i’m like … a teacher.

Scary thought. Next week I have to actually order books for the bookstore to be used by my freshman comp class. I’m so not ready for this. And thus it is going to be so awesome. And terrible. And weird.

I’ve been alternately looking forward to and dreading this event for something like 3 years, ever since I decided I’d apply to grad programs. Now the time is drawing near, I’m all a-twitter with expectations and second guesses. Should I teach the Peggy McIntosh piece because everyone else does? Or would Lipsitz be more effective? Can a bunch of 18 year olds handle talking about identity and social stratification? Can I handle a bunch of 18 year olds? Do I really have anything to offer them?

I know all of these feelings are totally typical, but I’ve been going over my potential syllabus (yeah Saturday night! partying it up spinster-style), ripping it to pieces, because I really want to be good at this. I really think I can be good at this. I really hope I can. Or else I’ll just be too pitiful to live. I mean, those who can’t, teach, but what do those who can’t teach do? Crap.

I might try and get up a syllabus party for a few other people I know who are taking this plunge. I figure we’ll eat comfort foods, compare pedagogical notes, and then talk each other off of various ledges. Sounds like smiles-time to me.

just so you know

Silk chemises no longer exist. Don’t waste your Friday afternoon going to the hugest freaking mall in the world looking for them, because they won’t be there. You will, however, find plenty of polyester — polyester in abundance even — so if that floats your boat by all means go to town.

nope, i haven’t bailed already.

Just in case anyone stopped by (heh) and wondered where I am. I’ve been on “vacation” for the past two weeks. The quotes are there for a particular reason, but at this point it’s making me both sad and headachy just thinking about it, so details on that will have to wait. If they ever appear.

Meanwhile, the pictures from said time are lovely, lovely, even if all of the experiences were not.

ha. ahahaha.

I’m awesome. My “peculiar aristocratic title” is:
………

Her Most Serene Highness Lady Lespinster the Surreptitious of Melbury Bumpton Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

……………..

I’m thinking of putting this one on all my outgoing correspondence –
…………….

Countess-Palatine Lespinster the Antique of Much Madness upon Avon Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

how people are selfish and bad

And by ‘people’ I mean ‘me.’

So, today I put up a link to this space from an old blog I started during my undergrad days and haven’t updated in over a year. Funny thing about me; sometimes I drop off the face of the earth. This year — summer to summer — has been one of those times. I’m not sure what I’m ever thinking when it happens, but it’s been an enduring feature of my life ever since I was a little girl. I totally did not call my grandmothers during the school year, nor did I write my friends during summer vacation when I went to visit my grandmothers. Yet I would always come back to them expecting to be known and loved and welcomed. Because it wasn’t that I forgot about them, or didn’t care about them, or didn’t think about them. It was that I was and still am a crap communicator. Friends, extended family, coworkers, church members, I lose track of them all, from time to time, and they lose track of me.

I’ve been told people worry about me, and that really kills me, and I always vow that I won’t let it happen again because I don’t want people worrying about me, but it never matters. For some mysterious set of reasons (completely stupid ones, no doubt), I stop writing, and calling. I forget that I ever had an email address, and as a functioning, socializing human being, I pretty much shut down. No one gets in; I let nothing out. I’m not “there” for anyone, and I spend my time on a bunch of busy day-to-day nothings. Totally selfish. And … bad. And I know it.

Anyway. I can’t imagine it’d happen, but if anyone does drop by that old page and wants to hear it, I’m sorry for falling out of touch, for not calling, and for seeming not to care. I have been thinking of you, and praying for you, and wishing you well. I hope you are still thinking of me, but if it’s been too long for that I hope you understand. I’m still trying to do better.

i have garlic on my feet.

Someone told me that rubbing a clove on the soles of your feet will keep the skeeters away.

Tell that to my itching arm.

simple equations

June = bliss. Summer, strawberries, flip flops, and best of all — no school. Not that I’m not dedicated to the cause and everything, but there’s only so much time I’m willing to sit in classrooms with people talking in circles about theory and refusing to give up a point or a million for fear of being “wrong.” Grad students are something else. I’ll be thrilled when my coursework is over forever, but summer is enough of a taste. A break. How profound am I, right now?

Cooking comes with summer. So far I’ve been firing up the oven, baking my entire house, and trying out all of these sweet new dishes I wouldn’t have the time or the patience to make during the year. If anyone was reading this, I’d take pictures and show off. Ah, well. Also –

blippity bloppity blam,

nothing says loving like a graham

cracker swimming in the sand.

I don’t have to make sense. Summer + no audience = brain: off.