tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298353912011-07-28T16:08:27.253-07:00Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.comBlogger1281100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-68386618052555817212008-05-07T07:51:00.000-07:002008-05-07T08:57:21.607-07:00

It's undoubtedly spring now, and apparently spring is the season of revelations. As the world wakes and opens, so do we, ready after a season of protective bunkering to consider what it means to be a person in a world, shocked by the newness of green into new ways of seeing, reminded by all of the people stumbling around in the sun of things we've said or promises we've made. Pluvialis at

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-19197649073442907282008-04-30T08:22:00.000-07:002008-04-30T08:41:30.078-07:00

So I'm sitting in Not My Usual Coffee Shop, trying, trying, trying to turn this draft of a draft of a chapter into an actual chapter draft. But I'm not doing that, obviously, because I'm typing this post. If, as I said in my last post, the discipline of grad school is the discipline of a thousand questions, today I'm answering a petulant, "Uhhhh, GO! AWAY!" in response to each of them. Resistance

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-53095639684204238262008-04-28T16:31:00.000-07:002008-04-28T19:03:39.021-07:00

I often leave the television on the in the background as I clean the kitchen or shove laundry into the dryer. Click it on and let it squawk to keep me moving. Last week, I walked past the TV just as a Today show anchor informed those of us unfortunate enough to have the program on that simple, everyday decisions, such as "whether to have skim or soy milk in your latte" took energy and were tiring

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-57666094545023054662008-04-08T17:57:00.000-07:002008-04-08T18:45:42.716-07:00

In 1998, my good friend O and I went on a 10-day adventure to Alaska. We'd planned and purchased and organized and we'd traveled together before, and we thought we had the whole thing down to a science. But we hadn't counted on Alaska. We hadn't counted on a land so big that it threw off our very ability to judge how small we were in the world. On our first day, our shuttle driver pointed across

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-60417752060840681022008-02-25T13:50:00.000-08:002008-02-25T13:55:28.790-08:00

Last week, I was on a research trip in Minnesota. It is, of course, absurd to travel to Minnesota in February. But when you're sitting in the archives, the weather outside matters less. It does matter, though, and the way I could tell this was that I couldn't default to walking everywhere, which is my preferred method of getting around in a new city. You learn a city faster that way. But instead,

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-9792531432735512922008-02-17T08:11:00.000-08:002008-02-17T08:45:24.249-08:00

Senator Obama: I am a Democratic voter who will soon go to the polls to cast my primary vote. I want to support you. I really do. But I can't. (Nor can I support your main opponent.) I've seen you speak, had chills from the power of your rhetoric, and responded to the power of your message. But as a citizen who is gay, I believe you take my vote for granted and count on self-hatred and the fear

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-5134619318239175772008-02-10T11:56:00.000-08:002008-02-10T12:11:04.388-08:00

Long ago, in my last blog post, I wrote that sometimes you're standing on a cliff, paralyzed by the fear of falling, and all you really can do is jump. It's true. Sometimes it's the only right thing to do, not because the ending is assured or the world at the top dangerous, but because you know there are places you have to go and there are no maps and in the end fear is the worst possible law to

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-56277610581800408662007-12-11T16:31:00.001-08:002007-12-11T17:23:03.436-08:00

Today's radical revelation: Fear and Truth are not the same thing.Have I posted that already? Surely that's been the revelation of the day before. It's one of those things I have to realize every ten days or so because I cannot, for the life of me, integrate it into my responses to things. Just because I feel terrified of, say, writing my dissertation, does not mean that I am incapable of writing

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-86149177795817857352007-11-30T08:05:00.000-08:002007-11-30T09:29:43.717-08:00

This fall, my friend Z. went on one of those alumni association tours of China. Just her, her mom, and a bus full of strangers she might not ever have spoken to otherwise. One night, she reported, on the way to dinner—in China—another tourist asked what they'd be eating and, when told about the Chinese restaurant where they'd be dining, responded with, "Chinese AGAIN?"I laugh about this story

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-82607313337890463592007-11-27T19:56:00.000-08:002007-11-27T21:39:48.996-08:00

I've been trying, for a while now, to write a post about the experience of lecturing my own class. I've realized that I'm having a hard time because, for as much brain power as it might take to write a lecture, the actual experience of giving the lecture is wholly physical for me. It comes from gut and spirit and something not altogether of this world. When I lecture, the world shrinks away, and

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-61650239666072510462007-11-04T11:34:00.000-08:002007-11-04T12:05:43.647-08:00

I am pretending, for the moment, that I do not have a million papers to grade, a lecture to write (on a book I haven't read) and a dissertation to research. I am pretending, just for a moment, that I haven't been horribly neglectful of this blog and my small and much-loved handful of readers and that I don't have a half dozen half-drafted blog posts on other subjects waiting for completion. I

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-2299503664660956712007-10-19T16:19:00.000-07:002007-10-19T16:34:16.622-07:00

I haven't posted in forever. I've been sick, traveling, lecturing, taking part in the organizational clusterfuck that was the Chicago marathon. All of these things made me feel flighty and unanchored, drifting from one event and deadline to another. That might have been worrisome had it gone on very long. Not to worry. This weekend I'm working on a ten-page funding proposal. I hate funding

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-49237663605808963152007-09-22T12:17:00.000-07:002007-09-27T09:39:59.072-07:00

About two years ago, aware that I hadn't yet read a book that was very important to my field, I asked my friend J if I could borrow his extra copy. He readily agreed, since he'd been referring to the book in conversations for some time and knew I needed to read it. So he lent me his extra copy and I took the book home and promptly didn't read it. I moved it from pile to pile, shelf to shelf. Time

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-47119835682518707222007-09-16T18:08:00.000-07:002007-09-16T18:36:12.917-07:00

I have a leaky faucet in my kitchen, and it's driving me out of my mind. I have a very hard time ignoring drippy kinds of noises. It feels like a constant, rhythmic poking at my brain, and and I cannot summon the amount of focus I need to just let it fade into the background. Instead, each drip dances before my eyes, pulls on my earlobes, blows on my nose. I'm pretty sure there is a name for this

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-6024855825624890412007-09-11T11:32:00.000-07:002007-09-11T11:49:48.156-07:00

I'm sitting at my computer, looking out the window on a gorgeous day. The crayola blue sky is wearing a cloudy halo of gray and white, and the wind is blowing hard enough that the smell of fall is leaking in through the open windows. In my yard, I have a birdfeeder with cakes of safflower seeds, and around it dance a collection of chickadees and cardinals, flying and swooping and twirling. They

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-39391090990770969572007-09-10T20:17:00.000-07:002007-09-10T20:46:05.768-07:00

Every once in a while, what we ask students to do in a classroom requires that they be brave. It requires that they use their whole minds and whole hearts to truly see the material, to seize it, to make it belong to them. Sometimes, we ask them to look for stereotypes or caricatures when acknowledging them in the text is acknowledging that they live in their brains, as well. Sometimes, we ask

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-84631497348108546042007-09-10T07:14:00.000-07:002007-09-10T09:40:29.349-07:00

It's amazing the difference a good pair of boots will make. Fall has arrived to my great midwestern locale, and with it the need for socks and footwear. And when it comes to footwear, I choose boots. I have two pairs that I love without reserve. One is a pair of tall, black Fluevogs with a funky heel and the number 10 stamped in smeary ink on its soft, camel-colored lining. These boots have gone

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-29264266209121821322007-09-05T11:43:00.000-07:002007-09-09T06:11:25.364-07:00

I'm very slow to wake. First thing in the morning, it's all I can do to move my body from the bed to the couch. That's a first step. I eventually get myself to my computer, check my e-mail, read a few blogs. My brain will wake, but I won't be ready to talk. It's like I live in a fort made of blankets. First thing in the morning, the blankets are at their fluffiest point of the day, and it takes a

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-35900401137768574872007-08-27T13:31:00.000-07:002007-08-27T13:55:01.993-07:00

On Saturday night, I noted a very odd bruise on my right elbow. Now, that sounds stupid and not at all alarming, but I was alarmed. The bruise was round and donut-shaped and very black. It encircled my elbow perfectly and I was quite surprised when I discovered it in the shower. I hadn't whacked my elbow on anything. Not anything I could remember, anyway. And if you end up with a large, black

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-44142284045660480512007-08-24T09:14:00.000-07:002007-08-24T12:27:02.921-07:00

I just got back from Albuquerque, where I'd gone to visit my grandmother and her husband. The southwest was hot and still and the house crowded with relatives who seemed most interested in knowing when I was going to finish this damn PhD if they showed any interest at all. My grandmother's husband doesn't see well but insists on driving, there were six of us packed into a single sedan for many

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-44703893039249725122007-08-24T08:36:00.000-07:002007-08-24T12:26:40.388-07:00

Currently, I am actually sitting by my mailbox. Ok, it's on the outside of the house and I'm on the inside, but it's right there outside this window, and I'm watching it. I'm waiting for the financial aid check that feels like it is well overdue. It's the check that will cover the bills and rent until the semester's first paycheck and then supplement my meager earnings until January, when another

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-11626405968829782442007-08-15T21:17:00.000-07:002007-08-15T21:37:47.442-07:00

I've been trying to come up with a blog post about the ways that my research cracks me up. I mean, it's really funny stuff. I could go on for hours about why I think it's crucial to our understanding of the period or why understanding it could have an impact on culture today. But seriously, I keep going back to it because it makes me laugh. Of course, the problem is that I can't really write

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-25814948907032343172007-08-09T16:02:00.001-07:002007-08-09T16:37:47.842-07:00

I was almost hit by a car today. By almost, I mean by inches, and by inches I do not mean 15 or 18 inches. I mean that there were perhaps three inches between my hip and the bumper of a car that drove through a cross walk as I was running across the street. I'd stopped and the car had stopped and I then proceeded, assuming that he'd look both ways before driving though. He did not. He did not

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-29295466844690181112007-08-08T12:31:00.000-07:002007-08-08T13:05:11.929-07:00

When I was small, I lived in a big brick house on what became, several blocks west, Main Street. It was a wide, paved street with proper gutters and sidewalks. When it rained in the summer, the gutters would fill with water and run like a stream, and we'd make sailboats out of sticks and notebook paper and race them through the gutters in front of my house, stomping around in the water in our

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-40359461639053169112007-07-27T12:47:00.000-07:002007-07-27T12:54:59.999-07:00

I was in Edinburgh on my birthday this year. I was alone and wandering the city and in a ridiculously good mood, feeling like I had the freedom to do anything I wanted any minute that I wanted it. As I walked out of my B&B on my way for dinner, (and oh, god, what a fantastic dinner it was) I found this little snail on the front walk. I put my camera down on the wet ground and took his picture,

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-9249963442990282242007-07-27T07:05:00.000-07:002007-07-27T17:27:26.055-07:00

My dog, Bug, is a herding dog. In fact, he's of a breed that's not particularly well known, so his genes aren't so far off the farm. This morning, he won't go outside. Why? Because it rained last night, and my 70-pound dog, a beast I've watched herd a cow and bark at goats, doesn't like to get his feet wet. I could go on now and say many things about the way we override our own natures, about the

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-42442140476975292752007-07-26T14:10:00.000-07:002007-07-26T14:43:36.089-07:00

So it turns out that if your work space isn't functional, it's hard to function in it. Who knew, right? Since I came to graduate school five years ago, I've been working on the same 24"X36" table. That's where my computer, stacks of paper, mug of pens, books, CDs, and any number of pointless objects have lived. I have no idea why I thought that was a good idea. I mean, there is the space thing.

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-81306582863651564132007-07-21T14:14:00.000-07:002007-07-21T17:49:20.062-07:00

Last night, once again demonstrating just how vulnerable I am to peer pressure, (yes, at 33 years old. What's your point?) I was convinced to go to the midnight madness that was the Harry Potter Book 7 release party. I'm a Harry Potter fan. I'd intended to pick up the book (from my doorstep, where I imagined Amazon would deliver it) on the 21st with the rest of the excited but reasonable Harry

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-43676737153735668312007-07-21T13:38:00.000-07:002007-07-21T14:14:33.698-07:00

Four weekends a year, I can guarantee that my father, my grandfather and I, all cozy in homes that are a thousand miles from one another, are doing the same thing. It's a Major Tournament weekend. We're watching golf. When I confess that I spend four weekends a year fixated on the meanderings of a little white ball, people express surprise. I'm not really the sort that likes sports. I'm lucky

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-86361256115482495572007-07-11T07:00:00.001-07:002007-07-11T07:46:04.014-07:00

Part of my summer work (the part I'm actually doing) involves teaching a course for high school students on campus for a summer school program. As a teenager, I participated in a similar program, and it was the best moment of my high school life. Never mind prom or making out with my high school boyfriend in the Wal-Mart parking lot. My one summer away from home promised me that there was a world

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-26832613457311365762007-07-05T15:43:00.000-07:002007-07-05T15:50:02.567-07:00

I keep wanting to write something about being a graduate student in the summer, but it's not happening because I don't really feel like a graduate student right now, except for in that constant nagging feeling that I should be doing something else. But even that has receded, the tiniest wave at the lowest tide. When I take Bug to the park in the summer, there's a moment in every trip when I just

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-80441158307807944822007-06-27T16:40:00.000-07:002007-06-27T17:17:09.297-07:00

While I was visiting my family, I finished one book (Kathy Reichs's Cross Bones) and was in search of another. My mother offered a book she'd recently read. "Is it," I asked, "a story of a personal journey through which the main character comes to understand herself or her family better?" "The main character's a he," my mother said. "But yes." I replied, "No, then. I'm only interested in murder

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-52746488999806162552007-06-27T10:53:00.000-07:002007-06-27T11:26:04.694-07:00

You never really understand how exhausting it is to maintain your balance, until you lose it. A year ago, a terrific ear infection combined with several random factors that Those Who Know can't agree upon, damaged my vestibular system and left my sense of balance all out of whack. (Out of Whack being the technical term for "dizzy, swimmy, and unable to turn around quickly in the shower without

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-11584638179696207002007-06-18T15:21:00.000-07:002007-06-18T15:38:23.770-07:00

I'm once again traveling, making blog updates difficult. I always feel guilty when I'm not updating the blog, like I've made a promise by starting it and only writing and posting will fulfill this promise. I had a conversation about this with myself this morning. I asked if I really thought people were desperately waiting to hear from me. No, no I don't. But what, I wondered, if someone was

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-22088496738612625562007-06-09T15:16:00.000-07:002007-06-09T16:05:21.343-07:00

As I flew out of London yesterday, I was a emotional mess. For the second time in two months, I found myself stupidly weepy about leaving a place that I'm growing to love. And then, as the plane took off and I looked down and the landscape blurred to shades of green, I thought, "I'll be coming here for the rest of my life." It was an incredibly comforting, awe-inspiring thought. I didn't travel a

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-35739638868716549462007-06-05T05:32:00.000-07:002007-06-05T05:44:19.686-07:00

I've been in the UK for going on a week now. I was first here to deliver a conference paper and now I'm traveling around. The conference paper went well. Delivering it felt like dropping it, syllable by syllable, off a bridge and watching each one race away on the current of the river, an academic game of Pooh Sticks. It was just gone, gone, gone, nothing left to think about but the space it left

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-31724948610597648422007-05-26T19:14:00.001-07:002007-05-26T19:32:49.268-07:00

Before I say what I came here today to say, I feel it is important for me to reinforce for you all just how much I love teaching and just how important I think teaching is to an academic life. I have an utter, dogged faith in the power and promise of the classroom. Further, I don't just think that we, as teachers, are important to the undergrads. I also think that the undergrads should play a

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-40781702787446477652007-05-23T12:03:00.000-07:002007-05-23T12:26:01.681-07:00

I'm revising a conference paper right now. Or that's what I'm supposed to be doing. Instead, I've been sitting in coffee shops, trying like mad to focus on the job at hand and failing miserably. I hadn't quite factored the end-of-semester exhaustion into my cool-conference excitement, so apparently I have to write this paper when I'm not really capable of working for more than an hour at a clip.

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-92150547301247673982007-05-21T16:43:00.000-07:002007-05-21T18:01:26.095-07:00

I said in the post below that I keep meaning to blog, but life keeps getting in the way. It's true, it does so over and over again with exhausting unpredictability. Sometimes I get in my own way, my subconscious suddenly throwing up a dilemma or a drama or a fairly boring predicament as it tills back and forth across my mind. Sometimes other people and other things parachute right into my world

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-42023504762623684202007-05-19T06:13:00.000-07:002007-05-19T06:20:34.735-07:00

I keep meaning to put up a few posts I have in the works, but life and blue books keep getting in the way. In the meantime, there are much better things to read than anything I'd write. Many of them are featured at this month's Carnival of Gradual Progress, up at 10-Year Plan. Check it out!

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-7597168265918222632007-05-08T15:58:00.000-07:002007-05-08T16:30:50.676-07:00

At the end of the movie Home for the Holidays* Holly Hunter's character stands at the boarding gate at an airport as her parents hug her, fuss over her, remember her as a baby. It's the day after Thanksgiving and she's desperate to leave, anxious to be away from the invasive attention and criticism. She hugs them back, implores them to let her go and then, just as she's about to get away, says, "

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-2293809508387519912007-05-06T17:21:00.000-07:002007-05-06T20:24:56.603-07:00

When I'm extremely stressed out, I sleep. It's a blessing and a curse, as far as coping mechanisms go. I'd love to be one of those people who ramps into overdrive, demolishing To Do lists in a dervish, toppling lamps and vases and the occasional small child as she goes. I am not. I am the sort of person who looks at a very long list, frowns at the impossibility of it all, and yawns. "Wouldn't it,

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-61866773671013812132007-04-27T20:41:00.000-07:002007-04-29T20:21:58.108-07:00

Ok, I'm completely, twitteringly pleased to be tagged by Ancrene Wiseass for the 5 Reasons Why I Blog meme. I've never been tagged before! I actually think about this a lot, a sort of continual re-evaluation of whether blogging is a good use of my time and energy (it is!) and why. Here's what I've got: 1. I can't resist the urge to turn anything and everything into a story. The need for a

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-77483558927317893352007-04-25T11:43:00.000-07:002007-04-25T18:13:18.672-07:00

Each year at about this time, I find myself waking in the morning, curling up with Bug on the couch, trying to make myself go, move, do SOMETHING. I groan and poke at myself and chastise. I wonder how I possibly could be so tired when I've had so much sleep. It seems impossible. Seven solid hours last night and at 10 am, as I headed to the fourth section I teach each week, I was already thinking

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-52496698618468743932007-04-21T14:49:00.000-07:002007-04-21T15:03:58.251-07:00

The lesson the day today is this: If you get up in the morning and run eight miles before breakfast, you are absolutely allowed to go ahead and feel pleased and proud with how the day is starting. You can even, if you wish, congratulate yourself on just how productive you are, what with eight miles run before you've had a meal. However, you should not labor under the delusion that you will

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-71845545297784467112007-04-18T17:07:00.000-07:002007-04-18T18:27:03.956-07:00

Two weeks ago, I was standing in Covent Garden at rush hour, and I noticed an enormous crowd. I wandered over to see what the fuss was about. In the middle of the crowd stood a woman who had painted herself completely pink (hair, face, clothing, the whole bit) and was standing in various poses, like a live mannequin in a store window. The crowd was captivated. I was confused. People, I thought,

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-37235048319633775312007-04-16T16:22:00.000-07:002007-04-16T17:02:47.595-07:00

I've never bought the whole business about academia's ivory tower. I don't think that being immersed in ideas and books saves any of us from anything. At most, I think it's a damn effective coping mechanism for a lot of us who have had more than our share of the world. I've rarely gotten through a semester without a female student coming to me quiet and scared to admit she'd been raped and needed

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-31297220819149730372007-04-14T19:57:00.000-07:002007-04-15T06:10:24.858-07:00

I just sat with a friend, had dinner and a nice glass of wine, and discussed finishing graduate school. In case you missed it, let me emphasize that I just discussed FINISHING MY PHD. It's years away, this finishing. It's not even on the horizon. It's a fantasy, a figment, a sci-fi action feature. Scientists must be gathering in labs trying to cook up a finished PhD in little test tubes and

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-9314568543175815172007-04-14T13:58:00.000-07:002007-04-14T14:33:02.781-07:00

My TiVo thinks I'm an idiot. For those of you not familiar, I'll explain that TiVo, being the considerate household gadget that it is, will spend its day quietly recording television shows, movies, documentaries that it thinks I might like. It puts them in a folder labeled "TiVo Suggestions." It's like a little package waiting for me when I get home. Each day I come home, change clothes, feed the

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-57816003264486188522007-04-13T12:17:00.000-07:002007-04-13T16:47:28.908-07:00

In my living room, there's a framed copy of a watercolor done by my great-grandmother's postman. The story goes that before she left Yorkshire for the United States, she expressed real regret at never seeing her home again. Her postman brought her the picture that now sits in my living room, a portrait of the home she was leaving behind in blurring greens and yellows with a few white ducks. I

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1174699938119055542007-03-23T18:53:00.000-07:002007-03-23T19:36:09.090-07:00

Last week my dog, Bug, had surgery, and what followed were two days of utter hell. Two days during which he didn't want me to get off of the floor next to him, two days in which he cried almost non-stop, two days in which I didn't sleep or eat much at all, two days in which I repeatedly lost my patience and now feel god awful about it. The crying and doggy hysteria were unexpected. Bug was having

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1173925193169302802007-03-14T19:31:00.001-07:002007-03-16T18:10:03.503-07:00

The Eighth Carnival of GRADual progress had an embarrassment of riches to choose from this month, as semesters took off, classes were underway and deadlines were approaching, research was undertaken and days came and went. It's all part of the business of being a graduate student. Thank goodness there are so many smart people writing about it so we can all be assured that we're not going out of

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1173475859318303952007-03-09T12:31:00.000-08:002007-03-10T20:09:42.376-08:00

I'm feeling a bit isolated and lonely today. No reason, really. I have fantastic friends, a lovely community, plenty to do. I'm sitting in a neighborhood coffee shop that I'm so in love with I will go happily broke here. But when they say that being a grad student is isolating and lonely, they actually do mean it. They mean that feeling isolated is part of the bargain; it's intrinsic. You cannot

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1173021534182589602007-03-04T07:04:00.000-08:002007-03-04T07:18:54.196-08:00

Whenever I visit my grandfather, at some point he gets this glint in his eye and says, "Well, you know, historians are all just liars anyway. They make things up." No kidding. I'm currently taking the first crack ever at a dissertation chapter. This is quite an undertaking, considering I have no research and only the crudest sketch of a topic. I'm not even completely sure which sources I'll use.

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1172841943436437042007-03-02T05:24:00.000-08:002007-03-02T05:25:43.446-08:00

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1172274486951079122007-02-23T15:05:00.000-08:002007-02-23T15:48:06.966-08:00

What makes a happy graduate student?I've been thinking that question over. It started when I read over the posts written for Happy Woman Professor Day, an event engineered by dhawhee over at blogos. They got me thinking a lot about how I imagine my life as a professor, and what, in that fantasy, makes that happiness possible. It's interesting that the first thing that jumped to my mind, and then

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1172271922231182952007-02-23T15:03:00.000-08:002007-02-23T15:05:22.243-08:00

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1171655723751659432007-02-16T11:45:00.000-08:002007-02-16T19:46:06.766-08:00

I've been avoiding the camera of late, and it's not a good idea. I need a hobby. I particularly need the pursuit of something that's difficult for me. (I don't exactly get photography on some intrinsic level.) But it's been so gray and cold. In the winter here, everything eventually turns the same color and the floors and the cars and your shoes and the cuffs of your pants are coated in a sandy,

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1171565745439833482007-02-15T10:03:00.000-08:002007-02-15T11:04:59.623-08:00

I just bought a plane ticket. I leave that line all up there by itself because it seems unbelievably significant. It's not that I don't travel. Actually, I travel a fair bit, and I consider it one of the unanticipated benefits of an academic career. But this is different. It's a plane ticket to an overseas location that holds not one archival document necessary for my dissertation. (Though I bet

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1170942886332274182007-02-08T05:47:00.000-08:002007-02-08T05:54:46.343-08:00

The whole cozy, stay indoors, enjoy the time to hunker down thing I said below? I'm over it. It's cold and I've had enough and I'd give an arm (probably just the left one, but still) for a day warm enough for shorts and a long, long walk with the dog. Plus, with the hat I have to wear every damn time I leave the house, I'm not going to have a good hair day until May.

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1170618989000108742007-02-04T11:30:00.000-08:002007-02-04T18:55:45.890-08:00

It's cold here this weekend. And when I say it's cold, I mean that it's cold enough that the warnings suggest not that we bundle up before going out, but that we don't go out at all. It's a sort of cold that feels aggressive and invasive. It's distracting and exhausting. I'm wearing long underwear in the house and have closed off the bedroom to make better use of the heat my sad little furnace is

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1170117475968158222007-01-29T16:07:00.000-08:002007-01-29T20:39:33.863-08:00

It's snowing here in my city. Small, lazy flakes are making their way to the ground, backlit by the street lamps and headlights and the glow from my neighbors' windows. They're a lovely distraction from the gray and slush and grit of winter in a city this cold. Earlier today I was thinking that everything, everything was dirty and might never be clean again. Now things have gone white like crisp

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1169866798980082822007-01-26T18:58:00.000-08:002007-01-26T18:59:58.993-08:00

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1169307818550207582007-01-20T07:32:00.000-08:002007-01-20T07:44:27.473-08:00

The latest Carnival of GRADual Progress is up at Working Writing Wailing Mama. (Actually, it's been up for a week now, but I'm a slow sort of girl.) Included in the carnival are several posts on issues associated with blogging that are well worth reading and considering. Read and enjoy!

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1169306404930823262007-01-20T06:14:00.000-08:002007-01-20T07:20:05.046-08:00

On Tuesday, I begin teaching again for the first time in seven months. I haven't heard from the professor and I don't have a copy of the syllabus. This will making advance planning difficult. I suppose I've never been one for a lot of advance planning, anyway. I will not let this influence my expectations of the semester. Or I will, but I'll valiantly pretend this is not a sign of things to come.

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1169302432944855392007-01-20T06:11:00.000-08:002007-01-20T06:13:52.956-08:00

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1168960798399735562007-01-16T06:43:00.000-08:002007-01-16T20:33:32.556-08:00

It seems only right that on a blog named, in part, for a Hem song (The blog is also named for a primary source I often reference.), I post a little review Hem’s latest album, Funnel Cloud. It would have been more appropriate if that review had come out when Funnel Cloud did in September, but I’m apparently unable to keep track of such things as album release dates. Oh, well. I have it now, and I

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1168662915152747542007-01-12T20:32:00.000-08:002007-01-13T17:04:47.473-08:00

The view from my hotel room at AHA last weekend. The photo isn't the sharpest anyway, and it is, as I often find photos are, blurrier on this blog page than elsewhere. Still, I figured it went with the week's posts.

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1168142878896051272007-01-06T20:01:00.000-08:002007-01-16T20:42:41.223-08:00

The plot thickens. Actually, it really doesn't. Grad school would make a horrible musical, Broadway play, or serial drama. I suppose for the good of my readers I could construct a fatal job interview or a knife fight in the lobby of the Marriot over definitions of identity and community in social histories, but none of you would believe me. You might believe a drunken marriage between the stars

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1168004971819467742007-01-05T05:46:00.000-08:002007-01-05T05:49:31.833-08:00

I’m sitting in the lobby of one of the hotels playing host to AHA. I wish I could take pictures of this herd of grad students deep in thought over their laptops, cups of coffee steaming by their sides. But I think that whipping out a camera right would be a bit like photographing a skittish jackal at the zoo or a circus performer juggling fourteen flaming batons, so I'll resist. So you’ll have to

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1167514222511702582006-12-30T13:07:00.000-08:002007-01-02T19:11:07.856-08:00

Last year, I stopped by the American Historical Association conference just long enough to meet a friend, walk around, be terrified to my very core, and run off to dinner. This year, I'm actually going to stay. I figure if I take this approach, by the time I actually have to interview at AHA, I might be able to walk through the conference hotel without wanting to vomit. Last year, I parked ten

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1167428729739436892006-12-29T13:43:00.000-08:002006-12-29T13:45:29.756-08:00

Is it seriously already Friday again?

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1167023680970016852006-12-24T21:01:00.000-08:002006-12-24T21:24:55.200-08:00

I get choked up each year when I watch the Charlie Brown Christmas special and Linus drags his blanket to center stage to tell the Christmas story. It's the stark hope of the phrase "unto a you is born" that gets me. The hope and the promise that a child born in a barn will inspire the faith that makes a man king brings tears to my eyes. Well, that and the completely overwhelming understanding of

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1166927695759725452006-12-23T18:31:00.000-08:002006-12-23T18:34:55.773-08:00

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1166817987016399312006-12-22T12:05:00.000-08:002006-12-22T12:06:27.026-08:00

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1166591683512567962006-12-19T20:39:00.000-08:002006-12-20T15:44:28.140-08:00

On the fifth day before Christmas, my academic department gave to me a teaching dilemma. The subtleties, vagaries, and political scramblings involved in teaching appointments in said department are many and maddening, and I will not go into them here. I suspect they are little different than those found elsewhere. (The problems with these things is that they always feel incredibly personal when

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1166367690923383212006-12-17T06:53:00.000-08:002006-12-17T07:01:30.936-08:00

Styley Geek has done a bang-up job of putting together the fifth Carnival of GRADual Progress over at Fumbling Towards Geekdom. It's full of things that make me just pleased to be a graduate student. Being able to count yourself a member of such a smart, funny group of people is one of the best things about grad school, I think.

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1166202815333116722006-12-15T09:09:00.000-08:002006-12-15T09:13:35.333-08:00

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1166132723666738312006-12-14T13:40:00.000-08:002006-12-14T13:46:17.816-08:00

I regularly get a good laugh at the search terms that lead people to this blog. The number of people who end up here after searching for information about Veronica Mars's hair is both amusing and unfathomable. (Really? That many people are typing "Veronica Mars hair" into Google?) (And now the hits will double...) Today's though, made me laugh pretty damn hard. The terms? "graduate student

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1165956114556341082006-12-12T12:08:00.000-08:002006-12-12T12:41:54.566-08:00

You know, sometimes you're sitting in a far away place, eating a bowl of French onion soup and drinking a Sierra Mist, and the Sierra Mist is unsatisfying because it isn't the Coke you crave, but you've cut out caffeine so it will have to do, and as you check and delete e-mail in between bites of soup and try not to dribble on anything that can't be easily wiped up and wonder about whether your

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1165625906228188642006-12-08T16:57:00.000-08:002006-12-08T16:58:26.240-08:00

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1164905059729797362006-11-30T08:10:00.000-08:002006-11-30T08:44:19.743-08:00

Am I the only one who feels like she's completely making up her research? I mean, I do have photocopied documents, old filmstrips (one of my essential primary sources), endless transcripts of Congressional hearings and judicial opinions. But right now, it all looks like pocket lint to me. I feel like I've emptied my pockets onto the table and then attacked the contents with scotch tape and

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1164071907727577652006-11-20T16:23:00.000-08:002006-11-20T17:18:27.740-08:00

I'm not really doing much of anything these days. I said this to a friend recently, and her response was the incredibly sweet (but, in this case, dead wrong) "You're doing more than you think." I'm not actually. I'm doing considerably less than anyone thinks. I'm not thinking about my dissertation at all. Part of it is that I'm preparing to go out of town for quite a while and the logistics of

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1163781466002431882006-11-17T08:35:00.000-08:002006-11-17T08:37:46.013-08:00

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1163653470924683082006-11-15T20:51:00.000-08:002006-11-15T21:46:53.483-08:00

I need to link to neverhappen.com's photo today because I've looked at it several times since it went up. It's a superb photo of the Brisbane skyline at dusk, and I keep trying to fall into the serenity of the water and the promise of each lighted window. It's reminding me of a moment in my life that I'm very grateful has passed but I'm also very grateful that I had. When I was in college, in

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1163600842463682262006-11-15T06:17:00.000-08:002006-11-15T06:27:22.473-08:00

The Fourth Carnival of GRADual Progress is up at My Life, My Pace. I'd tell you exactly which posts to make sure you read, but I'm loving them all. I love them all except the one that points out that checking e-mail is not working on your dissertation. That one I refuse to acknowledge.

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1163189684801822522006-11-10T12:13:00.000-08:002006-11-10T12:14:44.803-08:00

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1163043655035033142006-11-08T18:45:00.000-08:002006-11-08T19:40:55.046-08:00

People are assholes. I mean, not you. I'm sure you're perfectly lovely. (Actually, I'm not sure of that at all, but I bet most of you are pretty decent.) But there are a lot of assholes out there. I was confronted with this fact today when I took Bug to the park and found our favorite field had been run through with some kind of truck, destroying what had once been a perfectly beautiful spot to

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1162754085152657052006-11-05T11:02:00.000-08:002006-11-05T11:14:45.163-08:00

Though I don't intend to blog about my dog all that often (he doesn't need to be the center of everything in my life), today is his seventh birthday, and so I'm making an exception. So: A List Reasons I Love My Dog1. He usually sleeps with his nose tucked under my leg.2. When he lifts his head up from a nap, his face stays all flat on one side and he looks so surprised to not be sleeping anymore

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1162654457458167042006-11-04T06:36:00.000-08:002006-11-04T07:34:17.473-08:00

I've had a case of tinnitus ongoing now for approximately six months. For those unaware of the delights of tinnitus, let me assure you that it does, in fact, mean my ear rings all the time. All the time. I can't tell you how wearying this is. It's very much like having some small physical problem, like a broken finger or small wound that's been stitched up, that requires small adjustments in

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1162571097131623532006-11-03T08:23:00.000-08:002006-11-03T08:24:57.143-08:00

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1162248450702343142006-10-30T13:57:00.000-08:002006-10-30T18:09:34.833-08:00

I'm really very bad at asking for help. This isn't a particularly interesting problem to have, I know, but it takes on whole new dimensions in the context of a research project and on trips to the libraries and archives that hold my sources within. I think a great deal of my reluctance to ask for help or rely on others is a completely unrealistic expectation that I should be able to do it myself.

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1162005857951101392006-10-27T20:22:00.000-07:002006-10-27T20:24:17.953-07:00

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1162005210597326642006-10-27T19:35:00.000-07:002006-10-27T20:39:39.143-07:00

There are few things that I enjoy more than an unexplained metaphor, the kind that are left out like cookies for Santa, waiting for you to digest them when no-one is looking. Yesterday, I was waiting to speak with my advisor during her office hours and stuck my head in to say hello to the professor in the office across the hall. I hadn't seen her in a while and she asked how I was. I told her

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1161322076170845962006-10-19T22:23:00.000-07:002006-10-19T22:27:56.180-07:00

I'm traveling this week, spending time at an archive on the West Coast. I'll blog about that more next week when my internet access is more reliable. For now, I just wanted to say forget about my photos this Friday and check out this absolute stunner over at photojenic.

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1161037607572509542006-10-16T14:21:00.000-07:002006-10-16T15:26:47.586-07:00

I spent all day yesterday at the community garden plot I share with friends. I was weeding and turning over soil and getting the plot ready for winter. I was also planting tulip bulbs. Today, I spent part of the morning taking pictures of the tulip bulbs I couldn't bear to plant just yet. I can't bear to plant them because I'm just so in love with them. I fall in love with tulips every spring,

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1160749910403312302006-10-13T07:29:00.000-07:002006-10-13T07:31:50.416-07:00

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1160598027994114872006-10-11T13:03:00.000-07:002006-10-11T13:40:51.663-07:00

When it comes to the dissertation, it is ridiculously, insanely difficult to make yourself get up and work when you are having a hard time visualizing the big picture. At this point, I feel lucky I'm dressed and don't smell bad. It's not lost on me that I might just catch a glimpse of the big picture if I'd get up and work. And so I try to take on tasks, crossing them off one at a time. The

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1160440074438501572006-10-09T17:13:00.000-07:002006-10-09T17:27:54.466-07:00

So I'm not exactly sure how I got to a place in my life where I get to count conversation as work, but I realized this week that I do. On Friday morning, I met with a committee member. Brilliant but friendly (always so nice when those two go together), she and I talked about my dissertation at a clip for an hour and a half. What had I done? What was my plan for the next month? What did I think

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29835391.post-1160191039616418592006-10-06T19:30:00.000-07:002006-10-06T20:20:25.970-07:00

I have finally returned from my adventures Out and Away, and find myself settling back into life as a campus-bound grad student. It’s a strange transition. I was gone for three weeks, slept in five states, and drove 4,000 miles. I love traveling by car. Part of it is the joy of the road trip—sealed in my car with the music on or off, my brain has all the space the road affords, unrolling ribbons

Acrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16355330785074602766noreply@blogger.com1