It's probably good I didn't blog yesterday.
Have you ever been so tired that your first response to EVERYTHING is melancholy? Yeah--that was me, yesterday. I was like a walking open nerve--my blog post would have read like one of those teen tragedy songs from the 50's (Tell Laura I Looooooooooove her....) or a thirteen year-old's pre-menstrual diary. Yeah--all things considered, it's probably a good thing the kids pulled me away from the computer to come fall asleep in front of the television before I blogged last night--although their words, "Come play with us in front of the tv" were a lot more flattering!
I wasn't the only walking open nerve, though--the short people were HORRIBLE--I finally just dragged them to bed about two hours early and sang at them until they gave in. There were still a couple of trips out of bed afterwards, but they were both asleep by 8:30-- poor little guys. The Cave Troll is fighting off being sick, and Ladybug was fighting off being disowned--and I managed to wake up early to blog without them--can you believe that? I'm still a little amazed.
Anyway--there wasn't much to blog about, really. I'm knitting with some silk/malabrigo yarn that feels, uhm, decadent--seriously--so sinful, I'm probably absorbing calories through my skin (because, you know, the calories I eat aren't enough!) and I'm making fingerless mitts with them. I may make another pair--but simpler--I'm doing a faux cable and I think I should just do a 2x2 rib on the next pair. As depressing as it is, I'm coming to recognize my need for comfort food knitting as opposed to challenging knitting--at this point, if it's more challenging than stockinette, it takes too long!
I got my blurb in for the Creative Writing class yesterday--I went home and fixed it and then sent it in to the counselor. This actually was a trigger for some of those overwought tears, actually. I was on my way out the door when I got stopped by a young colleague--very young. Very idealistic. Very gung-ho. Very sweet, actually--and he wanted to make sure I was getting my paperwork for the creative writing class in, because if I wasn't up to it, he was REALLY interested. He was so respectful of seniority and age and accomplishment and all of the work I'd put into it before I felt pretty damned unworthy. I mean, seriously--here was someone all enthusiastic (like I used to be) and ready and willing and, I'm sure, more than able--and here I was, with an eight week backlog of papers on my desk, fighting burn-out with every breath I take-- if I hadn't promised some of my Juniors that I was going to try to teach the class, I would have just let him have it. Besides, he's sort of the darling of the department heads anyway--I'm sure he'd never be caught fighting to teach a comic essay class by using stand-up comedians, or making copies of slightly dirty fairy tail adaptations because they talked about the corruption of the writing process on language. It's been so long since I taught the course--I'll be making up new curriculum all over again!
And that's another reason I didn't tell him to take it. The whole idea sort of got me excited about my job--I hold on to those moments, believe-you-me!
But I think I"m going to be torn some more about the whole thing--on the one hand, I'm now superfluous. It used to be I was the only one on the faculty who even had a desire to teach the class. Now, I've got young Mr. Sloe-eyed Chipmunk Cheeks in the wings. But that's not necessarily a bad thing--if I ever get that *snork* big book contract, and can make a living writing as a day job, Creative Writing will continue at the school--and that REALLY makes me happy.
Oops--short people are up, and we've got a busy Saturday ahead--time to duck and run!