In the Weeds!

Note to self:  In next life, do not pursue academic career.  (That's assuming I misbehave myself sufficiently to come back as a human, rather than as one of my aspirational species, like a porpoise or a gorilla, who got it, in my opinion, right.  Alas, I'll probably pay for my sins by pursuing, in Barbara Kingsolver's phrase, "the hominid agenda" all over again.)

Classes are gorgeous, my four graduate teaching interns are perfect, the job candidates beginning to mill about the campus are brilliant, and we have more files in graduate admissions than I can shake a stick at, but we are moving house this Saturday.  What was I thinking?  My life is in boxes just as the insanity of the spring semester is swinging into gear. 

And yesterday, since this big gooey cake needed further icing, I managed to drop my cell phone down a flight of stairs, shattering its innards, which refused to respond to all my desperate ticklings.  I am now the bewildered owner of a new phone smarter than I am.

Writing, literature, deep thoughts?   Ha.  Forget about it.  I'm just posting to let you know I'm still alive.

And now, to prep.