ew

This is a bit freaky, b/c this is how I slept last night. Actually, most nights I sleep on my side. So apparently I rely heavily on my partner, eh? Let me think about this more.

Find your own pose!

This Isn't That Summer

The summer of 2002 is possibly *the* summer, I realize, that I keep returning to, especially when I can't recall a time when I was more optimistic. It was the summer after graduation -- I was jobless and thus worried. I had moved back at my folks, but had nonetheless paid three months worth of rent for a room in an apartment that I didn't occupy. I had spent six months of simple leisure reading, mostly in bed; it was lovely, really. It was that summer when I discovered John Cheever. The first line of "The Swimmer" has got to be one of my favorites: "It was one of those mid-summer Sundays when everyone sits around saying, 'I drank too much last night'" (603).

But this isn't that kind of summer -- and probably not for a long, long time. So the only real goal I have this summer is the re-reading and revising of an old paper (temping aside). I need to massage my paper in to a solid 20 (25?) paged paper. At the moment it is at 15 pages, but it's so not in good shape, needs LOTS of editing and footnotes. I need to modify the old argument and restructure the entire blasted thing. So while this isn't the summer of reading, I certainly hope it will turn out to be the summer of writing. Plus, former-prof will be reading it so I have some motivation to get this going. Gotta love profs who offer services during the summer, that's for sure. So that's the current plan.

Otherwise, movers come this friday to put my stuff in storage while I stay at a sublet pad. Then on Saturday old college friend arrives and the real apt search begins. We have one amazing prospect that I am really excited about, so let's hope we get it!

the long way

Sometimes I’m tempted to rename this blog to “infinitely indebt” or “Ode to Inadequacies,” which finally is what this self-indulgent space has been – nothing new there. The summer has always been a time of reflection for me, naturally since I have more downtime than in the winter break. I have more time to think about personal projects, books to read, goals—the endless list of summer aspirations. But this time is also a kind of summer in limbo or summer in media res. Certainly, I am always happy to make lists, but there is also the threat of the lackey part of me – the self that likes the idea of lists but somehow falls short of achieving the goals. Of course, sometimes I have work-in-progress goals that get lost in time, lots of muddled thinking, which is to say that it gets harder to see whether I am actually making progress, what, with the baby steps I take!

And it is funny to think that sometimes I really do have moments of lucidity, like when I think I have a clear expectation of things I want to do and hope to do. When I say “think,” as in the previous sentence, sometimes I fear that what I really mean to say is that I want the illusion of certainty. I want to think that I am certain and confident about the choices I am making (and have made in the past), but it’s hard for me to say. I have infinite bouts of doubt and thus the illusion of certainty that mobilizes me to try to move forward, I think. In other words, if I set goal X and think that I’ve managed well enough or have the illusion that I’m close enough to the finish line, then I can actually make myself move in the direction of goal Y and move on instead of fretting about goal X so much. But because I’m conscious of the role of illusions, I keep having recurring crises about certainties, which in turn produce abnormally high levels of anxiety.

I can’t believe I just wrote all this crap about illusion of things. Holy bejezus -- rereading paragraph 2 I realize that this is a post a about perfectionism. But I am not a perfectionist. Okay, I could have saved some bloggy time, but in the spirit of indulgence, it seems I took a detour. The long way to the root of the crisis. I was actually going to start talking about some of my goals (ie. Not just in the vague form of letters!). But I got all sidetracked and lost. Even worse is that I am sober and blogging

Whatever, I’m tired. Tomorrow I need to post about assertiveness -- the lack thereof,

Hwaet!

If memory serves right, "hwaet" is the first word that appears in line one of Beowulf, which means "pay attention." I wonder if I can say it when/if the students get rowdy? whipping out the Old English -- that's the other project for the summer. I've accepted the TA-ship, and I'm feeling strangely excited about the texts we'll be covering, plus working with students. If i don't have to think about public speaking, a podium and microphone, I might just manage -- for the summer, at least. Though maybe it is only my wishful thinking. It's funny -- I deliberately left all my English lit books behind me, thinking I will never have to visit any of it again. Gah! Return of the past?

Otherwise, I read an interesting essay entitled "The Construction of Heterosexuality" by law professor/legal scholar Janet Halley, and it was interesting to read law academics discuss how litigators should be critical about legal definitions that rest on essentialist claims. It was interesting to think about identity politics in the eyes of the law, anyway.

to be a TA or not -- bullets of anxiety

Why I should be a TA for pre-1800 prof:

• I need to push myself to do this -- don't want to regret now that I have a chance.
• I can get a better idea of what it is like to teach professionally -- esp. with 100-ish students.
• It's a pre-req class -- the students will probably be first and second year students; some might not even know what to major in yet -- I can do this?
• the texts will be traditional works -- beowulf, chaucer, Milton-- which i've read at some point in my college career; and while I've not read the Fairy Queen, Spencer, and other sonnets, well, I have the SUMMER to fill the gaps in education.
• If I work closely with the prof, ask how to approach certain texts and get advice and so forth, it may not be so bad; it's not like it is MY class. the students can come to me when they are too afraid to approach the prof. I just have to be REALLY prepared.
• Re-reading the texts might help me with the Subject exam.

Why I should not TA:

• This isn't my area of interest(!!!) -- what if something in me is so stubbon that even with "fresh" eyes I don't "get" the material? What if I don't get ideas?
• I'm not experienced enough for this, surely there are better candidates with background in this area.
• What if the students ask me all kinds of trivia questions that I have no way of answering on the spot? What if the students don't get what i am asking them to do?
• I have serious anxiety speaking in front of any group -- large or small. I get flustered and can even get so self-conscious that I start tripping on my own words.
• what if i have hard time leading the discussions? i'm such an introvert.
• I'm not smart enough and certainly not funny to humor the students. I don't even think I like teaching. i really don't.
• I'm so scattered. i wouldn't want pre-1800 prof to think that I was no help at all. I've not even met the prof and what if we do NOT mix? What if she expects auto-pilot TA? I need more guidance!!!

continued later...

maybe it's all downhill

Two nightmares in one night: I had a flash forward to next summer and was fretting about actually paying rent on my own -- no, I'm not kidding -- but this anxiety was the catalyst that changed my priorities and course of direction; it meant the end of school. I've tried to reason it all out, and what I have come up with is that something inside me is waiting to move on. I am reluctant to say this but I think my recurring dreams are telling me to admit the possibility that I want to move on and do something else. Even worse is the evil swirling in my head thinks that moving on also means never looking back at the academic-in-training part of me. Obviously I don't want to carry around some deep-seated bitterness about school. No -- I don't think I will, but still. Ugh.

2nd dream: John Malcovich kept biting his co-stars (until they bled, really, such violent dreams.) WTF? okay, open house to see.

update: no luck on apt today. Same story -- no cats and must have all applicants present! I might have to stay at a hotel with my roommate for a couple of days at the beginning of next month.

uneasy

At first, I wanted to say how I couldn't recall a time when I've been more anxious than now, as though the present moment is somehow altogether foreign that I haven't yet experienced; but upon sad reflection, how can I forget all those times I wanted to hide under a rock -- once, I wanted to stop writing in my journal (pure laziness in the wee hours) and thought it easier if I just recorded my thoughts in a small tape recorder, like Agent Cooper of Twin Peaks; it didn't last very long, in part because I kept wanting to stop, play, and re-record. I have lost that tape surely, but can recall lying awake under the covers with my tape recorder. So actually I meant to moan about how it gets harder to sort through things. And now would you believe that a Roy Orbison (sp?) concert is playing on TV?

Out of left field, a prof emailed me yesterday and asked if I might be interested in TA-ing for her class. Her area of teaching and research, however, is pre-1800 literature and thus I feel I am not the most ideal candidate for this particular class, not to mention that this pre-req undergrad class is LARGE class. Still, I am trying to convince myself, despite the disparate interests, that this chance would a be a good experience for me in seeing whether I can imagine myself teaching one day, if ever. I haven't commited yet, but oh, the thought sounds so overwhelming already. I've kicked off summer to weeks of moping, so is it possible to spend a summer filling some gaps in Old English, Middle English and 16th and 17th Lit? I could be working on my own project, though. Ugh. Would I just stray from what I should be doing? Tonight I picked up Butler's Undoing Gender and got through the introduction, which I enjoyed. More about how Pre-1800 prof got a hold of me out of the pool of students. Right now Blogger isn't allowing me to create paragraphs. (update: it works now!)

sick day

Having some kind of a daily routine -- reading at a café, preparing for class or heading to work-- is so much easier, if only to give me an illusion that I’m accomplishing things, working towards something. The downtime is killing me: I can’t seem to focus on anything for too long. I begin sorting papers, shredding bills, and putting a few things in boxes, but then I stop and spend the next 5 hours looking at apt listings and calling to make appointments. I can’t say I’m excited about any of these tasks; in fact, today I cancelled an appointment just because I was feeling out of sorts. I spent most of the day in bed, frequently looking at the time as though it mattered. I guess I’ve decided to make use of “sick days.”

I know that I feel unmotivated because I dread the labor of moving and thinking of financial woes of summer. Should I live in downtown? Certainly it is the center of all the shops, restaurants, but it is too busy and not an actual neighborhood. And then there are flats that are affordable but are either far from public transportation or kind of seedy and thus not a safe place to be walking about after night class. Then there are apartments near the beach, which is great if it were generally sunny here, but finally it is still far from center of the city, where I spend majority of my time. So I’ve just been wrestling with all of these choices. I’m also making this decision for my new roommate, who is an old college friend of mine. She has never been to the city and has no sense of the different neighborhoods and scenes. She has a cat and is highly allergic to carpet. It might take me a while to find a place we both like.

It’s no wonder I’ve been thinking of visiting my parents and friends. I want to get away from here for a while -- life here is a bit slow. I could remember a more idyllic summer, a time when all I wanted to do was devour a list of books. Now I’m not even numb enough to start reading again, let alone get out of bed.

Magnetic Fields - Born On A Train

sunday morning fun

random list of interest

Visual Culture -->vision (televisual? mediation and postmodernism)
voyeurism + surveillance = regulatory practices, normalization, and the law -- policing of bodies and sexuality, zoning laws, upholding heteronormativity. Althusser, Silverman, Foucault, Butler, Warner, berlant.
panopticon and abnormality, otherness, mimicry.

Homosocial bonds: triangulation, sedgwick, Fiedler (must read "Comeback to the Raft" sometime this break) -- email prof for suggestions? what about lacan? and Irigaray? look up later. For now maybe look into more law stuff and performance studies.

what is all this for anyway? just keeping track of folks and ideas to think about for larger project.

one piece of good news as my recents posts have taken the road to negativity, I wound up getting an A in short story class. Still waiting for results from the other classes.
I watched Touch of Evil last night, which was incredibly awesome.

night and the city

I had a nightmare last night -- the details are decidedly muddled, but I recall being harassed or attacked in some way. I know, for instance, I have a fear of walking home late at night, which, i hate to admit, is largely enforced by the news I watch. Why is it that I am prone think of the worst case scenarios? Sometimes I am walking and then decide to run before the light turns red, but in a flash i am on the ground. Othertimes I am walking through my usual route and a car pulls up and there is nothing I can do. I don't fight it. In dreams I try to resist, usually in a form of a sharp scream, an alarm, or a frantic dial of authorities, but to no avail. No last words.

I discovered Hollaback NY, which made feel slightly better. On tuesday I was walking out of a bar in downtown -- it was trivia night with my cohort -- and a heavy set man made some comment and gave me a leary eye that can only make one throw up a fist. But I didn't and kept walking as fast as I could.