and watched gorgeous Becky go down the aisle in her gown-with-pockets…as soon as she posts pictures (I imagine she’s honeymooning away right now, and that pictures are the last thing on her mind) I will totally post and narrate the day, because it was Clarion-idyllic.
So there’s that. Oscillation between days like Sat. when I love life and everything in it, and days like today when I’m trundling through sludge. Guilt-sludge. Ugh.
I do believe it is time for me to head to the gym and, as Becky would say, get my head out of my butt.
[This is where a picture of the above act would go. Thankfully I don’t hate you that much.]

No boat go.

Soon we will have all the oysters.

This is my brother with ALL THE OYSTERS in the whole world. See, we wanted to go on the river boat architecture tour, but Sunday early afternoon the lines were insanity. So instead we walked down Navy Pier, ate some ice cream and soft pretzels like a pair of tourists, and then my brother said: “You know what I can’t get in AZ? Oysters.”

And we purchased and ate a boat-tour’s worth of oysters at Half Shell. I have no regrets.

Try something new that scares you.

The brother visit has thus far been a blast and is like to get even better–tonight he gets to meet a whole pile of my Chicago friends thanks to Chris F.’s birthday party. Yesterday we went to the Art Institute and Russian Teatime with Sacha, and then wandered around State St. and the Cultural Center til we got bored. Had quesadillas at home, drank a few beers, and then went out to the concert my brother was so stoked about.

You guys, this thing was madcrazy. I’d wondered what the hell kids these days did for fun (like, what my students might get up to of a weekend, for instance), and apparently they are dancing til the middle of the night in mammoth sweaty music halls, to DJ spinny stuffs. I think I danced for four hours or so? It was deathly warm, and very Tucson/Phx style in that people wore…very little clothing. I felt like a pedophile at 29, for sure. But it was so fabulous dancing and drinking with the brother, seeing what his scene is like. And he knows it, and knows all the characters and all the music, and before we left my apartment for the venue, he played me a set he DJ’d back home, and I got to be all proud and slightly in awe of him. This massive world five blocks down from me that I never knew existed. There were like 1000 people raging for hours, and this was just the afterparty for the main event. Totally nuts.


I think my favorite was Sebastian, who had a whole French-dictator gimmick that cracked me up. At one point, enormous WWII-style propaganda posters descended from the ceiling. And the visuals behind the DJ were subliminal message disturbing. And the music? If it’d been played at a goth club, I’d have assumed it was industrial noise straight out of Germany. Much untzing was had by all.
So of course now I’m sleep deprived and slightly hungover, which is not the best because today is the day Jim arrives in town. Going to attempt to clean myself up, maybe take an afternoon nap, and then: let the wild rumpus begin!