Showing posts with label lipstick. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lipstick. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 06, 2009

If this is what going back to work is like, then you can take it.

--aaaaaaand shove it. For example, today involved:
  • waking up effectively hungover from lack of sleep, due to sudden, insidious late night cough.
  • interviewing two potential student editors of the student litmag for next year. Which I will be faculty advisor for next year (how did this happen, Dr. Write?).
  • lunch with a grandson who turned four today. (This involved noodles and hilarious conversation: Grandson: You know what? Me: What? Grandson: Papa, say what.).
  • another potential student editor.
  • taking part in the discussion team as part of my new, should-have-said-no responsibility for next year (thanks, former faculty leader! No, really.).
  • reception for retiring colleagues (actually, there were cupcakes, so this one was all right).
  • home to collapse.
  • put on excessively shiny skirt and high heels to go out again, to an evening school event with historian. Also lipstick. Also mascara.
  • home to collapse, or actually to report this information on my day, and then collapse.
I need to check my pulse to see if I am still having my sabbatical. I think I am, but the evidence is curiously contradictory.

Monday, January 12, 2009

The facts about today.

Bruiser woke me at 4 a.m.
Wrote.  Ate a bowl of Kix.
Woke the historian and climbed back in bed at 7.
Awoke three and a half hours later.  
Cleared my head, got dressed, ran some errands.
Found this, this, this and this in the piles of cds everywhere.
Bought lipstick and Sundance tickets.
Wrote some more.
Asked myself this question:  What connects grief and the will?
Made red lentil soup. Laundered. Waited for the historian to get home. Walked Bruiser.
Tried this and viewed this. (via kottke)
The Jazz beat Indiana.

That is all.



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