My Weekend Home Alone

So Andy's down in Philly seeing a game with his father, meaning I'm home alone for the first time since we moved in. How have I spent this milestone weekend?

So far, it's a 60-40 success. I got a haircut on Saturday, which lasted an hour and a half due to some very enjoyable catch-up time with Matt. I finished The Iron Heel (though I may have skimmed more of it than is ideal). I washed dishes and tidied the house, went to Trader Joe's, and had the girls over for wine, Nutella crackers and Pineapple Express. (Incidentally, why is it that 80% of department social activities in the past 4 months have been on days when I'm already busy? I've examined the possibility that it's because I "have a life," as the youngster say, but concluded that's not it.)

On the flip side, I stayed up until 1:30 watching Coupling episodes in bed, I ate a box of macaroni and cheese, a large amount of asparagus dip and a regretable number of chocolate covered fruits. I may or may not have sprayed the survivors with Clorox. I slept until 11 this morning, and am currently in pajamas in front of the television. So...as I said, 60-40.

Hitting the Wall

I knew it had to happen. I've been doing work at a ridiculous pace, to the point of feeling guilty when I'm not either doing something for school or the house. It was like "idle hands are the devil's playground" had suddenly made itself my motto.

No more. I haven't abandoned my work ethic entirely - not at all. But it's some effort to focus on work again, and I spend more time aimlessly entertaining myself. As long as I don't let it go to far I think it's for the best; I was feeling a lot of stress these last weeks, productive as they were. I wasn't sleeping well, and the physical manifestations of stress I suffered from so much last year were creeping back. So a release valve is no bad thing - again, if I keep it under control.

Like right now. What I would like to do is continue fiddling with photos from my trips on Picassa and pricing out mat and frame combos. Instead, when I finish this entry I'm going to go read something for an hour - Eliot, London or Agamben (to get it out of the way). It's mostly because Romola sucks and I didn't realize The Iron Heel was a book and not a short story, but for the first time in awhile I am behind in reading novels for class.

But the real problem is my schedule. I hate it. I hate it so much. I am so over being obligated to attend things that it's a struggle to make any other kind of time commitment at all - social, shopping, gym, whatever. And I've already blown off a thing or two and it's week four. I've got to come up with a strategy for sucking it up better than I have been.

Tonight, I will watch 30 Rock season 3 while cutting and peeling apples, then make apple crisp, then read some more of that dratted Romola before bed. And then all I have to do is make it through my writing center shift and it's the weekend. Blessed Friday, with only one thing in it. My homework this weekend is reasonable - working on London, finishing Eliot, some articles for comp I will likely only skim, and class prep. Which reminds me - anyone with tips on teaching "The Wasteland," preferably along with an intro to the idea of close reading, have at. I had my first student come to office hours this week, and his issue? "I just don't understand any of this poetry at all." I was like, you and me both. It felt like more of a failure than almost any other conference I've had - as I wasn't ready to teach him how to close read then and there, I had little to say. I did tell him that A) he wouldn't have to write his first paper on the modern poetry and B) that the exams probably wouldn't ask him to explain much in the way of "meaning." But still.

Okay...on to reading. Hurry up please it's time.

I guess it's true about cats and feet

They do land on them. Probably not literally always, but Polo, who had been reclining on the desk next to me, just stretched a little too much and fell off, landing on his feet. Also on the topic of cats and feet - Polo, and now slowly Penny, appear to be developing a weird obsession with Andy's shoes. Or possibly just any shoes. We noticed it yesterday for the first time, when Polo spent most of the evening lying on the living room carpet snuggled between Andy's sneakers. Neither of us remember placing the sneakers in that position, perfectly parallel to each other. Though I know he moved during the night because I saw him on top of the bookshelf when I had a late-night snack at 3am, he was right back with the shoes when we got up this morning. So before we left for school, I laid out two of Andy's other shoes in the same position, and sure enough - when I got home Polo was lying right between them. I caught Penny doing it a few minutes ago. Weird. I think they're catching on to the fact that if they balance each incredibly annoying thing they do (puking on the floor, spilling entire pint glasses of water from great heights, etc) with adorable or quirky ones (camping out between shoes, falling asleep on the cookbook, hiding behind Deleuze, etc) I will continue to love them.

In good mood tonight, though not sure why. My day was pretty average. Discussion of Ezra Pound's Cantos went about as expected...it wasn't painfully quiet or anything, but I felt like I failed to help them with those difficult poems in any way. I think it's not all my fault - I had to fit in the second half of first-day stuff that I skipped last time so we could discuss Wharton, and that took up half the class. 30 minutes is not enough to discuss their response papers and also introduce close reading and apply it usefully to the poems. But some of them have already read The Wasteland and enjoyed it more, so I'm optimistic for next week.

Tonight, I plan to work some on my prelims list in anticipation of meeting with Mario on Wednesday, read Herland for Russ, and maybe work some more on Romola. I've got a long but simple day tomorrow - lecture, TA training, writing center. I've got a good feeling about this week. I'm still trying to figure out how to work longer term projects into my weekly routine; I have the time right now to begin working on something for the end of the semester, but it's really hard to get going on it. We'll see.

Zumba on Sunday was fun. Kate couldn't make it, but Lindsey came, and it was much easier this time since I had already done it once. Aside from the fact that my knee gets really pissed towards the end, it's a great workout. I'm planning to go again on Wednesday. It foricbly reminds me that as much as I might pretend, 40 minutes on the elliptical is not even close to a serious workout.

I did not sign up for this

So who decided that once you turn 25 you will become hungover after drinking about 30-50% of what it used to take to reduce you to that state, and that the hangover in question would also be about 5 times worse?

Friggin body. Stupid aging. Annoying hangover that stole my precious Saturday. Lame lame lame.

Oh well. Every cloud has a silver lining, I guess - this reinforces further my resolution not to drink during the week. Though honestly, in this case it's more of a pewter lining at best. Silver plated, maybe.

Tomorrow I must lead two 50-minute discussions on Ezra Pound's Cantos. This will also be the second time ever I meet with my students.

So it's gonna be a busy Sunday.

It is a truth universally acknowledged...

...that a book designated a Victorian novel should take place no early than 1730. I'm looking at you, Romola.

Also, it's pretty sweet that my boyfriend likes to cook. Right now he's fretting about how to make a sauce for our steak because his usual method won't work with a high-heat skillet. Hopefully he'll end up making his usual tasty fresh tomato improvised deliciousness.

Of course, this means *I* have to cook sometimes too, so as not to feel bad. But it's a worthwhile trade. Especially since his interest makes it so much easier to shop for his birthday and such.

It's nice to have an office at home

I love this apartment. The rooms are all great sizes, the wood floors make me happy, there's a garbage disposal I didn't even know about until I moved in, it's quiet...I'm just so content here. I think in a large way that's what's been missing from my life in Madison, and a reason I've had trouble settling down and being content to stay here another four years. I hated my first place, and while my apt last year was a huge step up and great in many ways, it was too small and dark to really feel like home, like somewhere worth putting roots down. But this place is different - and consequently I'm pretty good at fixing it up and keeping it that way. My friend Ravi offered to make up curtains for the front room, so we went out and bought some great fabric for them, plus some for throw pillows for the couch. I'm invested in this place...I could see myself here for three years with no trouble.

School is going pretty well. I'm shocking myself by actually doing most of my reading, which hasn't happened since...well, a long time ago. Now that I've proven I am off to a determined start, however, I'll probably prune back a little bit on the readings that seem uninteresting/irrelevant for me, and spend that time on my prelims list and on longer-term assignments. I like my classes pretty well, overall. I've really got to get going with Romola though...I'm about 50 pages in and beginning to be very passively interested, but before this I was so bored I considered skipping it. I mean, come on - I'm not Early Modern for a reason, I don't want to read about 15th century Italy. (And yes, I know it's "really" about Victorian Britain, but still.)

Teaching my first day of lit went tolerably well. As is usual, it seems, one of my sections seems like it will be easier than the other. But neither seems terrible. The first class gave me a sense of what to prepare better next time, and...yeah. Hopefully it'll work out. The idea of filling 50 minutes with discussion does fill me with some fear, since that was always the hardest thing about 100, but I'm confident I'll get better at it quickly.

If only T wasn't totally screwing me by making my next 2 weeks all about Modernist poetry...

Glossing over anything outside my own sphere, social life goes well. I've been seeing a lot of Ravi and Todd lately, which is great. Ravi's birthday, Dr. Horrible and curtain shopping are a few of the things we've been up to - and this weekend we're getting together for a Patrick Swazye tribute with Wong Fu and cocktails. I've seen Sarah and Lindsey an good amount too - though I've yet to see Lindsey's new place! And Barry comes over from time to time to chat and see the cats. Adding to that the numerous "it's still September!" department events, it's been a nice balance. It's nice to realize that I'm not lonely anymore.

The cats continue to be great. Polo's taken to surreptitiously following me around the house, which is pretty cute - though less so when he meows incessantly after I go to bed. I'm still pleased at how surprisingly low-maintenance they've proven to be, though I am a little sick of their inability to keep their litter and food in their proper recepticles and not all over my floor. But oh well...that's what my sweet new dustbuster is for, I guess.

Now if only Andy would recover from his allergies/cold, I'd be all set. :-)

Not Enough Dull Moments

So school had started.

It's off to a decent start, actually. My classes seem interesting, for the most part - or at least, where they're not interesting I feel well able to ignore them. I've come back from summer with a mysterious but kind of awesome new interest/comprehension of theory and dense criticism. Not a perfect one by any stretch, or even a very good one. But a dramatic leap from where I was. It's such a nice feeling, when you feel yourself make progress at something you aren't good at. It's like a magic sign to keep doing what I'm doing, that sticking around is the right choice.

I've yet to teach, so no news there. I'll report back sometime after Monday. I'm starting with possibly my favorite book of all time, The Age of Innocence, which is both cool and kind of frightening.

I should be in bed right now since I've got to get up tomorrow morning for various things, but I'm mysteriously awake. So I've got the extras from the the UK version of The Office on, and I'm writing this aimless update. I suppose I could be doing my reading for Writing Center training tomorrow, but I'm all usefulled out for the day. Besides, why read about how to be good at my job when I could alternate between watching Polo try to balance on a chair top approximately 1/8 of his width and enjoying the antics of Ricky Gervais? After all, I can only watch these when Andy's gone, as he hates them. Got to grab these moments when I can.

...I have no idea what I'm even typing. I need to go to bed.

Blatant Disregard for Priorities

So school started this week, but I'm tired and the position of the cat on my lap makes it hard to type, so instead I will write briefly about my cats and my newly acquired propensity for breaking shit.

Cats. I like having them a lot. The two of them were the cats of a friend, but he has two other 14-year-old cats, and needed to clear the house a bit. I brought Penny home last Thursday, and she settled virtually instantly. A few hours of hiding, and then she was wandering all over us at 3 am wanting to be petted. (We now keep the cats out of the bedroom.) She's basically my ideal cat - very affectionate, likes to sit on your lap and be petted, but stops short of annoying. I was worried at first, but apparently only because I knew nothing about cats.

Polo, the other cat, came home on Thursday. His actions seem more typical of cats in general from what I've heard - lots of hiding and hissing. But every day he makes demonstrable progress - less hissing, less hiding. Still, his agenda from living with us reads something like this:

Day One: hiding in office closet and hissing hysterically when approached.

Day Two: hiding in closet, followed by cautious prowling around the office after his previous owner visited him.

Day Three: Hiding in closet, then an evening of slow wandering around the living room after being shut out of the office.

Day Four: Hiding behind the TV and under the bed, then some living room wandering, then hiding behind a row of books on a bottom shelf.

But every day he's out more, and I know that in general he's just a moody cat - some days as affectionate as a happy baby, other days as angry as a spinster aunt.

...oh man. I'm already a Cat Lady in the making.

As far as the breakage thing goes...I have no idea what's going on. In my first year in Madison, I think I *maybe* broke one drinking glass. Maybe. In my last apartment, that whole year, I broke two wine glasses and another drinking glass. (Give or take maybe one glass.)

Since moving into this apartment on August 15th, not even three weeks ago, I have broken *five* wine glasses. Five. For two of them I was admittedly a bit under the influence, but still...I drink no more here than at the last place, probably demonstrably less. That doesn't explain the increase. And then how do you account for the other three? The one I accidentally hit with the edge of the blanket I was wrapped in? The one that was standing in the sink and that I nudged a little with the plate I was washing, making it fall and shatter? The one I was *putting away* and accidentally bumped the edge against the shelf above just hard enough to crack it? At first I was just amusedly annoyed at myself, but it's getting to the point where it's like WTF. Three matching wine glasses is my happy minimum, and despite buying a new set two weeks ago, I am not at this stage. Why is this? No clue. I could blame shoddy American workmanship, but that seems uncharitble given the current economic climate. But I don't feel I've grown appreciably clumsier since a month ago, so...who knows. Maybe the place is haunted by a ghost who vents his pent-up anger at living women by causing them to break their own glasswork.

If you've got an alternate theory, feel free to submit it. (Except you, Andy.)