in medias res

It's not that I haven't been writing any posts; it's that I can't seem to finish them.
I think I have low-grade narcolepsy. (not that there's anything wrong with that! i mean, some of my best friends have narcolepsy.)
But in college, I would insist on taking a textbook to bed with me so I'd capitalize on every minute until I passed out. One time when I was napping, C came in the room and saw me passed out, my eyes closed, turning the pages of a book. That's what it was like to type these posts - I took my laptop to bed and started to type. (BAD idea, by the way. one time i fell asleep and sent it flying into the wall.) But I'd fall asleep mid-sentence and leave everything hanging.

I've decided to include some of these fragments for your enjoyment. (or, not.)

Fragment 1:
The problem with keeping this thing is that, when i want to write, i want to say everything. but i must pick and choose and half of it's more for my amusement anyway. (One friend compares my stories to lawn darts. Another says that I'm the only person she knows that gets bored and stops her own story. Sad, but true.)

long ago, i promised more stories about new york city and baltimore and richmond and pennslyvania and everywhere else carmen sandiego has been. (and, of course, jotah.)

i'll just catch you up on right now. this semester, i'm taking pop culture studies, multi-ethnic lit, and editing and publishing. i had really hoped that as i got older, i might get a bit cooler. but all of a sudden i'm a kid again, and mrs. robinson, mrs. blakeney, ms. barker and mr. wheat are my favorite people in the world. i want to make them happy and do all of my work and
i decided to pretend i was responsible and confident and to be the pioneer in class presentations instead of waiting until the very last day of class, as is usually my trend. big mistake.

Fragment 2:

One funny little tidbit before I begin – my mom was cleaning my dad’s office and she found one of my old spiral notebooks. It was the start of my great novel. I called it “Flerting” and broke the plot down into fifteen chapter headings that covered my marriage to my second grade crush (referred to as a “hunk” at one point) until I grew old and wobbly. Of course and fortunately, I only got as far as the table of contents.

I never thought I’d be so happy to meet the weekend. It feels like the past two weeks have been a steady sprint. Between work in the Gray Cubicle

The two best bits of advice I received this week are as follows:

1) RELAX

2) Get your head out of your… (@$$)

I was so tired but so busy that any potential unwinding time would only give me time to contemplate everything else, so

Back to the Present:

The past two weeks beat me and left me with an obstacle course of dirty clothes and ambitious half-starts. My work ethic isn't enough sometimes. (And, if I'm honest, sometimes it isn't at all.) Yesterday, I left my house at 7:30am and came home at 11:30 pm. I had conferences with my students from 8:15 to 11:00, then I ran to Publix to get food for the movie. I worked from noon until 5:00, then showed up for class at 5:15. (It was a day with lots of hand-wringings.) I put together the spinach & artichoke dip in a bread bowl for the class movie that ran from 7-9:40. I showed up almost an hour late to the grad student bible study. It was my first time. We talked until almost 11, and then I went home to crash. Enough whining for now. I just wanted to provide an explanation to all (both?) of you out there who wonder if one of the following is true:
a) I'm dead and bleeding somewhere,
b) I don't like you
c) I finally picked up my keys and walked out of my life

The answer is:
d) none of the above. but, seriously, you're starting to sound like me with your second answer. time to pull your head out of your...

...which brings me back to my earlier fragment. I have funny aversions to commitment in some areas. My thesis is no exception. I sent up a little rendezvous with my impressive/intimidating/supernice major professor to give me a deadline for making some decisions. I said, "Can we meet in two weeks?" He said, "Meet me on Thursday."
I panicked. Every class I've taken has given me a new potential thesis. If I put them all together, I could write a brilliant paper about the socialfunctionofthesideshow-
visualrhetoricofhumanitarianorganizations-
sympathyandthepoliticsofidentity-K.Dunn'streatmentofthebodyinGeekLove-
ellisislandandissuesofidentity.
But I have to pick one. I could never choose between the stuffed animals on my bed, so they all slept with me. And I can't take all of these topics to bed with me.
I already felt like an idiot because I had managed to completely blank out during a presentation, submit an "eh" analysis for the whole class to read, and in that analysis, I said "levi-strauss" as "lee-vi strowse." FYI, that's wrong. I felt like an idiot and unworthy of grad school and a ph.d. One of my friends finally told me to get my head out of my @$$. And I did. (Or, at least, I tried to.)

The next day, I came to the big guy with three possible ideas. He ran with the first one. (drumroll) My thesis will center around Ellis Island and the role it played in issues of identity formation up to the present.

I'm sure there's a more thorough explanation, but for now, I keep falling asleep mid-sentence. It's ime to give in to my narcoleptic vice.

posted by tara @ 4:06 AM