I swear, this is the turning point.

Every week so far this semester I've thought, this, this is the week when things finally even out. When the days aren't all already filled, so that I don't get up in the morning to assume the load of all those hours, inked in and fully committed. Of course, it turns out that, each week, I've been deluded by my own optimism, which is annoying. I want to be realistic, but realism just crushes you before you even start. False optimism just crushes you a little at a time.

But this week: I have a good feeling about this week.

It's not that I don't have things to do. It's just that I think I might be able to take a breath here and there. I might be able to cook dinner this week. I might put some books back on the shelves in my study. I might dream up a few lines for a poem. I might catch up on some grading.

I'm pretty sure I'm right--that this week is the one, that it will finally be different. But I admit, all this current hopefulness gives me a distinct suspicion that I might be forgetting something. Some huge damn thing that will overtake me like a rock hurtling down a mountain.

So I'm just going to sidestep it. Don't mind me, I'm taking refuge, never mind where, from whatever that thing I might be forgetting is. Please just ignore me while that rock takes everything in its path. I'm not shirking, I promise. I'm just occupying this little dream of a week, this little wish, while I get a few things done. Shhhhhh.

Things I said at dinner tonight that may or may not be true.

"I'm renouncing all of my ambitions, except in poetry."

"I'm giving up giving up stuff."