Oh lordy

Seriously? It's Tuesday. It's the second day of the first week of the semester and already I am overwhelmed, exhausted, and running behind.

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Italian 101: It's really weird taking a class that I could be teaching--you know, if it was in a different language. What I mean is this: the folks who are usually my students are now my classmates/groupmates/study partners. Weird.

Also weird: taking Italian when I have very rusty Spanish in my head. For example, how am I supposed to keep this straight? (The phrases below both mean "how do you say..."):

Spanish: como se dice (there should be accent marks in there somewhere)
Italian: come si dice

Pronunciation is the really hard part..."dice" in Spanish is dee-say (okay, my linguistics professors would be cringing at my phonetic spelling, but whatever) but in Italian, "dice" is pronounced dee-chay. How am I going to remember this? I'm so confused and it's only the first day!

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The first day of intro to poetry was uneventful. Tomorrow the students are bringing in their favorite poems. I'm very curious.

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What am I doing here? I have to do my Italian homework and answera million emails before the stolen wireless gods steal my connection.

Hopeful

I know I've been quite the downer around blogland the last few months, but things may be turning around a bit. I know it's only week one, but Spring 09 is shaping up to be 1000 times better than Fall 08. Here's why:

1. Instead of taking Teaching College Writing, I'm teaching college writing. Teaching isn't my #1 calling, but I think I'm getting better, more comfortable, and because UIC requires the second semester of comp to be theme-based, I'm teaching a subject I like (instead of straight-up argumentation). The topic: work and class identity. Sound familiar?
2. I'm taking a class on politics and rhetoric (instead of politics and aesthetics like last semester) and while I still hate talking about politics, I think this class is going to be bearable because a) we're reading about political economy, which could, theoretically, have an impact on my poetry--or at least my exam lists, and b) the prof this semester is much more interested in TEACHING than the prof was last semester. He seems totally okay with the fact that I start to twitch when I hear names like Foucault and Derrida, and wants to know if it takes me too long to do the homework.
3. The Past Decade. This is my contemporary poetry class and there's zero overlap of anything I've read before, on my own or for another class. Shows how much poetry is getting published these days... But more importantly, the prof here focuses much more on poetic movements than I'm used to, and this is good because I don't know crap about them. Also, there are some 4th and 5th year PhD students auditing the class and they are so smart! I feel a little like I did when I was an 8th grader in high school marching band. The seniors were so grown up, so cool, and I just couldn't wait to be like them.
4. Although I would, much to my dismay, still rather be in Akron, I don't hate Chicago anymore. Although I would prefer to see my boyfriend and my family more than once a month or every six weeks, I have people here that I can count on now. And there's so much to do, instead of crying I can just distract myself with annotated bibliographies and color coding my files! Plus, in just a couple of weeks, practically everyone I know is coming to Chicago for AWP. It'll be like transplanting Akron.

I really, really hope I keep feeling good about this, because doubting major life decisions is no fun.

Spring Semester Eve

John is on a plane back to Cleveland, I've finished some proofing on Barn Owl Review #2 and there's nothing more I can put between myself and day one of Spring 09.

I don't have butterflies in my stomach...they're buzzards.

I'm not ready to teach tomorrow. I don't have a solid class plan, I don't have copies, and (more importantly) I don't know what I'm going to wear. I can't wear power heels because there's a foot of snow on the ground, and I don't think my ugly-ass hiking boots (the only water proof shoes I own) are going to inspire anyone. But seriously. The copies are my biggest worry. Do I go to staples and pay, or do I try to wake up early enough to get to school an hour or so before class starts so that I can get my copy code and do them for free? And why, oh why, do I have to do my own copies? At UA, you just fill out a little form and the student assistants do it for you. I like it a lot better that way. (Item #817 on the list of things I like better about UA.)

Okay, so I procrastinated. But does that really surprise you? I always wait until the last minute, and with John visiting for the last week, I wasn't about to spend all my time in University Hall putting the finishing touches on my syllabus and handouts. So I'm down to the wire. It'll get done and this time tomorrow I'll be one down, 44 to go.

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Since the beginning of my grad student career, I've been meaning to start an annotated bibliography. A prof suggested it once, and it seemed like something only the most anal retentive people would actually do, but now it seems almost essential to keeping everything straight. I haven't even started putting together my exam committee yet, but I'm fairly sure of the topics I'll choose (contemporary poetry, working class lit, etc., etc.), so it couldn't hurt. Anyway, the point is I am going to try to start my annotated bib this semester, and I'm going to use this blog to keep myself honest. So, starting Tuesday, I'll be posting a list of what I'm reading, with short summaries/reviews each week. You have my permission to poke, prod, and torment me if I miss any of the next 15 weeks.

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Well, I've officially procrastinated longer than I planned. Sigh. Back to the plans...

Back in Chicago

After a few days of tourist-y revelry with my bf and a couple of friends, I'm sitting in my apartment enjoying a rare moment of solitude. John (he's decided not to be annonymous anymore) is walking to Jewel because he's stir crazy, even though the peapod guy should be here any minute, and I'm trying to wake up and start getting something done. Back to school next Monday, and I have some pre-Week 1 homework to do and some class prep as well. Unfortunately, I'm thoroughly in vacation mode and having trouble switching gears.

So, instead of answering emails and doing work, I'm going to post some pics.

Me & John at Tweet, the best place for breakfast ever.

The lox platter. I'm not a fan of salmon, but it sure looked pretty.

These bloody marys are amazing. They use Stoli Pepper and wasabi! Yum.

I was so busy taking pictures of our food and drink that I forgot to take pictures of people. Here's Little Eric showing off his scotch flight at Bar on Buena.

The Baby is Hungry

A couple of nights ago, I had a dream that I had a baby--well, a toddler--and I didn't know how to feed it. When I realized the child was hungry and I couldn't do anything about it, I was so overcome with guilt that it woke me up. So, no, I'm not pregnant...and I think the baby is a stand-in for poetry.

When I signed on for the crazy BBQ job, I imagined myself grabbing every spare minute to read or write, but I found myself doing very little of that. OK, I did read a few books this summer, but for the most part, I spent my down time sleeping, going out to eat with the crew, and on the phone with people at home. Many, many things were working against me: the 14-16 hour workdays, my crazy, spoiled, Russian princess of a roommate, the homesickness. And when I was home, well, it was usually for less than 48 hours and I spent most of it doing laundry and sleeping. The longer breaks didn't come until the end of the summer when it was time to start packing.

Anyhow, you, dear readers, are not my mother (well, one of you is) and are not my priest, so I guess I don't have to explain my guilt away like this. The point is, poetry got bumped this summer, and not because I didn't feel it was important, but because I couldn't find the emotional or physical energy to dedicate to it. And now, it's the day before fall semester begins and I don't feel like a poet at all.

I'm currently inundated with theory: Kant, Hegel, various composition texts, and still trying to adjust to this new city, which is, to say the least, overwhelming. I want to write, but I feel that other things are more pressing. I want to write, but I'm afraid I've forgotten how. I don't know how to feed the baby.

I've been joking to Boyfriend that my second ms is going to be called Lonely Country Girl in Chicago. Not a great title, and I imagine a pretty boring read...but the weird thing is that I can't even seem to eek out one of my old-style, overly sentimental poems. It's pretty bad when writer's block extends to the narcissitic, catharsis-inducing poems I've always reverted to in the past.

So, here's my question, folks: what do you do when the muse has taken a leave of absence? How do you tap into your inner poet when things like practicality and critical texts get in the way of your imagination? And, for those of you who have done or are doing the PhD thing...how do you balance being a scholar and an artist?

Prompt answers are appreciated...I have to have a new poem for workshop on Wednesday. : )

Spaz

My students must think I'm nuts. I was a clumsy, fast talking spaz in class today. Don't worry, I'll make up for it on Wednesday.
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Remember how I said I was okay with being single but sometimes I get bitter? There are way too many cute guys running around.
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I decided for my new-school-year resolution that I'm going to start working out. But I couldn't make myself go to the gym, so I walked around the gorge metropark today. It was muggy.
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My mom and dad are going on a road trip in September. They're planning to be gone all month. I'm going to miss them alotly, but I'm kind of glad because I'm going to be sooo busy that I wouldn't have time to drive out there anyway.
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Kelly wants to know what's on my desk:

Laptop: always on, always online. Excel generated schedule with color coded time blocks. Calendar. Scissors. Generic MP3 player. Bowl o' binder clips. Pictures of Dad, Mom, great nephew Philip. Various office supplies. Important papers, including class plans, list of PhDs to research, and lit mags to submit to. On the wall to the left, a little sign that says "Future Award Winning Author At Work." I did not buy this for myself; it was a graduation gift from Carla.

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That's all. Homework time.

The First Day of School

That's me getting on the bus for my first day of kindergarten. That was a long, long time ago (says the 26-year-old). It feels like a long long time ago to me, okay. The bus driver is Marge. She was my older sisters' bus driver in the late seventies and my bus driver for all of my days at Cloverleaf local schools. I wonder if she's still driving now. Carla and I were the only kids allowed to call her Marge--the others had to call her Mrs. K. That made me feel very special.

I'm getting a little nervous for school to start tomorrow. I'm always anxious about meeting my new students. I think in a comp class the first day sets the tone for the semester (maybe in all classes, but since I only teach comp...) and I'm hoping all goes smoothly.

Today I'll be finalizing my class plans, going to the grocery store, organizing my school supplies, and tearing my room apart hoping that I somehow overlooked the loan check. I'm hoping to feel really stupid when I find it sitting on top of the TV or something ridiculous like that.

Oh, and fall submissions. I need to get to work on those.