crafting

I should be grading or critiquing something. Instead, I'm crafting. Well, for the last hour I have been planning my classes for the rest of the week, but now I'm going to finish my crafting. It's really lovely to create something visual, tangible, sometimes. And then go back to writing. But, you see, I got this new book: The Big-Ass Book of Crafts. I put post-its on every page, every craft, I want to try. So far I've done two. Only twenty or more to go. Too bad crafting costs money. Not writing--well, just the ink and the paper. Perhaps I'll post pics of my crafts for you.

Building Arks

Scott Russell Sanders, from his new book A Conservationist Manifesto.

"The ark-builders don't rush from one sensation to the next, as the media propose, but instead they relish the pleasures of an unhurried pace. They hang their laundry outdoors, enjoying the sunshine, instead of stuffing it in a machine. They cook their own food instead of grabbing a sack of sugar and fat in a drive-through lane. They take walks or sit for talks with people they love, instead of buying a ticket to the latest craze. They meet the world in the flesh, instead of through a screen. They remember how to dream and laugh without benefit of electricity."

He touches me. Makes me want to swear off the television and go to the farmer's market right now. Read him, please. All of him.

quiet

It's Saturday afternoon, quiet. I'm sitting here eating carrots and dip and drinking Pepsi. I'm sitting here thinking about dinnerware and wanting to do crafts and write and move. I'm sitting here wanting to move not in 67 days but today. I want to move today and sit on my new furniture and eat in my new kitchen on new dinnerware. I want to put new things on the walls and think about how good life is. I want to sit in the quiet and write in one of the four rooms I will have the option of writing in. Four rooms. I want four rooms instead of these two. I want Five Guys Burgers and Fries, but they're so darn busy. I want more money to buy things, but I don't have the time or energy to work any more than I do. I want to make more envelopes and sew them. I want to hem up my new jeans so I can wear them. I want to lose fat so I can comfortably wear those new jeans. I want to rest and relax and not worry about getting things done--like grading and planning and writing papers. I want to be done writing this one last grad school paper so all I have left is writing my thesis. I want to write my thesis, which will be a book. I want this book to come together, fit together. I want to keep working on this book right now, but there's so much to do I can't decide what to do. I don't want any more carrots. I don't want any more ants in my kitchen. I don't want Monday to come. I don't want to think about moving--I want to move. That wasn't so quiet after all.

no why

Experiment:

For the next two weeks, I cannot ask WHY. I cannot answer WHY. So please help me with this. If you catch me complaining and slipping in a why somewhere, pinch me. And please don't tempt me with why's, either. Unless, of course, you're using in an un-why-like manner, such as, "Why don't we go get coffee?"

I can feel you asking me why I'm doing this experiment, but I can't answer you.

as usual

...I'm writing under the influence of anxiety. It's become a theme of this blog. Perhaps I should rename it. Some options:
On Going Temporarily Insane
Mental Paralysis, Physical Tingles
Shallow
The Alternative to Procrastination
Please Leave The Medication at the Door

In the meantime, I spent ten minutes on the exercise bike. It helped. I called my mom to cry about it this morning, and she talked about other things for over thirty minutes "to distract me." Yet, if that's the case, then every one of our phone conversations is meant to distract me. I'm using an NCIS to distract me. There we go again with the mandatory television. It seems the distraction actually helps me concentrate. Let's hope the black screens don't go black permanently anytime soon.

I have managed to read and comment on eight of my students' papers so far (35 in all to grade by Friday). There have been some stellar papers, and, let me tell you, that gives me hope in the future of English composition. Yes, there are still some students who can write in something other than text message speak.

As for the birthday, let's just say I'm looking forward to 26. The Cheesecake Factory is fabulous: probably THE best food. And now I'm even more obsessed with my new apartment (just over three months to go). Obsession it is.

stormy

So I'm sitting here writing about being a thief, and it's storming. Lightning. Thunder. It's pretty cool here for the 9th of April. It's pretty lame that it's only going to be fifty degrees on my birthday tomorrow. However, that's better than the snowstorm of my thirteenth year. April is unpredictable. People are unpredictable. My body and mind are unpredictable. And, finally, my television (that Jedsen got me for my birthday two years ago) is unpredictable and possibly dying. Oh boy. I don't need a television--except that I watch a lot of news. It's always on. It's a distraction. And sometimes a pleasure. But it almost seems mandatory to have the tv on when I'm home. One big picture flashing and making noise is mandatory, huh? That's pretty lame.

stabbed

I was walking across the yard this weekend, recyclables in hand, flats on my feet, and a stick stuck up and scratched/stabbed me. It really did. Now it's red and itchy. Did the stick infect me? How can a stick just stab you like that? Well, it did.

I renewed my drivers license today. Ew. For two reasons: 1) The man told me I should keep my parents' address on my license until I have a permanent address. I guess that means I still officially live in Hutchinson. And that I don't like. 2) My picture makes me look fat: I have a slight double chin. But I don't! I have more fat than I used to, but I'm not fat like that. It makes me sad that that's what I'll look like for the next four to six years according to the state. Ew.

By the way, EW to baseball. How boring. I've been to one baseball game: Twins v Mariners. That was only cool because I sang the national anthem before it with the Kansas Youth Choir. Otherwise, baseball seems about as boring as car racing.

One final EW for the way I feel today.

Aching

Oh, still aching head. Made worse by Julie Doucet. What do you write about Julie Doucet? Framing? Fragments? Dying? Masturbation? Becoming a man? Give me Yoko Ono. I could write about her and Grapefruit. But how do I put my confusion and discomfort about Julie Doucet into a response paper?

Meanwhile, I'm having office hours right now. Still no birthday plans. Dreaming of the dream line-up coming nearby this June: Snow Patrol is opening for Coldplay. Holy cow. Okay, I'm there. My two favorite bands. Ah, love.

And that mountain getaway that I wanted to take with Jedsen over winter break didn't happen. So I wanted to go on a solo mountain getaway at the end of May to recover from the stress of the year and write and be at peace and climb mountains. But I really can't afford it, and I'm actually kind of scared to hike up a mountain for the first time--alone, and all. Oh, mountains. Why can't you be closer? Why can't I have more money? Some money will be spent on new furnishings this summer. It's all planned out. Couch, chair, coffee table, end table, desk, dining table and chairs, barstools. It's a long, costly list, but I plan on getting most at Nebraska Furniture Mart and Target.

Sleep until you're satisfied. I'm not.

Teddy Grahams

Teddy Grahams are good. Chocolate, in this case. But they don't get things done for you, unfortunately. I drove back from Hutchinson this afternoon: three hours of planning how much I was going to get done tonight and this week. I've now been home for four and a half hours...and all I have are some rough lesson plans for my classes tomorrow. I'm hungry, but I have no food. I want Arby's, but I have no coupons. I want Arby's, but I feel guilty for wanting fast food. So I've been eating Teddy Grahams and some green beans. I'm waiting for Jedsen to stop by on his way back to Lenexa. He wants to get Dunkin' Donuts, as usual. I love Dunkin' Donuts, but I want real food. What is real food? I read a whole book on it: Michael Polan's In Defense of Food. And here I am still wanting and eating non-food. I saw calves--lots of calves--in the fields along I-70, and it made me want to be a vegetarian. But what do you eat when you're a vegetarian? It means no more Arby's or McDonald's or Burger King or sandwiches. It means lots of lettuce?

That's not the point. The point is that I need to get all of these things done, and I can't concentrate because I'm thinking about wanting food. I even watched Means Girls on tv as I put away laundry and apologized to Snickers for spending the weekend with five other cats. The anxiety to start on things is still there. The anxiety is the root of the problem, but the anxiety is a symptom of the larger problem...which is....

lack of good food, lack of exercise, and lack of sleep. How do I fix that? How do you fix an entire system that is broken? This is where I want a coach to come in and take control of my life. This is where I have to take control of my life: something that I've tried to do again and again. School and work become the excuses for not.

And here I am complaining about it instead of doing something about it. Oh, head. Oh, stomach. Oh, cold.

What else

I'm the official blogger for Bathtub this week. Click over there for some AWP pics and commentary.

Meanwhile, I have lots to do. Lots. And I really am going to Hutch this weekend. Tomorrow. I have no time for that kind of thing. Nor do I really have time to celebrate my birthday next Friday. Though, I promised myself that I would not grade or otherwise do anything schoolish after noon on my birthday this year. When you have a birthday in April and you go to school for nineteen straight years, many of your birthdays are spent finishing papers and doing research and crying with stress--not celebrating the day you were born. When I'm 26 (two years), I will certainly not be in school on my birthday for the first time since I was 5.

In fifth grade, I had to stay up very late (which was probably only midnight) in order to finish the science project on "Kangaroos, Koalas, and Kookaburras." I can't remember if it was the night before my birthday or my actual birthday...but I remember having the display board in the living room and coloring or something and then my mom said something about my birthday.

In sixth grade, my great grandma (the now 105-year-old) hit my neighbor's car as she was pulling out of my parents' driveway to bring homemade cinnamon rolls (see poem) to my class. Then the whole class had to stay after school because no one would admit to throwing a pencil across the room. (I can't remember who eventually admitted to it--or if anyone did.) Then I came home to find out that my dad's thumb had been crushed by a steel plate at work. I was 12. I wore a new navy, large-floral ankle-length dress. My hair was short. I had bangs. We ate at Applebee's. My dad's thumb was wrapped thick with white something. Call it the most memorable birthday.

What should I do for 24? I don't drink or party. Any suggestions? Thank you.

I will not go to Applebee's. Though I may wear a dress. Without flowers. I have bangs.