Summer Reading

This is way too ambitious--50 books. I'm a slow reader. But I'm going to do my best. This is an odd amalgamation of books on my shelves that I've never gotten around to reading, books that have been recommended to me, a little poetry homework, and embarrassing gaps in my poetry background. I'm not listing any fiction, but hopefully will have time for a novel or two at some point. Here it is:

Poetry

Complete Works:

Walt Whitman

Emily Dickinson

Lorine Niedecker

Arthur Rimbaud

Wallace Stevens

Anne Sexton

John Keats

Thom Gunn

Dylan Thomas

Robert Frost

Selected Poems:

Percy Bryce Shelley

Donald Justice

Denise Levertov

Midnight Voices, Deborah Ager

Theories of Falling, Sandra Beasley

Manna Sifting, Garrett Brown

My Last Duchess & Other Poems, Robert Browning

Raefton Georgics, Garin Cychol

Furious Lullaby, Oliver De La Paz

Practical Gods, Carl Dennis

Then, Suddenly, Lynn Emanuel

Keep This Forever, Mark Halliday

Birthday Letters, Ted Hughes

Intaglio, Ariana-Sophia Kartsonis

Hallelujah Blackout, Alex Lemon

Undersong, Audre Lorde

Cadaver Dogs, Rebecca Loudon

The Lion Bridge: Selected Poems 1972-1995, Michael Palmer

Torched Verse Ends, Steven Schroeder

The Darkness Around Us is Deep, William Stafford

Ohio Violence, Alison Stine

The Rented Violin, Karen Whaley

Self-Portrait With Crayon, Alison Benis White

Steal Away, C.D. Wright

The World of Ten Thousand Things, Charles Wright

Easter 1917 and Other Poems, W.B. Yeats

The Second Person, C. Dale Young

Strike Anywhere, Dean Young

Poetics

The Life of Poetry, Muriel Rukeyser

How Does a Poem Mean, John Ciardi and Miller Williams

A Poetry Handbook, Mary Oliver

A Poet’s Guide to Poetry, Mary Kinzie

Non-Fiction

Unbearable Weight, Susan Bordo and Leslie Heywood

Gum Dipped, Joyce Dyer

Desire in Language, Julia Kristeva

Limbo: Blue Collar Roots, White Collar Dreams, Alfred Lubrano

Capital, Karl Marx (maybe)

The Noonday Demon, Andrew Solomon

Why I Am a Catholic, Garry Willis

*

On a slightly different note, I need to compile a list of poetry books published in the last two years for my intro to poetry course (obviously I'm not going to be able to list all of them...). I'm going to have my students write book reviews for their midterm project. Do you have a book I should add to the list?

shift

I'm breathing a sigh of relief this morning because I think I may have broken through a little funk.

I was so overwhelmed with everything from this semester (and before that) that even though I was anxious to have time off, I didn't really know what to do with it. I wasted two weeks on staring out windows and playing solitaire on my computer and in general doing things that were not getting me any closer to my goals.

But last week was good. The MCA, the zoo, finishing a new draft of In the Weeds, and time with friends all contributed to a sense of agency and well being that I cemented yesterday with a thorough cleaning of my apartment. I started the spring cleaning right at the end of the semester, but I didn't finish it, and you know when you quit cleaning halfway through it just ends up worse than it started. But yesterday, I did it all. I dusted--a chore I hated with a vengeance when I was a kid--I scrubbed every inch of my bathroom, I vacuumed baseboards and heater vents. Let's just say my mother would be proud.

I readily admit I'm a slob. I leave things where ever I've been using them when I'm finished, I hardly ever do the dishes after I finish cooking or eating, my TV screen is always covered in a film of dust... I don't like cleaning and I don't (usually) consider it very important. But when I woke up today and looked around and realized nothing was on the floor, and the laundry was sorted and ready to wash, and the bathroom was sparkly clean when I went to brush my teeth, I realized that maybe cleaning is a little more important than I want to believe.

When I had a day job, I cleaned off my desk every day. Granted, this was partly because I was trying to shorten my workday (if I'm off at 5:00, at 4:50 it's time to straighten up). But people thought I was so organized--even anal retentive--that I became a sort of organization guru. I scheduled projects and people and made flow charts and color coded and collated everyone's projects. And I rocked at it. (I recently did a facebook quiz about being right brain or left brain--I'm left brain, it says, which sucks for being a writer, but works really well when you're in an administrative assistant type position.)

Anyway, I don't know why I'm writing all this. I guess what I'm trying to get at is that I need to figure out a way to let my old work habits seep into my working-at-home habits. Because I feel like I can do so much more today than I could have yesterday morning when my apartment was chaotic and messy.

It's clear I'm not a photographer, but here's what I saw at the zoo

Yesterday = Nothing

Yep, didn't go to the museum/reading and I didn't clean my apartment. I didn't even finish DB. I did go to the library and borrowed a few movies (not to self: selection is better on weekdays! duh!). So, last night I watched Sideways (eh. I didn't hate it but I won't watch it again) and No Reservations (one of the best romantic comedies I've seen in ages).

Today, I'm going to the zoo. It's sunny and already warmer than it was yesterday.

*

I'm getting anxious about my summer job--hopefully I'll be starting on Monday, but I haven't heard anything yet. I know the supervisor was out of town most of this week, but you'd think he could send us an email and let us know what's up. If I don't hear from him today, I'm going to have to go looking for some other work. But still, I'm glad I didn't go through with the original summer job.

*

That's all, I guess. Off to the zoo.

On today's agenda:

1) Make apartment cat friendly
2) Go to Art Institute/Ilya Kaminsky reading

*

I'm not getting a cat. I'm just fostering one for two weeks while some friends are out of town. Still, I'm going to need to do some serious cleaning.

*

I don't feel like doing anything today. I know, it's early--things could change. But right now, I'm out of coffee and I don't even want to walk 1/2 block to the store to buy more. I'd like today to be about lounging in bed, finishing The Dew Breaker (just started chapter 2, so far, so good), maybe ordering some Chinese food for lunch. Is that wrong? It's just that it's kinda cold out, and sounds windy, and I spent enough time using public transportation yesterday and the day before that I don't really feel like doing it again today.

Who knows? By 4:00, I might be bored of being shut up in here and decide to go out anyhow. but right now...I'm all about sweats and pillows.

Went to the MCA yesterday and was wholly underwhelmed. I'd been there once before to see the Jenny Holzer exhibit (which was very cool) but didn't go upstairs to see any of the other exhibits. Well, the thing is, I didn't ever really need to go upstairs. They have like 3, 4 artists featured and I didn't really "get" any of them. The biggest exhibit upstairs was very engineering/physics heavy, and frankly, I have no interest in that sort of thing. I think they swap out the exhibits pretty regularly, so I guess I'll try again on another free Tuesday.

*

I also went to look at an apartment yesterday and I am getting pretty sick of people lying about what neighborhood their properties are in. There was nothing Logan Square-ish about this place--the sidewalks were crumbling, the yards overgrown with weeds, and I'm pretty sure if I was there after dark there would be hookers and drug dealers on the corner. The agent called while I was on my way there and had to cancel, but I didn't get the message until I was standing outside of this building looking up and down the street in complete horror. If these are my options, I'll stay where I'm at.

*

I didn't finish my ms revisions or get them to Jay yet. My new deadline is today at 12:00. I've got 4 hours to get this thing in shape.

One of the things I'm trying to do (I've almost decided which poems are staying and which are going) is to re-order the book without relying on chronology--primarily because I don't want a chunk of childhood poems right at the beginning. But they've been in a certain order for so long, I'm having a hard time imagining them as separate pieces again. What a strange process this is.

*

Canceling netflix may have been a bad idea. Requesting movies from the Chicago Public Library is painfully slow. And now that all my TV shows are done for the summer, there are no good free episodes to watch online.

Maybe I'm just not a hard-core enough writer, but there are only so many hours a day that I can use my brain, and after that, I just want to stare at a flashing screen.

Making like a tourist

It's been such a whirlwind year (okay, only 10 months) that I haven't gotten to see as much of Chicago as I feel I should have. That's why this week is tourism week for me. Some of the places I plan to check out are: The Field Museum (maybe--it's a little pricey and I'm on a budget), The Museum of Contemporary Art (I've already been, but it's free on Tuesdays, so that's where I'll be today), The Lincoln Park Zoo (free every day! And I hear there are some really interesting gardens/conservatories adjacent to it), The Art Institute (which I've also been to already, but didn't spend as much time there as I'd have liked. Plus Ilya Kaminsky is reading on Thursday night, which is also when admission is free). One of these days while I'm downtown, I'll check out the Harold Washington Library on Mary B's recommendation. Also, the Shedd Aquarium just reopened, but it's kind of expensive and I'm not really into fish, so I'll probably skip that one for now.

I suppose a real tourist would do some shopping, or at least some window shopping, so I'll see if I can fit that in. But frankly, I get alot more excited about $9 tee shirts at Target than I would about the haute-coture that I can look at on Michigan Ave.

More importantly, I'm hoping the weather forecast for the week (rain daily) is wrong, because I wouldn't mind wandering around Millennium Park a bit, too.

In Praise of Deadlines (I hope)

Today is the day that I will finish a draft of my manuscript--individual poem revisions, reordering, the whole deal. Why is today the day? Because I made a deal with Jay. We're trading. Tomorrow.

I can't procrastinate any longer. I can't hem and haw about which poems belong in the ms. I just have to decide. Hallelujah.

There just aren't enough deadlines in my poetry life now that I don't have a thesis committee to please. And it'll be three years before I have a new committee, so I guess I'm going to have to start recruiting friends to be deadline givers more often.

I'm feeling pleasantly frantic and urgent. Good for creativity.

randomness & craigslist trickery

I did not spend the day writing as I'd hoped yesterday. As a matter of fact, I can't really remember what I did all day yesterday. I revised a couple of poems, including one really old one (summer 06, I think), went for a walk, read about half of Revolutionary Road. The rest of the day involved listlessly sitting in front of the computer or laying around. It was the first hot day of the year--84 degress and muggy--and my apartment is an inferno. I'm going to have to make a hot weather escape plan so I don't spend the whole summer fanning myself and whining like Scarlett O'Hara.

*

I live too far from UIC (not to mention most of my friends) and pay too much for my tiny apartment, so I'm going to be moving in July. Oh, how I love moving. I'm looking in the Logan Square area, so when I search on craigslist, that's what I type in. And this morning, I found my dream apartment--2 bedrooms, marble counters, hardwood floors, dishwasher & washer & dryer in the apartment,--all for $100 less than I'm paying now for a studio. Too good to be true, right?

I'm anxiously waiting to hear back from the landlord when I start mapping things out. And I realize that this apartment is not actually in Logan Square, only sort of near it (about 2 miles away, which should be not-that-far, but in Chicago feels very, very far). And the appeal of Logan Square, besides a whole bunch of my favorite people living there, is the close proximity to the blue line, which in turn makes it a quick and easy commute to UIC. Alas, my dream home is not anywhere near the blue line, hence making my dream home not dreamy at all.

If I hear back from the landlord, I'll probably still check it out, but...sigh. It was so much better before I looked it up on a map.

rude awakening

Had a dream this morning that woke me up (hence my actually remembering it). It was the mother of all "crash-em-ups" as my dad likes to call the chase/crash scenes in action movies. Started with a family on an on-ramp, and I don't know what happened to them, but they all got in an ambulance and then the ambulance got creamed by a semi. Then, someone stopped to help and another semi creamed all of them. And again, and again. The whole time, some people are half hanging out of the crushed ambulance and the parts of them that are hanging out are totally unscathed, but it's clear the parts I can't see are shot. I think some dismemberment was about to happen when I thought "f*** this" and opened my eyes.

And now I'm up at 6:30 for no good reason.

I wonder if my dreams are always so destructive, or if I've just been watching too many crime dramas on TV.

*

I am hoping to spend the whole day writing. The kind of writing where I lose track of time and forget to eat breakfast and in general act like the stereotypical crazy artist. Haven't had one of those days in a really long time. Wish me luck.

*

One more thing. This is a question for you more experienced poets. When you're revising poems in a manuscript, how do you keep it all straight? Sometimes I revise poems in separate files, sometimes I revise them right in the manuscript file. Clearly, I need to be consistent. But neither way seems efficient, especially when it comes time to do journal submissions. Help!

cultivating joy

I forget sometimes I chose this life. I made it. I had a choice: find a job or go back to school. Stay in Akron and feel safe or move away and...who knows. I chose school. I chose away. And I forget sometimes that I can also choose how I feel about it.

A few days ago, I was talking to my Mom and I told her I hadn't done much that day--just watched a movie, read a book, played around on the internet a while, took a nap. And what did my mother say? "Oh, that would be so nice. To do what you want, when you want." Yes! That's it! That's why I'm doing this. Because the things I love--reading, writing--require quiet, and solitude, and great expanses of open time. And I have that.

It's scary here. I've been a loner for a long time; I've gotten used to spending days in my apartment without talking to anyone. But here, in my new city where I still feel so much like a visitor, I'm afraid to be alone too long. I'm afraid I'll disappear here. I'm afraid no one will miss me.

But then I remember. I made this. This is what I want. A room of my own. A summer with only part-time work, the rest for being a poet--a reclusive, introspective, quiet and still poet.

The wind blowing through my sliding door smells springtime sweet and somehow I've come to love the sound of the train rushing by--just far enough away that I don't always recognize it as train--and why, how, do I allow myself to forget sometimes that I am the luckiest girl in the world?

Library vs. Everything Else, Round 2

In continuing my library experiment, I went to the public library around the corner (yes, literally around the corner, 1/2 a block from my front door) and rented some movies. I then promptly canceled my Netflix account because with Netflix, I was getting 2 movies a month for five dollars, and at the library I got 3 movies all at once for zero dollars. I thought this was smart and economical. Until I returned my movies today and went looking for more, and discovered that the selection sucks. On the other hand, you can put things on hold at the library, which is kind of like the queue on Netflix, so I guess in the long run, I'm still saving $5 a month.

However...I still like to buy books. I went to Borders today because I had a gift certificate. Gift certificates are great except when you spend twice as much as the gc is worth. It's not that hard to do math in my head, but it is hard to decide which books I want to read--er, own.

Anyway. Here's what I bought today:

Mary Oliver, Dream Work
Denise Levertov, Selected Poems
Frank O'Hara, Lunch Poems
David Lehman, Great American Prose Poems
Richard Yates, Revolutionary Road

I promise myself and my bank account and my sagging bookshelves that I won't buy any more books this summer. Unless, well, unless I just have to have them.

Manuscript Madness

Yesterday, I sat down with my manuscript plus the 40 poems that aren't currently in it (mostly new, but some are from my MFA workshops that didn't make the cut for my thesis), and started to do some shuffling. And then I just got frustrated.

When I was ordering my thesis, I had three sub-projects that I was trying to weave together: childhood/family poems, Donny & Stella, and waitressing/working class poems. It all worked well because Stella was "my" cousin and she was a waitress, and I wrote some Donny childhood poems and he was a working class guy...at the time, it all made perfect sense.

But when I look at the manuscript now, there are about 5-10 childhood/family poems that don't fit and I'm anxious about the Stella stuff because of the chapbook--literally half of the full-length manuscript is in Flood Year. I feel like I need to do more with Stella so that folks who read the chapbook have something new to learn about her if/when In the Weeds goes out into the world. But that's a minor concern. I know that lots of poets' first chapbooks land directly in their first books. It's the poems I want to take out--they're going to need to be replaced or the ms is too short (and way too Stella-centric at that point). So, then there's those 40 unaccounted-for poems. Do they (some of them) end up in ITW? Or are they for a new manuscript(s)?

What I ended up with yesterday were three piles--which could turn out to be 3 manuscripts. And it would feel really, really nice to have a sense of the trajectory of my first three books. But I wonder if I'm drawing these lines in the sand that don't need to be drawn. Some of the poems in pile three could easily be integrated into ITW. I could even slap Donny's or Stella's names on some of them and add a few identifying details and *poof*--they're persona poems.

Right now, I wish that I wrote with more purpose. For the last year or so, I've been writing always with my thesis in the back of my mind--I knew when I turned it in that it didn't feel done to me, but everyone who read it at the time told me it was ready--so half of me thought the poems I wrote were for my second project, and half of me thought they were for ITW. I wish I'd been more deciscive, because now I'm just confused.

I've pushed back my personal deadline/goal for getting this manuscript in the mail 100 times (okay, maybe more like 10 times) and I don't know if it is truly for artistic reasons or just because I'm chicken shit. Then again, I knew my chapbook was ready and only had to send it out twice. If I know this manuscript is ready, will I have the same good luck? If I send it out when I'm still unsure, will I be wasting my postage and my reading fees?

And then there's the problem of revision--previously my favorite part of the writing process. But lately, I haven't been able to see beyond the first draft of a poem. What's missing, where is it going, how can I blow out the walls? These questions used to inspire a writing frenzy, now they just cause me to stare out the window listlessly. Eh, I think, this poem's pretty okay as is. I don't really know what else to do with it, so I guess it's done. That's not who I am as a writer! At least, it's not who I want to be. But I've lost my knack for re-visioning. How do I get it back?

Chicago Poetry Events?

Hey Chicagoans! Does anyone know if there is a central place to look for Chicago Poetry (or fiction) events? You know, a Chicago Poetry Calendar or something of the sort?

You see, since I've lived here, I've missed, oh, I don't know, 100 or so cool events because I don't know where to look for announcements. If there isn't such a thing, I think I'm going to have to create one.

*

Huh. Maybe I shoulda done a google search first. chicagopoetry.com seems to have it covered. And they have a blog.

Oh, Students...

Every semester, I grow to love teaching a little bit more. Which is good, because if I didn't love it, I wouldn't be able to deal with the not so fun stuff.

This semester, for the first time in my short (3 year) teaching career, I have had oodles of students emailing me because they are unhappy with their grades. And the weird thing is, in the past, my students' grades were consistently worse than they are this semester, but nobody ever complained.

What is up with that? It's giving me an ulcer.

Library Avoiders Anonymous

I have a confession. I hate libraries--especially university libraries. Part of it is that the library is always the last building on campus to be updated or renovated, so the chairs are always broken and skanky, the carpet thread bare, the thermostat always wrong, and I'm sorry, but the Dewey Decimal system is totally bizarre. Oh, and the books--with those awful generic covers, usually in the ugliest shade of green or orange possible--why, oh why do they do that? I know, students can't be trusted not to mangle the real covers, but--ugh!

But more importantly, I like to buy books. I'm not easy on them. I like to curl the front cover around when I'm reading, I like to dogear pages and make notes in the margins, and with library books, I just can't get comfortable.

This is why, for the last ten years, I have only borrowed library books when I'm writing papers--because you don't want to get comfortable with those books anyhow. I've developed quite a book-buying habit over the last few years, though, that is getting difficult to accommodate both financially and spatially. So...I borrowed a couple of books from the library yesterday, just to read them. This is purely an experiment. If I can't comfortably snuggle into bed with Whitman's collected poetry and prose, well, then, it's back to Borders for this girl. We'll see.

A Summertime Call For Submissions

I promised Kelly I'd post a list of journals that accept work over the summer, and while I haven't had time to compile said list just yet, I do have one to plug.

UIC's new journal Packingtown Review is accepting submissions for Issue #2 until September 1. Go here for details.

On Fitting In

When I was a teenager, and probably even before that, all that mattered in the world was fitting in. I think (no, I know) I've blogged about this before. On the left, you'll see one of my many failed attempts at fitting in. This particular time, I was at a Christian Workcamp--you know, the kind where a bunch of teenagers get into their pastors' vans, drive to some rural, underprivileged area, and slap some paint (or roof tar, in my case) on someone's dilapidated house all day, then come back to the high school they've turned into a bunk house at night for praying, dancing, and flirting (I know, it's a weird combination, but it's true). Anyway, I think I was 15 in this picture, and all the "cool" kids at the time were skaters--I guess to me that meant baggy tee-shirts (which I wore for most of the 90's anyway), baggy jeans (which I borrowed from a boy I had a crush on), and wallet chains (even though I didn't carry a wallet). That whole day, I thought I was so cool, but the second I got home and got this film developed, I realized I looked ridiculous.

Anyway, this is all just supposed to be a metaphor, but I got carried away. This post is actually about who I am in the blogosphere. And lately, I feel like I don't fit in. Maybe that's okay, who knows? But I find myself reading other people's blogs and wondering, "how can my blog be more like this one?" And "Why don't I get as many hits as this blogger?" It's silly, really. My blog is my blog...as in, it is the online representation of ME--not a crafted persona, just an honest, (perhaps too honest) projection of who I am in the real world, all the whining and self-deprecating that my closest friends get to hear on a daily basis put down in print for the whole world to see. If they want to. If they happen to Image search "uvula" or google "18-year-old boys" or any other random phrase that continues to get more hits than anything poetry related does. And if it's real and genuine, why would I change it?

Well, because no one likes a whiner. Because I hate reading through my archives and realizing how often I come here when I'm in a bad mood. And because I recently found out that my students do actually read my blog (I didn't think they'd care enough, but I guess I was being naive) and giggle about it in class the next day. Because at this point, with my first chapbook right around the corner and every day my life as a poet feeling more and more like a career, maybe I should start thinking of this blog as a tool and not just a space to vent and ramble. Some folks have been talking about blog reincarnation, and of course, some folks have been doing it, and I'm wondering if maybe I should join the crowd.

But the fact is, even if I got a new url, I'd most likely slip back into my old habits, because, like I said, this is me. So, I do need to go through the archives and delete things my students don't need to read (and proabably a million other people don't need to read either), but I don't need a new blog. Do I need an attitude adjustment (that sounds so much like my mother) all around? More than likely. A little less whining and a little more curiousity...that's what I need to go for right here and in real life. A new goal, I guess. Here goes...

After chaos

I feel like a three-day-old helium balloon--you know, the kind that still has a little float to it but mostly just hovers over the floor?

I'm done for the semester. I'm done with one academic year of PhD coursework, of living in Chicago, and I. am. exhausted. I could sleep for a week.

There is still so much to do: a manuscript to finish and submit, a poetry syllabus to write and a course packet to develop, a litany of other projects of various importance, and, of course, the inevitable spring/end of the academic year cleaning. 1000 photocopies to separate into Keep, Toss, or Recycle piles. Reorganizing the bookshelves to find homes for the 30-some new books I buy every semester. Laundry and vacuuming and dusting and everything else that just doesn't seem important when you're trying to balance grading with reading with writing papers with being a poet with having friends and blowing off steam.

Yes, I know most of my readers are academics. I'm preaching to the choir. It's just...

It's just that this year was harder. This year, I didn't have any of the usual comforts to fall back on. I couldn't smoke my stress away. I couldn't drive to Mom and Dad's on the weekends for good food and moral support. There were no familiar faces in the hallways, no office doors that were always open with friendly professors waiting inside. This year, every little thing felt new, and hard, and scary. And did I mention I'm exhausted?

I'm trying to put it all together. And hopefully that will happen soon, because I'd like to start enjoying my summer. But right now, I'm feeling kind of hung-over, like I just got done with a 9 month long bender. So, what's the solution? Hair of the dog? Greasy food and good conversation? Take two advil and get back to work? I just can't seem to get moving.

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!!

Summer break

14

I have 14 solid pages, plus 8 crappy pages for the working class paper.
I have 19 crappy pages for the Dorothea Lasky paper.

I want to finish them both tonight.

I want to be in bed by 2am.

I'm wondering how far I have to lower my standards in order to achieve those goals.

I'm aiming for a 3.0 GPA this semester. Is that bad enough to get kicked out of grad school?

And yep, I'm still trying to quit smoking. Which is to say I'm not actually a non-smoker. Because non-smokers don't pace around their apartments wondering why they quit smoking in the first place. Do they?

Don't worry. After 8 months I'm not about to go effing it up now.

I think I wrote something on this blog once about how I enjoyed writing papers. I was clearly delusional that day.

Indulge me, won't you?

As if I don't do this enough, forgive me while I whine a minute.

Someday, before this thing called grad school is over, I will figure out the right balance of working ahead and procrastinating. This semester, I have not done a good job of it.

I started both of my papers over spring break (six weeks ago). I've worked on both papers regularly ever since. At least 2-3 days a week. As a result, I'm not in a panic to generate material but I am completely bogged down in utter boredom with my own thoughts on the topics.

There's only 3(ish) days left until I'll turn both of these papers in, which kind of sounds like torture. Three more days of this? Ugh. I wish I could turn my brain up to turbo and get them both done today. I wish I was done.

Okay. Whine over. Back to it. Thanks for listening. : )

***

And another thing.

Why do you always land on the really interesting idea when it's way too late to do anything about it?