no park, no bbq

After emailing and leaving messeage for potential apts, i've decided to crawl back in bed and vegetate for the remainder of the day. I've had an awfully dreary weekend, what, with trying to figure out whether I can afford higher rent (and ridiculous deposit) for a place that has wall to wall hardwood floor, lots of windows, built-in shelves (!), double french doors, high ceilings. it is obviously lovely and close to Amazing Park, which is great because I think I can pick up running again.

Out of left field, I woke up this morning thinking about the the last day of class with my cultural crit class. Our prof was dispensing advice about other routes we can explore with an MA, which seemed like a particularly good move given that many students in our program have no intentions of entering a doctoral program. It was refreshing to hear genuine optimism after crappy, crappy end-of-semester writing blues. I mean, I think it's useful to imagine myself and what my life might be like out of academia, if only to maintain sanity and not think as though I've let myself down. As I reread the previous sentence I feel sort of silly because I'm acutely aware that I've entered the program without long term goals, but with a sense that I was out here just happy to be doing what I love. Is that even enough though? Of course, maybe I just need a push. aaaargh.

blech

I haven't been quite in the shape to start reading novels -- not yet anyway. Strangely I don't know what to do with myself now that school is out. I browsed around stores and Borders to read up on Boston and New York sight-seeing. Lately I've been imagining myself in Boston

I've been thus far unsuccessful in finding apartments in my desired location, not to mention that most of the rooms are $750+. So that's what i've been doing all day, searching for rooms and jobs. And then tonight, as if I couldn't think of anything more optimistic to do, I was reading my prof's published essays and peaking through dissertation abstracts of former profs. Saturday night fun, eh? I've written such rubbish papers in comparison, essays that will probably not wind up in my longer project. Ugh. I can tell it's the beginning of a truly great summer. I know it.

I am soooo done!!

I got at least 4-5 hours of sleep, but finally I submitted my last paper of the semester! Sigh. really. This semester seemed a tad long this time. So I managed to tidy up a bit--made the bed, washed dishes, returned really late DVD. ugh. So now I'm celebrating with my second round of margaritas, listening to This Mortal Coil doing "The Last Ray" and thinking of taking a long lavender scented bath before bed. Recently I have been thinking of how awesome it would be to have a waterproof laptop -- imagine that?

In other news: I picked up a Visual Culture Reader, which has a couple of Butler essays and one Foucault. I'm excited, but will probably drop dead for a while. One goal I had in mind was to extend one of my essays that explored surveillance and policing bodies -- new interest for me! Anyway, I want to try to look at more criticism and see what's out there.
Otherwise, i need to find a new APT by the end of the month! ugh. labor.

truly out of it

I can't say how unfocused I have been this weekend -- it makes me sick -- but the paper I am working on was technically my low-stress paper. I thought I had things under control, had a fair idea of where I was going, even my main argument is essentially the same. But for some inexplicable reason I cannot seem to get myself to finish this damned paper. I'm trying to split my remaining tasks into three WORD documents: handouts, synthesis paper, and long paper, but in between juggling documents I am ready to weep, and there's always a looming fear that at some point I won't pull things together.

Also, I've always been plagued by the fact that I was never the type of person who planned things out, and I find it really bothersome in lots of ways, especially when I can't respond to questions that practically beg definitive answers. "What's the plan for the summer?" I don't know, nothing definite except visiting parents at some point, looking for a new apt, maybe working as well -- or not.

"What about after MA?" um, well, it's really hard to say when I am finding that many other issues are starting to outweigh the desire to even continue. On the other hand, I'm applying anyway and that's that. I really hate how these insecurities invade my thoughts when I need to focus on writing now, pronto. What the hell?

this may be a 2 am-ish night. I know I can do this, just three more friggin' days of the semester. let it be over. be over be over be over. goddamn be over.

aargh

Fiesta music was playing at my regular cafe this afternoon, and one hour later there's still carnival in my head. Why won't it stop... please, please. pretty please? I need to write a bit without things spinning out of control!

one week from today...

I will be done with the semester. I'm feeling more or less like I've checked out, and now just dragging my feet to class. I lead a discussion today (the first of 3 discussion days), and my own impression was that it was kind of awful. Last nightI imagined how it might play out-- how each question would logically connect or build on our responses. I forget that i'm not actually lecturing or presenting but opening up questions. And given that the discussion was bounching in several directions, I didn't feel like I had much control. I wanted to listen to the responses and try to synthesize what we were all attempting to say but can't articulate. So I sat in class doubting whether my questions were even relevant. How uncomfortable is that? We discussed a 1950s film that dealt with the white actors painting themselves dark to play African American roles, and the one thing I noticed was that I was censoring myself because I think I was trying to be PC.

I went to office hour after class to get more feedback since I actually have two more discussions
-- damn! I asked my prof how to go about generating relevant questions and was fairly honest that I just wasnt certain if I'm even probing in the right places. And then he said what I guess I had always known in the back of my mind but ignored. In his ironic, deadpan kind of tone, he said that if folks are silent, then share more of my opinions with the class. I don't remember if I laughed right when he said it, but i know I smiled in accordance just at the pure transparency of the situation. I replied that i wanted to listen to what other folks had to say first, but I guess I never got around to really putting myself out there enough. I guess that means I was a "moderator" ? Apparently i had interesting questions in my handout, and that he doesn't expect me to be an expert on X, which was nice to hear, you know.

All I could think of was how I must've looked anxious infront of my professor. In fact, a few days ago I just told prof how i was "scattered" because there is a lot to cover with four films -- which clip should I show?, etc. Sometimes I wonder if I should be so candid about my progress. On the one hand, I feel like I shouldn't even have to pretend like I'm in control of things, b/c they've been through all this hell before. Nothing new, and besides I want my profs to be my friend/mentor. On the other hand, how would they look at me, judge me if my nerves are totally tattered whenever I see them? Of course I don't bombard my profs with personal issues, but still I feel like there's a part of me that needs to give them the illusion that I am much more confident that I really am. o well. One learns, I guess. I have 2 more chances

On the paper front: paper 1 done; paper 2 due tomorrow; paper 3 due one week from today.

Almost free. soooo ooo sleepy.

daydreamin'

I dream I am moving again, not to a new city but to another small neighborhood in another pocket of current city. I walk down to my neighborhood side cafe, maybe downstairs from where I live, or maybe two blocks down -- or better, hike up one hill and sit in the sun. With my orange juice and bagel with cream cheese occupying both hands -- I try to cut down caffeine intake on weekends, and apparently it is Sunday-- I stare at the cars that pass by fighting for parking spaces. I chuckle at having been lucky to just walk down the street. My friend greets me, looking as though she had just rolled out of bed--and she did, to my recollection. I'm no longer scrambling to get things in things in order. I am calm. So there it ends -- finally I am mellow. maybe I am looking forward to summer.

I am also listening to the Flock of Seaguls doing *Wishing* : "I wouldn't spend my life just wishing... " Ha. Now, if I can just get myself to finish reading before class starts -- more days in the fourth floor of our stinkin' library.

netflix

How do I say this -- I just got Netflix. I actually need to watch Orsen Welles' adaptation of Othello for class. But seriously -- Oh. my God. Did my life just get easier?

My head is spinning -- not because i got up early and spent noon-5pm in the graduate reading room of our library -- but because I seem to have forgotten all the directors I love. I've added a few Godard films that were so hard to find -- Weekend, which is supposed to be excellent. I'm also starting to add 40s films -- my personal favorite Cary Grant film is Bringing up Baby. I also added early Todd Haynes, like Poison...ooh.. maybe add the other Hal hartley films I haven't seen! Anyway, I'm mostly done with my Pomo paper (1 week early), but still have to keep plugging away at 2 more papers and prep work for discussion. My name , as luck would have it, was drawn from a bag and now I am to lead the class discussion for the last three days of class! Time for bath? sigh. I could collapse.

but the summer? with netflix? and Ben and Jerry's ?

my writing pace

"I turn sentences around. That's my life. I write a sentence and then I turn it around. Then I look at it and I turn it around again. Then I have lunch. Then I come back in and write another sentence. Then I have tea and turn the new sentence around. Then I read the two sentences over and turn them both around. Then I lie down on my sofa and think. Then I get up and throw them out and start from the beginning" (Phillip Roth's The Ghost Writer).

I came across this quote while searching for more criticism and boy, Roth's writing habit resonates with me sometimes. How many times have I started from the beginning? ack.

okay, so i did take that nap after all -- 2 hours, too! -- and now I will add more quotes and hit the sack by 2 am. I must attempt to get up, say, 8 am and do more reading. My goal before bedtime is one more page of notes. okay!