Enough already.

Depending on how you count it, we are

(a) less than two weeks in, or
(b) less than three weeks in,

and I have already had it.

We're talking about

(a) the spring semester, or
(b) January.

Both of which seem pointless to me. I'm assuming my attitude will improve, eventually. Like, in April.

Me: Having just said, I will always do the whole job, it's not like I can now just say, Okay, I only want to write poetry now.

The historian: (sympathetic silence. We're walking the dog. Bruiser is nosing the snow like it's super interesting. But it's not, Bruiser. It's just snow. And it's stupid.) I remember when you started the semester, you said you were going to write every day...

Me: ...and I'm not writing every day. I know, I just have to be gentle with it. It will get better, right? We'll just do that f!*&ing assessment in two weeks because I planned the f!*&ing assessment. [bitter chuckle...] Etcetera. [pause for extra bitter sauce:] And, ugh, I'm not going to AWP in the year I published a book because I'm teaching a class on effing Fridays.

The historian: (sympathetic silence. Bruiser still sticking his snout into cold places.)

Well, I could probably go on like this until forever or the vernal equinox, when the toxic fog over my outlook will no doubt clear. Maybe sooner. Maybe we just need some vegetables in the house, and the time to go shop for them, and a quiet day, and a change in the schedule weather, wherein the outlook will be clear horizons, with no meetings in sight. I.e., spring break.

That was the first day.

First day of the semester: done.

Second day of the semester: coming right up.

Here's what went right: I was able to finish the syllabus for my second day of the semester class during the periods of time when no students showed up for my first day orientations to their online classes.

On the other hand: practically no students showed up for those orientations.

However: I am not worrying about it. Not yet, or not much.

To compensate: I opened the shade in my office a little higher to capture the little afternoon light diffusing through the rain, and worked and worked away, doing a little online orienting here and there, eating beautiful carrots and fennel and a pink orange.

And then: I went and worked out and drove home, starving like a savage.

And then: I fell asleep while I was reading Go Fug Yourself. #tragic

And then: I watched two hours of television, more or less. Okay, more.

While: working on the calendar for my second day class.

And also: sorting out this and that about other work I need to do. Adding to my lists of things that need to be finished.

Thus: making myself feel a little panicky.

In conclusion: After a day of steady rain, it's now snowing. We took our late night constitutional and left both human and dog tracks coming and going. I'm about to sleep the sleep of the new semester, of the stood-up teacher, of the still-planning, of the not-yet-panicked. Or at least the sleep of the not-much-panicked.

What January means to me.

Everyone--the children, the grandchildren--has gone home. The house is unbelievably quiet. Even though sports have been going continuously throughout the holidays, our teams seem to have re-emerged. It's still, pretty much, always dark. I wear coats and giant cardigans. Sometimes many cardigans. Even though the Christmas tree is so, so dead, I hate to take it down. Always, I hate to take it down. I kind of need the light.

It's time to wash all the holiday tablecloths and placemats, but I haven't, not yet. There are things like pomegranate seeds and leftover Josefinas spread in the refrigerator, but there's also a loaf of entirely dried out baguette, just daring me to actually make good on my promise to turn it into bread crumbs.

via Things Organized Neatly

My to-do list is daunting. It is paralysis in the form of a list. My intentions are enormous and outsize.

The patio lights rhyme with the Christmas lights, so we turn them on every night, even with icicles hanging from the wires.

I have acquired a tiny Virgin of Guadalupe, actually a Christmas ornament that I found at Target. I bought a sacred heart carved out of wood and painted a bold red and gold at the French Market. I think longingly of beignets.

The machinery of the new year is still warming up. I can hear its engine.

I am still listening to Lazaretto which is one of my favorite 2014 albums. But only sporadically, on my Shuffle, at the gym. It is so good that it survives this mode of listening.

I can read three whole chapters at a time in my book before I fall into slumber. At this pace, I should have the review I'm supposed to write of it finished in early March, although technically it is due in a few days.

Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow I will make hay out of my list. Tomorrow, I will decide the criteria by which I will know whether to keep something or give it away. I could start on for instances, but we'd be at that all night, and I might need to fall into slumber.

It's cold. It's dark. But it is, it is getting lighter, minutes more light every day. That is the true meaning of January, in my pocket like hidden prayer beads, while we ride the slow, cold, dark half of the earth as it comes back around.

Style notes at the end of January.

1. first of all,

 

2. navy blue nail polish

3. By all means, if a blue sweater arrives in the mail in the afternoon, put it on directly. You will be all the cozier.

4.  All the colors of blue look good worn together, in my opinion.

5. And now it is clear: this is the reason you bought navy blue suede driving moccasins when they were on sale at Target, even though you didn't technically need navy blue suede driving moccasins.

6. little silver earrings.

7. (curly hair is either a trial or total liberation, but sometimes you might want to put it up into a ponytail when it's damp, just to remind it who is boss.)

8. turquoise parachute-silk scarf (in case you need to jump out of a plane on a moment's notice).

9. your gray coat, because sometimes, gray is a species of blue.

This weekend I

had a beautiful dinner with the historian and his children to belatedly celebrate his birthday (happy belated birthday to the historian!); took the dog for several walks; faded into a nap or so; did a crossword or two; read some of my novel; read some of my book of poems; spent plenty of time with my bff the internet; (not really my bff); went to Target twice; wore some tall shoes out on a date; saw Blue Valentine and cried a little; did some laundry for the good of all mankind; made some killer linguine; watched the SAG awards while I whittled away at work-y stuff; rescued college daughter whose car would not start; ate Mexican food; wished someone would finish putting my post-tenure review file together; taught a little online; wished my son-in-law a happy birthday; wondered at the bad air; thought perhaps that I might be coming down with another cold, which seemed vastly unfair; saw Megamind with a son, a daughter, and a grandson; had another son and another grandson over tonight for some rousing conversation and the aforementioned linguine; wrote the phrase "the aforementioned linguine" and liked it, quite a bit; and went to bed (wrote the phrase "went to bed" and wished it were so--and so it will be).

Glistening.

The historian's daughter and partner are in town for a few days. We went to breakfast, then took a walk around Liberty Park, which was nothing short of glorious:


Liberty Park Snow Day from lisab on Vimeo.