woe is me.

Been a while since i've really reflected, but mostly because I’ve been out of sorts (story of February, you might say). So, classes for me have been pretty mechanical and therefore lacking enthusiasm and motivation. Another dreaded question about what will be the next step. My guess is I’m afraid to imagine myself not in school. What would I be doing? Not teaching that’s for sure. The thing is I’m not sure if I ever will, and maybe that's okay. Still, one has to wonder – worry, really – you know?
update: one week later -- so that was me last week.

impossiblity

this is going to be another terse post, I'm afraid. Racing against time as I type. Quickly, though, I've been paranoid recently and i've taken down the "blogs I read" and also most my profile, mostly because i've "outed" myself as blogger a couple of times, and now feel strange about ranting about my short story class (we might talk about the phenonmena of blogs in class, which makes me feel uneasy.

what else? Impossiblity is the operating word these days -- what do you do once you're done destablizing categories, identities. How can I move beyond this? How do you bring about changing the canon? and what about skills?

reminders

pressed for time, but soon :

• rant about short story prof's teaching style, classroom management, and lack of productivity.
• defense and blogging reflection
• Program dislike vs. Dr. Ivy League's seminars -- what works, what doesn't
• new goals for semester
• reflect on conference -- what is helpful?

tackling it all

Certainly tonight I am feeling much better. "Love will get you like a case of Anthrax and that's something I don't want to catch" yup, listening to Gang of Four and browsing Amazon for used Butler, Warner, Sedgwick -- and I am supremely psyched. No matter how rare a moment I am really content tonight and wish I can surround myself with books sprawled all over my desk, consuming each one. It is nice.

You really got me ... all over again

Patsy Cline’s “Strange” plays in my head, almost immediately she emerges in my strangest of moods. Several things come to mind as I finished class tonight: I thought about “voice” -- that is, hearing my own voice (my identity) when I write papers. Am I even conscious of listening to my voice when I compose? I suppose I don’t pay too much attention or care to it, but today I felt that this time I am going to personalize these papers more; in short, I want to noticed.

Thus far I am doing well; in fact, strangely I am sharing my comments/thoughts in my seminar—an improvement for me, no doubt, and it seemed so clear, then, how important it was -- is -- for me to voice out my thoughts, to let them know who I am.

And then tonight as I was reading some short stories of Raymond Carver, the past came flooding back. For the past week, I was cranky, whiny, and unenthusiastic about my classes. Why? Because last semester I wound up enjoying my theory classes so much that my fiction classes this semester seemed, at first, rather lacking. Now reading Carver – and falling in love with these short stories once again – I am reminded of the places, the people, the books I once loved. The person I was who loved all of these things seemed so distant and yet I haven’t left at all. No – in fact, I haven’t changed at all, but all of these fragments, I suppose, were stored, locked up safely.

And so I thought about my last semester of college: behind the English Department was a bridge to the Music and Drama buildings. It was at this metallic silver café where I spent my afternoons, with my feet resting on another seat, absorbing the sun and breezy OC weather. This was a place I remember falling in love with folks David Leavitt. But I am, once again, nostalgic. (Where does one go now? Today in huge cafeteria, the kind of sad place like the supermarket).

And so I think this semester could be that period the will remind me of why I am here in the first place, doing what I know – all for the love of reading and the life of the mind.

I do love the Carver. Maybe I will always reflect on that spring semester, almost 3 and ½ years ago, when everything seemed golden. I don’t think my memory of that place will ever tarnish, or be long forgotten; but I do hope to make new memories like it, like tonight as I discover Carver all over again.

Bouts of confusion

Once again thoughts of leaving the city have been swirling in my head for the last few nights. Maybe it’s just the beginning of the semester anxiety; in fact, I have no doubt that all this is just a spell. I’ve been here for only 6 months and I find myself planning to move away from here; of course, I wouldn’t mind retiring in this city because it is lovely in lots of ways, but already I’ve been itching to break free.

I whine that this city is too small, and have even grown impatient to riding public trans. In general I wait for so many things, like today I thought, gee, I wonder at one point in my life when I’ll be able to afford a washer and dryer machine? Or Jonathan Adler dinner plates? It seems so far away.

In the end, I wonder if I can even commit to 6 more years of school – and then what? I feel like variations of these type of questions – what next? what now? -- will haunt me for years to come, and then how does one deal with it?

Maybe the reasons why I can’t see myself continuing or even teaching is an indication that I need to acknowledge my limitations and not be afraid of Big Other(s).

suspiciously like a new year's resolution

Now that most of my classes are in the afternoon (as opposed to evening last semester) I can actually attempt to sleep much ealier -- or earlier than usual. What else? must continue with yoga, watch the caffeine intake, eat more fruits.

And while you are studying hard, don't forget to drink and socialize with flesh and blood people. Like the guy said at the club, "you're brave" -- so heed that compliment and apply it to other areas other than dancing.


must exert all enery to focusing on smaller tasks -- you know, like browsing at journals and reading essays; and eventually you'll see a bigger picture.

more about seminars...

less than ideal

Is it too soon to whine about classes so early in the semester? Frankly there aren't any interesting seminars offered, well, classes that are up my alley anyway. I am, however, excited about one class on Cultural studies. So what do you do? Somehow make it a place in which I can thrive? A year ago I really thought I would be able to study author X or Critic Y and Z and it would consume my very being, but perhaps it's just a reverie. I am finding that all the interesting material i discover are books, ideas, opinions that I'm not studying in classes or with colleagues. Maybe that is the point, eh? It's all autonomous reading and research, which isn't terrible but some guidance, more direction early in our studies would be helpful -- no, useful in really seeing ourselves out of our box, the what-do-we-do-with-our-master's. What to do? Talk to as many professors who are willing to help, I guess. What is there left to do? Solicit advice and whatnot.