I’m sitting in what may be my last actual library course in my career in library school. They’re talking about collection development, and I’ve spent most of the class either checking my email or doing the reading for this class – reading that we will never discuss, reading that I will never write anything about (save this blog post), reading that really has little-to-no relevance to the work I anticipate doing. This semester has been intensely frustrating because of classes like this.
I have so much work to do, and the hours that I spend in this class feel like wasted time, time when I should be doing other work – but I know if I didn’t have to be here, I would either be sleeping or in the office working on OTHER things I desperately need to be doing. Over night the semester got all hot and heavy, and I’m up to my eyes in work – both work-work and homework and research and writing and reading.
The lecturer is using a wireless lapel mic, but instead of clipping the little mic to her shirt, she is holding it up to her mouth, and for some reason that’s annoying me.
I think the biggest thing that’s come down the pipes this week has been a serious, serious consideration of the PhD program – which is somewhat ironic, given the discontent discussed above. I expressed a lot of this to my adviser – well, not the part about the mic – and she talked me around and through most of my concerns. I’m excited, terrified, etc. I’m writing a thesis in the spring with the intention of starting PhD work in the fall – in the interim I just have to do the application and cross my fingers and continue to woo faculty members who seem to like me an awful lot already.
I was wide awake at 5:30 this morning and couldn’t get back to sleep, and I found myself walking downtown for breakfast at 7 while the sun was coming up over the buildings and the park and the trees full of color. The sky was gray with encroaching pink, and a man nodded at me and said “good morning” as I crossed Main Street and the sun burned red over the train tracks behind the old depot.
for some reason we were talking about tattoos that night, late, as the paint dried on the walls of the small room around us. i touched the circles on his inner forearms. we talked about faith, and how those marks were a reminder. i asked him if he had any others, and he said “do you want to know? maybe i should let you wait and find out.” he said it with laughter in his voice, with me perched on a stool in my skirt and boots and sweater like the night.
i didn’t find out, and i had forgotten until just now, watching all the real girls, when zooey deschanel touches the tattoo on her boyfriend’s shoulder and he laughs and says that he got it a long time ago.
With thanks to The Kitchen Table Restaurant in Marshfield, WI
1 lb sliced mushrooms
1 diced onion
3 T butter
3 T flour
1 t salt
1 t pepper
1 bay leaf
1/2 t rosemary
3 cans beef bouillon (not sure how this translates into cups)
1 C white wine
2 C sour cream
Saute mushrooms and onions in butter until tender. Sprinkle with flour and cook 2 minutes more, stirring constantly. Stir in bouillon and seasonings – you can substitute chicken or veg broth for the beef. Simmer 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Just before serving, add sour cream and wine. Heat to just under boil. Makes about 2 qts.
Adapted from cooks.com:
1 lg. yellow onion, chopped
6 garlic cloves, minced
2 tbsp. cumin seed
6 tbsp. olive oil, divided use
2 red bell peppers, seeded & chopped
2 Poblano peppers, seeded & chopped
2 Jalapenos, seeded & chopped
2 Serranos, seeded & chopped
1 tbsp. each: ground coriander, cinnamon & black pepper
2 lbs. ground turkey
4 c. tomatoes with juice, chopped
2 c. chicken stock
1 c. Mexican beer
1 (7 oz.) can Chipotle peppers in Adobo sauce, coarsely chopped
1/4 c. grated unsweetened chocolate
Saute onion, garlic and cumin in 3 tablespoons olive oil until transparent. Add chopped peppers and saute over medium heat about 10 minutes. Add chili paste, chili powder, coriander, cinnamon and pepper. Saute 5 minutes and set aside. Brown turkey in remaining olive oil. Add tomatoes, chicken stock and beer and chiptles. Simmer slowly 30 to 45 minutes or put in the crock pot for a while (1 hour on high, longer on low). Just before serving, stir in chocolate. Serve with whatever you’d like.
you are in my bed again. how are you in my bed again? i laugh with your mouth against my skin, my hand on the back of your head protecting you from my nightstand. we toss about with laughter and kisses and mouths and skin and hands in hair and sheets and blankets and bodies half off the bed and fingers interlaced and fall asleep together, your body warm next to mine. in the morning i almost don’t want to wake you, your sleepy head on my pillow, your body curled up where mine was not too long before.
i think you might have known me since birth or before, the way your eyes meet mine and go beyond them. i think if you were ever to touch me i would shatter into a thousand pieces and become a part of the dust and air and the ice in your glass.
things that have been goin’ on:
on monday i got in a loud argument over metadata with my 501 group (i hate group work). also my brother and his long-term girlfriend broke up.
on tuesday i found out that a boy i had a thing for/with over the summer is getting married. i promptly drank too much, and narrowly avoided lotsa trouble by maintaining my cool when pulled over on the way home. i will not be trying my luck for the rest of the year.
on wednesday i ran back to back nutty classes with nutty instructors who have nutty requests that make me nutty, especially when i’m already tired and hung over and hungry. i then ate greasy diner food and felt beter.
on thursday i gave a presentation at 11am, met with my 501 group (i hate group work) for two hours to talk about metadata, and am currently running a class with THE DEAN. after this i have to run another class, and then i might go see a movie.
this weekend will be work and pumpkins and chili and nanowrimo and more work and more work and more work. and so it goes.
we touch each other in the casual way that characterizes our conversations – your hand soft on my back, my hand cupping the side of your face, your arm around my waist as my hands cover my mouth when i laugh. you kiss my cheek, then slip away to greet other friends that have just arrived. later you find me in the crowd, making snarky comments about the people rocking out around us. when you make your departure i reach through the rows of people that separate us to touch your shoulder, saying “it’s really too bad that you’re not into me.” you step back towards me, gently kissing my mouth, and say “i’m not as good as i seem.”
in the middle of the crowd in the middle of the set in the middle of a cold dark night we stand looking at each other, perfectly still as people jump and scream and sing and dance around us. in this moment we are alone, and i half expect you to kiss me, but instead you say “will you go out with me?” and i don’t know what to say.
Another weekend gone, and another Sunday afternoon spent in the sun outside Kopi drinking coffee and playing catch up with the week’s readings. This week has been too too – too much smoking, too much drinking, too much snacking, too much flirting, too much spending, too much rocking – I have been out every night this week, one way or another, and am running on low low low. This week was Sleater-Kinney at the Highdive on Sunday, Tegan and Sara at the Canopy on Monday, goth night on Tuesday, Darren’s birthday dinner on Wednesday, failed intense studying on Thursday, Aroma on Friday, Aroma and ROCKFEST (featuring the Hum reunion show) on Saturday – and now here it is again, a week later, and I’m in the same spot as a week ago, just more tired, more confused, and extremely jealous of the couple at the next table with the perfect baby and perfect corgi (named Simon). Do I know what I want anymore? Not always. I am every day equal parts content and unquiet. I feel like a terrible student and yet am seriously considering staying for a PhD. I am terribly unproductive on all counts, which leads to stress and depression, which leads to more unproductivity. The leaves are starting to turn, and there is no point to this post except to say hello and I miss you, friends.