I am finally on the mend.  Throat still swollen, jaw still achy, but I can actually DO things again.  What am I doing?  Why, moving to Chicago with the Significant Other in a vanishingly small amount of time.  Thirteen days to do what should have been spread out over a month.  The SO’s mum is gifting us with some gorgeous antique furnishings that have been gathering spiderwebs in her garage for a year.  We spent most of the weekend cleaning and polishing, but there’s still plenty to be done there.  Need to repack some boxes (kitchen stuff; dishes and glassware mostly), figure out a safe way to  pack up a mirror, clean up a free office chair my boss gave me, beat some giant rugs to death, pick up my poor broken computer from the shop…the list is endless.  And I’m trying to finish a book for work before I leave; I already have over forty hours this week.  Plus the SO has a million going-away shindigs, and the family would like to see me before I fly away, and we’re still house-sitting until Monday, which has been lovely but I’m ready to not make the drive out to that side of town anymore.  Is insanity.

Also, I am not drinking again, because my immune system needs all the help it can get.  It’ll be two weeks this Friday with no booze…AND no caffeine.  I don’t even recognize myself.

Soon it will all be over.  And then the semester will start, and I’ll be right back in the hamster wheel.  None of this is by way of complaint.  I’m shockingly happy.  Spending too much of the summer down sick makes me appreciate the simple fact that I’m well enough to keep doing things.


I have been meaning to post the utter happy for a week.  It’s spring break, though, so procrastination has ruled ’til now.

I won a thing!  A big department thing with money and stuffs!  But even better, way better, my brilliant colleagues (brilliant, I tell you) have given me collective warm fuzzies.  In what kind of program is the response to winning a thing not “I cut you,” but “hey, congrats!”?  I love these people more than conversation hearts, more than spring break, possibly more than alcohol.  I’ve won things before (haven’t we all or we wouldn’t be here?), but never when the field included a wall of geniuses.  My writing is unrecognizable from itself a year ago, and that is about the caliber of work I’m reading and criticizing–my colleagues’ work.  This is how a program is supposed to be, fear and loathing and a commitment to stop sucking and the joy of failure.  And then the rare success that is all the sweeter for everything that got cannibalized to get to three paragraphs that work.  Surrounded by devious minds, mine struggling to keep up…I couldn’t have conceived this life a year ago.

Girlwonders is a smiling girl.  Trying to pay close attention to what that feels like, for some future rainy Clarion day.

A good day.

I am attempting to teach a pile of freshman intro to feminism.  It hasn’t been going well (shocking, I know).  Breakthrough today after discussing the ERA and why it didn’t pass.  Staring down the barrel of thirty-some-odd papers to grade tomorrow, but I think I can bear it now.  And at the end of class, a student was giddy.  Giddy, I tell you!

Had my first workshop with Luis Urrea, and I could not love him more if he was entirely made of chocolate.  I got amazing feedback on my essay, and for the first time in years I think I might be within a few revisions of a piece worth sending out.  I never send things out.

I got the first season of The Wire, which apparently white people like?

And by some magic feat, I not only made it through the Hegel, but dare I say enjoyed it?  He lays out one of the more coherent defenses of what memoir (if it is to be art) ought do.  More fodder for the end of term trauma theory paper.   And I was only a .5 on the public shame chart, instead of X5 like last week.

Things to do: revise my Clarion submissions, for serious.  Grade.  Go see a Mamet play this weekend.

It’s hard to believe this life is mine.  Not sure where it came from, but oh, I’m happy!

Not bored.