Thursday, August 31, 2006

other people's dreams are boring...

But that isn't going to prevent me from sharing a dream I had last night...

I want to remember this dream. And it's my blog, right? Right.

I think it's relatively safe to say that anyone who's ever been in school has had the dream wherein you don't have your calculator and it's the final exam in algebra and you're just screwed. Right? I mean, we've all been there. The rest of the class is filing into the room and you suddenly intuit, without even looking, that your calculator is NOT in your backpack where it's supposed to be. And then you look and OF COURSE it's not there, but you have to take your seat anyway, and the test comes at you over the back of the person in front of you and all you can do is sit there and wait until you wake up.

I've been in school a long time, so I have the test thing pretty well sussed. Seriously. I'm in, like, 25th grade, I think. And since I've been teaching, I haven't had the "no calculator" problem. Instead I have the "Oh my God, I've been assigned to teach 'Algebra I' and it's the first day and what am I going to do" dream instead.

There's part of me, when I have that dream, that says, "Okay, I've had Algebra, for Petessake. I can do this. All I have to do is start at the front of the textbook, stay ahead a few chapters and I'll be fine."

And then in my dream I get to class and I find out they're already on Chapter 15 (which is matrices, and I never understood those to begin with) and I'm screwed and I all I can do is sit there in front of my students and wait until I wake up.

I guess because I'm writing my dissertation and am somewhat beholden to my chair I feel childish and student-like. I'm also not teaching this semester, which feels strange. I'm only a student.

Anyway, last night I had the "I'm the student" dream again. This time it was the biology final, and I'm thinking: "Okay, I was a microbiology major in college, I can pass this thing" and then I realize I haven't read a page of the textbook and I decide that calling in to school with the flu is definitely the right decision.

Sadly, I'm writing my dissertation on the language of heredity and "natural selection" so I'd better have at least a Biology 101 level understanding of it, but call in sick I did.

I suppose this dream is first of many...

I can smile about it now, but in my dream last night I was definitely freaking out. I distinctly recall trying to get Kreb's cycle straight in my head, and then thinking "Okay, I know what a stomata is, so the botany question is under control."

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

because i'm catholic? or because i'm crazy?

Today has not been a particularly successful day of writing. And you'd think I could handle that. However, the guilt has been overwhelming, perhaps because I have a couple frequent reminders that I should be writing.

First, the author of a blog I read regularly has been posting somewhat more intermittently than usual, and with good reason. She's trying to write a book herself. Lately, when I go to the blog for a little relaxing reading, a little break from my work, I find one of two things: a.) nothing, or b.) a post about how hard she's working on her book. Not at all soothing, no.

Second, a squirrel has lately been using a tree near my window to air his (or her) lament to the world. I'm not sure what the source of this squirrel's trouble is (neighborhood dogs on the prowl? acorns not ready for fall? twigs for nest are soaked because of all the rain??) but it seems as if he (or she) wants some answers from the small god of squirrel troubles. All I've been hearing all day is a sort of half-squeal, half-whine that sounds like "Weeeellllll? Weeeeeeeeellllllll??" As in, "Weeeeeeeellllll, small god of squirrel troubles, when are you going to give me a hand down here."

To my ears, that squirrel is my conscience saying "Weeeellllll?? Are you going to just sit there, or are you going to write something?" "Weeeeeelllllll??? Is that all you can do?"

I know, I know. It's not guilt, it's clinical...

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

and another thing...

I'm sorry.

This post

http://on-pens-and-needles.blogspot.com/2006/07/saying-so-long-to-culture-of-critique.html

is a sad excuse for a bridge.

It should be two separate posts. I know that. I just had trouble starting them both so...smash.

My bad.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

remember when you got to go to europe for a semester?

I don't. I've never been. I know it's deplorable, but there it is. You can pity me, but I hope you'll still consent to be my friend...

However, I do believe I now understand the freedom that comes with a foreign country--paid for by school or otherwise.

I'm officially on fellowship.

***
Today was difficult. I could barely contain myself. Everyone I know began teaching, but I did not. I'm not accustomed to that. Usually it's the other way around. I have the jackass summer schedule and then I tamp it down while everyone else eases into fall as if A) it never mattered to begin with or B) they have some other, important, duty to contend with that doesn't require teaching.

(I really do love teaching. I do.)

This year, everyone else had to create syllabi, summon good karma, and otherwise throw themselves prostrate to the machine. But I, I have a fellowship...

Before you start to hate me, let me explain: it makes me feel like a real writer. And anyone who's read this blog knows how much I struggle with the Lack.

It just made me feel professional, you know? As if I had something to say. I wonder how anyone else would feel if an institution said, yeah, go ahead, work that dissertation...we'll cover it!

It's glorious.

***
A friend emailed me about getting together tomorrow for coffee and inquired about my new "prestigious" position, to which I replied:

--Are you talking about the prestigious position that doesn't require us to teach for an entire semester? Yeah, I started that one. Felt weird. I slept through the night for the first "first-day" ever.

I'll see you tomorrow. With some work.

But how awesome is it???
--Jen



***
The first question I'm going to ask Susan--who also has a fellowship--before I plunge into more reading and writing and reading and writing is:

Is this live?

I can hardly believe it myself...

Where are the hoops? How high must I jump?


***
Some Fitzgerald then, if I may...


Then they were in an elevator bound skyward.
"What floor, please?" said the elevator man.
"Any floor," said Mr. In.
"Top floor," said Mr. Out.
"This is the top floor," said the elevator man.
"Have another floor put on," said Mr. Out.
"Higher," said Mr. In.
"Heaven," said Mr. Out.


***
And yes, I get it.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

metaphors we live by

My metaphor of choice for the beginning of my writing process has always been that of pouring peanut butter out of a jar—an exceedingly slow, subtle shift of matter culminating in a resounding “plop” when the entire mass lands on the page. Today, I’m turning in that metaphor for a new model. Today, I am a plane, overburdened with the cargo of a million other writers, packed to the hilt with information and ideas (what belongs to me, if anything?), desperate to get this thing off the ground, but feeling the immense weight of the anxiety of influence.

Feel free to extend the metaphor as far as you wish. There’s plenty of fodder in entailments like baggage, drag, endurance, “airworthiness”…you get the picture.