Saturday, Dec. 06, 2003 - 2:33 p.m.
I made a beautiful banana cream pie last night. While it was cooling on the table, Ronnie stuck her paw in it.
I finished teaching for the semester on Wednesday. On Friday I received forty-five portfolios, all of which need to be graded this weekend.
I have no idea where the week went.
Most of it was spent navigating PhD applications, which are impossibly technically complicated these days. And all the questions are forcing me to introspect about my future. WHY ARE PERSONAL STATEMENTS SO HARD FOR ME TO WRITE? I mean, shit. My stress over these things has even driven me away from The Measure, not to mention my friends both near and distant.
I had my usual Friday night Party With Myself: three hours of NPR, a bottle of wine, whatever food I feel like eating, and the heat cranked way up. I feel like the worst sort of fluffily liberal elitist hypocrite.
And then L and I began to fear we are boring as we spent our late evening eating a tortilla espanola, drinking High Life, and watching stupid, stupid TV until 3 in the morning.
In a delightful companion incident to the beer story in the last entry, yesterday I was making coffee in my office and somehow slammed my hand against a bookcase. I took a big chunk of skin out of my knuckle -- it really hurt, and I yelled "FUCK!" just as a student walked in to hand in his final portfolio. He stared at me. Rock and Roll Teacher strikes again.