A little more navel gazing...

Life has been full and oddly overwhelming lately. I'm not busy in the normal sense of the word, but I'm keeping myself busy and keeping my mind full (ha! mindful. I'm such a dork) with teaching ideas, poetry ideas, who-the-hell-am-I-and-what-the-hell-am-I-doing ideas. I don't have internet or cable at home, so I've been reading fiction in the quite hours when I'd normally zone out in front of a flickering screen. I read A Million Little Pieces* in one day. Then The House of Sand and Fog, and now I'm half-way through Pigs in Heaven. This is easily the most non-critical prose I've read since I took a class on creative non-fiction during my MFA.

(*Regardless of the Oprah debacle, it's questionable how much of Frey's "memoir" is memoir, especially in light of the tidbit I heard somewhere that Frey pitched it as a novel, but memoir was so hip at the time that his publisher convinced him otherwise... anyway, this is unsubstantiated rumor, but I'm still thinking the book is a novel.)

I'm excited and terrified to teach Intro to Poetry Writing this semester, and have been spending a tremendous amount of time compiling the course packet which essentially is a mini-anthology of the poems that helped me figure out how to be a poet. Of course, I'm still figuring that out, so the thing never feels done and I'm convinced that once I drop it off for copies, I'm going to realize that I left out the most important poems. I guess that's why there are xerox machines, right? I couldn't bring myself to use a textbook or stock anthology because this is the first time I get to teach what I love, and I wanted as much control over it as possible. Now I'm thinking: what the heck do I know about poetry? and just hoping that my excitement for it will cover up the gaps in what I don't know. I'm hoping to post a more substantial something on transitioning from comp instructor to teacher-of-what-I-love sometime soon, but not today.

As for my solipsism: I'm busy putting Humpty-Dumpty back together again after what I can only describe as the most difficult year of my life. Who would have thought that moving to a new city could completely decimate a person's self-ness? Okay, maybe decimate is the wrong word. Maybe scramble. Maybe perforate. Maybe shred.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of the day I got in the car filled with all my stuff and drove six hours to this big, crowded, scary place and started trying to make it fit. Today, I can say it sort-of, almost does. But the me who sorta-kinda fits here today isn't the me who showed up 364 days ago and that's what I'm trying to understand. I did some massively stupid, self-destructive things while ostensibly trying to survive, and I'd like to be able to explain, someday, to myself and the people those actions affected, why I acted the way I did. Right now, I can't even come close, except to say I was sad and lonely. But that doesn't feel like an answer.

More importantly--or at least of more immediate importance--are the questions I have about my work and my place at UIC. I'm still having trouble finding a poetic community here, probably because there are not a lot of poets in the program to begin with, and the ones I know are primarily working on dissertations and not taking workshops with me. I'm also struggling to see my exam committee, and the dissertation committee that follows it, coming together. I'm not sure what my lists are going to be and I'm not sure who I'd like to work with. Unfortunately, I do know who I don't want to work with and I don't like that feeling. I'm hoping that I can slap a quick coat of paint over the mistakes I made last year academically and be more productive and positive this year.

Aaaah....I could go on and on about this, but I have many more things to take care of in my tiny little window of internet time today.

blurry

I never got around to posting pictures of the horses because they all came out terrible, and after the first couple days, the novelty of running around with my camera pretending to be a photographer ran out. But here are a couple of blurry ones from dinnertime one night. The white guy is my pal, Banjo, and the black one is Stevie (named for Stevie Nicks, btw). There are three others who, unfortunately, won't be represented here.


And one last pic of Taylor and Turbo, my constant companions while I was on the farm. They are the cutest, sweetest things I've ever seen. I really wanted to take them home with me.


So, now comes the fun part--packing the suitcase and getting ready for the overnight bus ride. I'm ready to be home, although that feels a little suspect since I only lived in my apartment a week before I came here. I'm no where near unpacked, so it's going to be a little stressful when I get back. And before I know it, school again. Hoping I can pack a little more summer into these last two weeks.

Anyway, good-bye Ohio, I'll miss you dearly. But not as badly as last August.

with mixed feelings

My time on the farm is nearing its end. The travelers begin the long trek home tomorrow morning and by Friday, I'll be back at Mom and Dad's house for the weekend before my midnight megabus ride home on Sunday/Monday.

I'm anxious to get back to my apartment, to finish unpacking & get organized before the semester begins, to see my friends. I'm not anxious to return to the city, the el, the concrete and constant noise.

And while I'm anxious to get back to real life, I'm also wishing I had another week or so here (or that I could rewind a week or so) to be more productive. Television seems to be my Achilles heel when it comes to productivity, and I have lost many, many hours to CSI reruns and other brain-draining nonsense (on the upside, I finally saw Juno, which I loved). I'm fighting the urge to turn on the crack box as we speak.

I didn't do much reading--a Nora Roberts novel, the first few chapters of The House on the Hill, a Cesare Pavese novel (still working on that one), a bit of Ted Hughes' Birthday Letters, and MacNolia by A. Van Jordan (a reread, but well worth it). Also, I don't think I ever made it to 10 pages, but definitely over five, and still working on a long poem which should get me to the goal (two weeks late). I spent a good chunk of time on my Intro to Poetry syllabus, and another good chunk of time catching up with friends...so it wasn't all wasted time. But I do wish I could get back the time I spent watching Wife Swap, at least. Oh, and napping. I did a lot of napping...too bad you can't bottle that--I think I'm going to have a sleep deprived semester ahead of me.

So, was my stay in the country a success? The jury's still out. It'll depend on whether or not I arrive back in Chicago energized and driven...or if I just pout and mope because I'm back in the city. One thing I am sure of--I'd still pick this lifestyle over city living any day of the week. So cross your fingers for me that when I go on the job market in a few years, there's a small town college looking to hire a poet.

And now, back to the to do list--not the TV.

A much needed ego boost

After Hours has accepted my poem "Advice from a Hotel Maid" for their next issue. That's two journals/five poems in less than a week.

Thanks, universe, I needed this.

My regular readers will know that my confidence as a poet/academic/person has taken a hit this last year, what with my rather uninspired transition to city living and PhD work. It's good to be reminded, even in this small, largely subjective way, that some folks (besides the ones that love me already) appreciate my work.

Two of the poems were written during my MFA, one was written while I was still in Akron playing the adjunct game, and two were written during my first semester in Chicago. I think that's a pretty good spread.

*

I got sucked into the abyss that is cable (err--satellite) television for the last couple of days and have not met my goal, which was to write ten pages in less than a week (okay, originally it was to write ten pages in 3 days, then five, then in less than a week). My friend Kristina is coming to the farm to talk poetry on Wednesday, so the new goal is to have ten pages by the time she gets here. I do have 2 new pages, so that's 8 that I still need. I'm channeling Maggie Anderson here, and her 10-pages-in-a-weekend assignment that kicked my ass/provided a much needed break-through in my writing the summer that I was working on my thesis.

Speaking of Maggie Anderson and the post-Bisbee writing assignment, I should give a shout-out to this year's Wick Fellows, including my friend Frank. I think they're starting their workshop tomorrow and will be heading out to Arizona next week, but I could be wrong. At any rate, I wish them much joy and artistic inspiration and camaraderie.

*

And before I go, one more picture of my idyllic home in the country. I'm so wishing I could stay forever.

wildflowers

and slowly, the grass and the trees and the flowers and the big open sky are pulling my self back to my self.

Let's call it a residency

So here I am, on the farm. It's not house sitting, it's a mini-residency with horse privileges.
I'm the luckiest girl in the world.
I might never go back to Chicago.

This is where I'll be spending most of my time.
And this is the view from the front door.
And this is Taylor and Turbo, who have been right there guarding the driveway ever since their people left. I imagine they'll stay right there until they come back. Pictures of the horses coming soon.

Forgive me for not staying, I'm off to breathe in the clean, country air.

Almost nearly

I move to my new place tomorrow. I'm almost nearly ready. Have to walk over to the Uhaul place a couple blocks away to get more boxes. I always run out, which usually isn't a big deal, bc I just start throwing stuff in trashbags and whatnot, but the movers won't appreciate that so I have to buy boxes. Sacrilegious.

*

I've taken to sleeping in such a position that my shoulder almost always hurts. Will someone please tell my joints that I am still in my 20's and not ready for them to start mutinying? (I can't believe mutinying is actually a word. Weird.) Will someone please tell sleeping me to roll over and put her arm in a normal position?

*

There was much revelry on Thursday and Friday nights, so by Saturday, the actual holiday (as you know) I was all out of my being-around-people fuel and sat around moping last night and being pissed at the neighbors for lighting off fireworks in a very unsafe manner. I know I was just in Ohio and am going back in a week, but I really wished I was at home for the holiday weekend--for mom's lung transplant anniversary and for sparklers with Philip the cutest five year old boy on the planet and for fireworks in the dark--on the upside, I did go to a yacht club party where they had white zinfandel for $1 and the band played country. They also played a little MJ for us, and man, I've never seen people get so excited about dancing/singing along to 'Billie Jean". I was on a sort-of-but-not-really date with the bass player of the band, which made me feel super cool, except for the part at the end of the night when I realized that the sort-of-but-not-really date would be our last. I guess it's better to figure that out right away instead of wondering for three days if he'll call. And why am I talking about this here? I don't blog about dating. Sigh.

*

I feel like summer is about to end. I move tomorrow and will be settling in for the next few days and then on Sunday I head back to Ohio for my 3-week house sitting gig. Then it's August when I get back and I have my first pre-semester meeting on August 17. Poof. Summer's over. But oh, how I look forward to my three weeks in the woods. I'll be so happy to be there I won't even mind the mosquitos.

As you might have noticed from the photos below, I am not currently in Chicago. After a hellish week of paper finishing, I headed back to OH for a friends wedding, and I'm sitting in my parents' spare bedroom right now burning CDs for my drive back in the morning. My car is filled with Ohio groceries and miscellaneous stuff I hate to buy in the land of 10% sales tax. When I get back, I'll be finishing up my grading for the semester, and then, who knows? All I do know is that I won't have to write another paper for several months, and that makes me very happy. I will write poems, read books that don't have anything to do with theory or rhetoric, and allow myself to catch up with the whirlwind that has been my life since this time last year when I hit the road for my summer of BBQ glory.

Oh, yeah, did I tell you I'm now 1/5th done with my PhD? I survived the first year!!

5% or The Wish Factor

A few weeks ago, on one of those rare, warm February nights, I was standing outside of a bar with a friend and a homeless guy stopped to talk to us. Or maybe he wasn't homeless, but he was certainly transient. Anyway, he was kind of magical. His name was Lamar and he said:

In this economy, hope isn't enough. It's the wish factor that gets us through.

He said:

This life is 95% bullshit. 5% beautiful.

I've been trying to turn Lamar into a poem ever since, but it just isn't coming.

The thing is, I think Lamar's 5% beautiful is poetry. That's the point, right? Rilke said: "describe your sorrows and desires, passing thoughts, and the belief in some sort of beauty." It was easier when that's all poetry was to me. Before it was a career, a vocation--before it was something I wanted other people to read. Back when it was private, when I would have set a poem on fire with a Bic lighter rather than reading it to a room full of people.

I've been caught up in the 95% for way too long.

*

When I first moved here, I had a 5% moment. It was the first day of class and I was feeling down-right shitty about being in Chicago. But I walked onto the subway platform and this guy was singing. The song sounded familiar but I didn't know why until he got to the chorus. The song was "Sara Smiles." That day, while I waited for the train and listened to this guy singing, I thought: Okay, I can do this.

Replace sent-from-heaven guy with an acoustic guitar with wanna be R&B star who calls himself R. Kelly #2 for the next six months and you have my 95% bullshit. I don't know how people get their subway musician passes, but they should really do it on a rotating basis so you don't have to listen to the same routine every morning. But I'm getting off track.

The other day, "Sara Smiles" guy was back. And he was singing "Stand By Me," which is not as personally poignant, but still a fantastic song. And it was so, so great to hear him. And I gave him a dollar, even though I wanted to give him every penny in my purse because he kept me from jumping on the tracks that first day (okay, so that's a little melodramatic) and I wanted to miss my train and sit and listen to him all day. But I'm shy, and I felt silly giving him a dollar, especially since the spot where I always stand when I'm waiting for my transfer is at the opposite of the platform from where he was singing. I wanted to ask him to sing my song, but I could barely look at him and smile when I put my dollar in his guitar case. So I just listened to "Stand By Me," blushing and staring at the floor and smiling, and being thankful for 5%.

a sense of urgency?

Despite the general discomfort of riding a bus, I love the trip between Cleveland and Chicago because of views like this one. The megabus is a double decker, so the perspective is totally different than in a car and I just can't get enough of it. It's hard to take good pictures, though...

*

Anyway. I'm back in my teeny tiny studio after having spent 5 days with my parents in Chatham, hanging out with Mom, playing with Maxi, the river dog (who is in the jumping/biting phase of puppy-hood, which means my arms look like I've been through a shredder), and arguing with my dad about, well, everything. As you can tell from my earlier post, Dad's a republican, and he likes to watch the news. Now that the election/inaugruation is over, I've gone back to my general disinterest in politics, but when I'm around him, I remember why I cared so much about the election, and think maybe I should start paying more attention the rest of the time.

My time in Ohio was not in any way relaxing (despite the fact that I managed to get about 10 hours of sleep each night) because of all the errand running and trying to see folks I hadn't seen since August (apologies to anyone I missed! There's just never enough time!), and trying to keep up with my homework as well (also a major fail). But it was good, nonetheless, to be home, where places and faces are familiar and people know my history. Had a long talk with a prof who's known me since my undergrad days who gave me some really good advice on how to deal with my angst over my new program--and it was advice that someone who hasn't known me for 8 years wouldn't have been able to give, I don't think. Also spent one evening with my bff since 5th grade which was long, long over due.

But now I'm back. And strangely enough, feeling quite at home. I was oddly proud of myself last night for my ease in hailing a cab at Union Station, and also for knowing a couple of different ways to get home if I hadn't felt like taking a cab (but it was 11pm, cold, and I was dragging a giant suitcase, so I did feel like taking a cab). I'll never give up my self-identification as a country-bumpkin or small town girl, but I guess I'm getting pretty good at playing the part of a city girl when I need to. Everyone I saw in Ohio (who were, for the most part, people I hadn't seen since I moved) wanted to know if I liked Chicago...and I feel like a traitor to myself when I want to say yes. So here you go (esp. Brandi & Mary): I like Chicago. I get fed up with Chicago pretty quickly sometimes, but I get fed up with my parents and my sisters, too, and I would lay down in front of a CTA bus for them. I won't deny that the transition has been difficult--exhausting and soul-crushing at times, even--but I'm okay with where I'm at, finally. It only took seven months...

*

And that brings me back to the present, and the impetus for this post's title. I made a tiny little dent in my gargantuan to do list for spring break, and now have less than 48 hours until I'm back on campus for Week 11. I don't think it's possible to conquer the to do list in that time, and I'm wondering when my sense of urgency is going to kick in. The problem is that a lot of what I planned to accomplish is based on my own deadlines, not deadlines that anyone will force me to meet. However...if I don't do these things now, they're just going to pile up, and when else am I going to have time? It's 9:24 on Saturday morning and already, I'm procrastinating (is it really necessary to write a blog post this long ever--let alone when I'm swamped?). Twilight is sitting on top of the pile of mail begging me to watch it (even though everyone says it's crap) and I'd really like to spend today lounging around...but class identity (paper 1) and neo-confessional poetry (if there is such a thing) (paper 2) and grading are all calling my name. Blah! I don't wanna.

So, trying right now, thisverysecond, to motivate myself to stop loafing in my pjs and go to the library (which, by the way, will be at least a 45 minute commute each way) to pick up a couple of key sources (one for each paper), which I then must force myself to read today so that tomorrow I can start my rough drafts. Or something like that. But I just poured a fresh cup of coffee.

Yep, still can't find that sense of urgency I'm looking for.

About Teaching

Some of you may have had the good fortune to come across my pity-party this morning, but I quickly came to my senses and removed it. I got some work done, cooked a yummy dinner, and am now drinking a glass of wine. Most, if not all, of the world is right again. Until it's not. At which point I will whine, mope, and eventually kick myself into shape. Like I did today.

Anyhow.

That's not what this is about. I want to talk about teaching. About what a strange semester it has been for me as a teacher, and about how things are shaping up for next semester.

I'm teaching two classes right now, and they couldn't be more different. One class is small, engaged, and fun. They have some trouble with reading comprehension from time to time and struggle with the paper assignments (which I can't really blame them for--they're tough [I didn't write the assignments, so it's not like I'm patting myself on the back here]), but they care, and they ask questions, and they tell me if they think I'm full of bullshit.

The other class is everything this one isn't (ha-weird how that happens when I said earlier they couldn't be more different. duh). There are too many students and most of them couldn't care less about...I don't know: the topic of the class, their grades, their classmates, etc. But more than that, this class is set up to be different because I'm co-teaching it with another grad student. I don't know if any of you out there have done much co-teaching, but my partner and I hate it. We've had many conversations about how much we hate it, and many conversations about how to make it better, and it's just not working. I've talked to some colleagues who are co-teaching the same type of course and they enjoy it, so I don't know what the problem is. Maybe it's a personality thing, maybe it's an experience thing (for example, back when I was Mary's teaching intern, I didn't hate that--but Mary was the expert and I was the intern; we had very separate roles.)

As frustrating as this class is, it's been instructive to me. Watching someone else teach on a day-to-day basis has helped me to see how students respond to certain things, what types of activities work and don't work, without having to be the one standing in front of the class. It's easier to see (when you're not running the activity or discussion or lecture) whether the silence and blank faces is a sign of zoning out or of confusion, for example. And having a co-teacher to give immediate feedback is nice, too. But I'd still rather do it alone. Then again, I'd rather do most things alone.

Teaching at UIC, on my own or with a partner, is totally different than teaching at UA was, though. First of all, the student body is much more diverse and (sweeping generalization here, there are certainly exceptions) more down-to-earth. It seems fewer of my students this semester are in school because Mom and Dad said they had to, and more are here because they have some sort of drive. There are fewer non-traditional students (only one who is clearly older than me, and one who is definitely close to my age), and fewer single parents. More than half of my students are bilingual; many, many of them weren't born in the US. They make me feel so much more sheltered than anyone else I've come across in my short time in Chicago. And they think it's funny that I'm from a small town (eh, most people think it's funny that I'm from a small town, I guess). One class was shocked the other day that I'd never heard of Cabrini-Green...and I'm sure there are a thousand other things here that are common knowledge to the locals that I'm just not aware of. Back in Akron, most of my students grew up the same way I did. Some even went to my high school. It's just different...

And it's better. I don't know if it is because I have more experience or because the philosophy of the First Year Writing Program is worlds apart from at UA. My boss at UA, Bill Thelin, wrote a book called Writing Without Formulas, which I taught. Here, I teach a book called They Say/I Say, which is filled with formulas. At UA, I used a student-directed, "democratic" classroom style; students voted on paper topics, I never planned more than a week ahead, and while there was more room to adjust things as the semester progressed, there was never much driving the course from week to week. Here, I have to turn in a complete syllabus (with daily plans) before I'm allowed to teach a course. My classes are theme based and there are a number of projects I have to complete whether my students are interested or not. I admit, I rebelled a bit at first--doing things Bill Thelin's way made me feel like I was in charge of my own classroom--doing things Ann Feldman's way helps a lot when I don't know exactly what my way would be.

And so I've drank the water...and I'm going to be working in the comp office next fall. I'll be reviewing other folks' syllabi, answering student and instructor questions, and I'm not quite sure what else. I think it'll have something to do with color coding and Microsoft Access...they were pretty excited when I told them about my administrative background...but I don't have a ton of details yet. The downside is that it'll be longer than I hoped before I teach poetry. I've been peaking at the course listings and many, many of my first-year classmates are teaching non-comp classes: film and lit, intro to rhetoric, American lit and culture, intro to fiction writing, etc. My courses aren't listed yet, but folks who work in the comp office typically teach comp, so...I don't see Intro to Poetry Writing in my Fall 2009 teaching assignment. Sigh. This will be great experience--not to mention great on my CV--but I am conflicted about not getting into that poetry classroom as quickly as some of my friends are getting into their fiction classrooms.

Conflicted--that's how I feel a lot about my life at UIC. But let's not get into that right now.

Break-up/Break-down/Break-through

I constantly struggle with how personal to get on this blog. My first impulse: totally personal. Then I remember that I'm also hoping to someday use this as a site for self-promotion and think that I should stick to academics and poetry.

Well, that's not very much fun. And while I've never had a ton of readers, I think there's even fewer these days. Is it possible that people actually prefer my whining and introspection? Hopefully, because today, that's what you're going to get.

*

I've been sad lately. Sad about my break-up, sad about some other personal relationships that aren't/can't be what I thought/hoped, sad about being away from my family, etc. And what is surprising to me in all of this is learning to distinguish "sad" from "depressed." Having been diagnosed with chronic depression at 21 (and having self-diagnosed years before that), I am programmed to label all bad feelings: Depression. But that's not it. There's a difference between chronic and acute that I never had to learn. Right now, my sadness is directly related to events in my life, in a way that previously wasn't true.

I don't know what that all means, but it's something I'm trying to figure out. There's a lot I'm trying to figure out. Like who the hell I am after this last crazy year. This time last year, I was waiting anxiously to hear back about my PhD apps (I think I might have already heard from UIC, but I'm not sure) and everyone I talked to said they hoped I would end up in Chicago (well, maybe not everyone, but a lot of people) because small town girls like me need to live in a big city once in their lives. What? Says who? Something about being in unfamiliar territory being good for your work--a shock to the senses. Well, I still wonder why Chicago was supposed to be better for that than say, Knoxville, TN, or Tallahassee, FL (or any of the five other places I applied to). I'm way burnt-out on public transportation, smelly homeless people, and cement. Why couldn't I be someplace where a car isn't an inconvenience? Where there's grass in places other than public parks? Where you can actually see horizon once in a while (across the lake doesn't count)?

But back to the original question--how has this past year changed me? I haven't figured that out yet. I'm probably tougher, I guess, street-smarter. A little bit braver. I can do tequila shots without training wheels now, and drink PBR just as fast as anyone else sitting around Lil Joe's on a Wednesday night. I'm healthier--I quit smoking. But am I a better poet like everyone said I would be? Hell no. I haven't written a poem that I'm ready to submit since I've moved here, and it's been over six months. Maybe I've become a tougher critic. But mostly, I think being out of my comfort zone has forced me to focus on survival to such an extent that I don't know how to tap into my new/boundary-pushing experiences in a creative way.

I'm also less confident than I was when I got here, and I've never been a terribly confident person. I'm afraid to speak my mind in class because I don't want to disagree with the profs (and I usually do) unless I'm sure I can argue my side (and I usually can't), I constantly feel like I'm on the outside of an inside joke because I haven't read the right book or essay, I doubt my own abilities as a student/scholar/poet in ways that I never have before. On the other hand, I have increased confidence in my ability to teach and in my desire to teach. But the balance isn't good. Maybe that's it--balance. I can do tequila without training wheels but I can't do PhD work without them. I'm uncentered and off-kilter.

It's not all bad, though. My cohort (that's what they call the incoming class here) is amazing: lots of smart, interesting people who are as good at gossip and silliness as they are at theory and criticism. I'm heading back to Ohio on Friday for a much needed dose of family and country living. And even if I'm not doing work that I totally love, I'm being challeneged and pushed and do have some small bit of faith that eventually I will get out on the other side feeling smarter, more in control of my poetic talents, more eloquent, more prepared for my career as a poet and professor. I've never been so great at the waiting part, at the struggling through. I like instant gratification (who doesn't?) and I'm frustrated that the big changes haven't happened yet, I guess.

Still, I'm waiting for that break-through. I need some poetry to gush out of me too fast to edit. I need to come up with a kick-ass paper idea that I can get excited about researching and writing. I need to meet someone (a prof, another student?) who will click with me, my work, who will get what I'm trying to do and know how to beat it out of me. I'm freaking tired of floundering. I'm tired of writing half-baked drafts that bore me when I go back to them. I'm tired of being the new kid, the country girl who's homesick all the time, the MFA who doesn't know how to talk about theory. I just don't know how to fix any of it. I guess I'll just keep doing what I'm doing until I figure it out.

*

And just for good measure--here's my "F-you, Chicago" song (and when I say Chicago, I mean my whole new life, just so you know. I'm over hating the city, for the most part (besides what I mentioned above).)

City vs. Country Living: What I've Learned During My First Week in Chicago

1. Animals in the country have better manners. They eat (and poop) in the woods, not on your porch. And they don't leave skanky chicken bones on your lawn chair.
2. In the country, no one serenades you on your way to work (except Justin Timberlake and Carrie Underwood). But in Chicago, the subway minstrel somehow knows who you are and sings "Sara Smiles" as you walk onto the platform.
3. Lack of touch is bad for your immune system. I've decided the cold I have is a direct result of not hugging for seven full days.
4. When you have to carry your groceries home from the store, you lose weight. Who wants to carry a 12 pack of Mountain Dew and a carton of Ben & Jerry's down the street?
5. Even though you're sure your car won't be there when you go looking for it, it's still there. And driving in Chicago isn't that bad as long as you don't cross any bus drivers.
6. Walking home from the el after dark isn't scary at all.
7. Everyone tells you that Chicago is a city with a "Midwestern attitude." If that means not making eye contact and only speaking when forced to, then I guess they're right. But this place is really not as friendly as people said it would be.
8. Everyone has a long commute, so using "I have an hour long train ride" as an excuse for the cushy teaching schedule isn't going to work.
9. Going to the bar after class is a lot more expensive here, but you can drink more because you don't have to drive home.
10. It is entirely possible to convince yourself that Chicago is nothing more than your 4 block walk to the el and the immediate vicinity of the UIC campus, but if you do this, you will regret it.

Country Bumpkin

At least I know someplace I can go if I end up in Chicago next fall.

Which reminds me. Kelli and Jeannine are talking about small town life. I am a small town girl. One of my biggest fears is moving to a big city. I'm pretty terrified of just visiting, to be honest.

A couple of years ago, I went to Chicago for work (back when I had a job that paid for travel) and if I could have stayed in my hotel room the whole time, I would have. It was nice. But there was no reason for a 22-year-old communications coordinator to be in a 5-star hotel off Michigan Avenue. When the bellhop (there's probably a fancier name for him, right?) asked to help with my bags, I thought, I'm not tipping you to carry my borrowed suitcase to the elevator, thank-you-very-much. The guy probably got paid more than I did to begin with. The next trial? Trying to figure out what to eat because everything on the room service menu was more expensive than my per diem allowed. I finally decided on an $18 cheese burger and hoped I could slip the receipt past my boss without her noticing. I called my mom that night and almost cried while telling her I wished for the Holiday Inn and a Papa John's pizza.

It never occurred to me to leave my room, go for a walk, look for some cheap hot dog street vendor, experience the city that I couldn't see from my hotel room window. I was taught that sweet country girls shouldn't go out in strange places alone.

I told Mary that I can't fly to New York for AWP by myself because I'll panic between luggage claim and the hotel check-in desk. I know there are airport shuttles, but that doesn't make me feel any better. I don't know why. And you would have to pay me a lot of money to get on a subway alone. I watch Law & Order, I know what happens down there. (I'm kidding!) But seriously. I'm not a fan of public transportation. Sure, it's good for the environment, but not for my nerves.

Another country-bumpkin story for you: Senior year in high school, a couple of friends and I decided to go to Cleveland to see the Christmas lights in public square. We parked at the airport and took the RTA downtown. Everything seemed hunky-dory until we realized we were about to miss the last train of the night (Cleveland is pretty small on the big-city scale, you know. The trains only run until about 11). We run to the terminal and get on the last train of the night. But ten minutes later, the driver gets on the PA and asks us (we're the only ones there) if we know where we're going. We say, sure, we're going to our car at the airport. No. We're not. We're on the east bound train. And country-bumpkins don't belong on the east side of Cleveland, according to our driver. He stops the train and waits with us until a West-bound train comes by to save us. Nothing went wrong, exactly, but the fact that the driver waited with us didn't make me feel very safe.

Anyhow, the point of all this is that I'm a walking target whenever I get out of my comfort zone. And for some reason, I'm still planning to apply to UIC. I guess it would be good for me to move to a city for a while, experience something different, but I don't know. I don't think I'd be happy in an urban environment. Even Akron is too much city for me sometimes. I have to find grass, trees, 55mph speed limits and double yellow lines. What would I do someplace where I would have to learn how to parallel park and read bus schedules?

Whenever I list off the schools I'm applying to, people say, oh, you don't want to go to Nebraska, it's so boring. Boring sounds good to me. Boring is better than bustling metropolis any day. Do they have Target and Olive Garden in Nebraska? Then I have all I need.

country bumpkin

According to Mr. Jensen, it's pretty hot in Arizona. Two weeks from today, I'll be able to find out for myself.

Last night was my first city fireworks experience. Even though I've lived in or around Akron for the better part of 6 years, I still manage to end up in the country for most 4th of Julys. Not this time, though. I hung out with my nephew and his friends at Musica (where we have open mics during the school year) because one of the engineering prof's band was playing, and ended up hanging out there the whole night, except when we walked over to the summa care building to watch the fireworks. I have no idea how I never knew Akron's fireworks were such a big deal. Streets were closed, people were clustered on bridges, the whole hospital parking lot was jammed with us. And the fireworks were good. Lots of them, big ones, swirly ones, ones that made me feel a little nervous and dizzy, loud ones that made my heart thump wrong. Definitely better than the little po-dunk ones I grew up with. (No offense small towns, I'll always love you best) The one thing that was missing at this urban display of patriotism? Darkness. They should have turned off the streetlights. In the country, everything is pitch black until the first explosion, which makes it way more exciting.

I'm not feeling very well today and would really love to go back to bed. But guess what? I have class tonight and no poem yet. There should be plenty of time but I'm just not feeling very creative. Sorry for whining. I can't help it sometimes.