My options for next year are something like the following:
1. I get Fellowship A. Fellowship A would mean working at a college in New York, secretly keeping my job at not-NYU to maintain library access, etc. It would be an insanely busy year, but it would buy me at least one more summer of diss work. If I get Fellowship A, I stay in New York, but try to move somewhere nicer / cheaper around October.
2. I don't get any fellowships. In this case, I move back to St Louis by mid-June.
3. I get Fellowship B. This one is less money, but more prestige and no strings attached.
3a. I get Fellowship B and take the money to St Louis. Financially, I could live on Fellowship B in St Louis, though I might pick up an adjunct gig for easier access to libraries.
3b. I get Fellowship B, continue to teach at Not-NYU, and stay in New York, at least attempting to negotiate a rent reduction or move
If #3 happens, I will set myself a goal of July 31 for making the decision about whether I stay in New York or move to St Louis. The decision will be made on the basis of whether I'm happy here. If I had to make this decision today, I would be planning to move back to St Louis the day after classes end at Not-NYU this semester.
There's a Zen center in St Louis. My parents say they'd help with a car and getting my stuff back to the midwest.
Yes, it's come to this. I'm too worn down by this city to remain committed to it. I've been absolutely wretched all weekend. Some douchebag called me a cunt at Franklin Park last night, which means I won't be going there again, and I probably will also be avoiding Soda Bar on Vanderbilt because it's the same owners. I haven't gotten any work done for my teaching stuff today, mostly because I've been crying. I'm trying to pull myself together enough to go get cash and food and possibly cigarettes. Because I don't care right now. I probably have to apologize to everyone who was in a meeting with me on Friday. I think I'm falling apart. I don't want to talk about D. right now. I just need someone to hold me through this night, through the remainder of the weekend, but it's not an option I have. I try so hard. I'm not clingy. I'm not unattractive. I'm smart but not pretentious. I'm good at what I do, but not snobby about it. I'm trying hard to be a better, more spiritual, more compassionate, more flexible person. Somehow that's not enough here.
3.29.2009
3.25.2009
In the elevator after zazen
I said that I couldn't deal with New York anymore, that what had always allowed me to put up with it was the thought that things were going to get better, that I had lost that sense....
"Don't worry about things getting better. They aren't going to," he said, and laughed.
I'm adopting this as my koan.
"Don't worry about things getting better. They aren't going to," he said, and laughed.
I'm adopting this as my koan.
3.20.2009
Friday miscellany
I saw David Cromer's production of Our Town with Caroline last night. We sat on the stage since the tickets were $40 cheaper or so and--wow. I only have fuzzy memories from seeing this performed a couple times in my childhood (and from the episode of My So-Called Life where Rayanne tries out for Emily's part), so it was in many ways a mostly new play to me. The house really is set up for a kind of proximity--I was going to say intimacy, but I think that would be the wrong word--not only with the actors but with the rest of the audience, which I think is an incredibly interesting choice. And it did take me back a little bit to some theatre experiences I stumbled into when I was much younger, like the night I saw The Caretaker at the St Mark's Theatre--probably the first time I'd been even remotely close to the action of a play and all of the sudden it's taking place three feet away. Our Town really is an incredibly meditative play. The last twenty minutes seemed to accomplish everything that Synecdoche, New York was struggling with over two hours to achieve, and it did so much more elegantly, without the elaborate machinery that was Caden Cotard's self-centeredness--the point being here that even good people are blind. (And in this sense we care in a way that we don't in the film.) Had I not been right on stage, I probably would have started crying--the only other time this happens to me is at the end of the Axis Company's Hospital series.
The play was also quite a wonderful illustration of Coleridgean suspension of disbelief at its best--particularly the part about transferring from these shadows of the imagination a human interest and a semblance of truth--but in a way that, I think, complicates any sort of "live for today" message at the end. It's possible that the blindness isn't a tragedy after all.
Other things. It's my last weekday of spring break. I've accomplished very little and it's snowing. I need to go to the gym, sit zazen, put in several hours with Browning and get my life back in order. Was in Charlotte visiting family last week at this time; the weather was awful and my aunt got the stomach flu (which I am still worried about coming down with, since it seems to appear about a week after you think you should have gotten it) so there was a lot of sitting around, but in many ways this was perfectly fine. I didn't really have to think. Just thought that by the time I got back to New York I'd be ready to do that again. Not so much. Not sure where these days have gone...possibly too much fuzting and a bit too much drinking on Wednesday. By tomorrow I'm going to have to switch back into teacher mode and prep virtually the entire rest of the semester. Of course I am not looking forward to this.
On the other hand, I'm finally (mostly) over the cold I had for two weeks and I have my voice back. I'm also not as miserably run down as I was during the first two weeks of March. So this is good. The downside is that while I was sick and not going to the gym for 2 1/2 weeks, I ate a lot of takeout and then just ate a lot of food in general in North Carolina. So I'm feeling pudgy. Disappointing, too, because I lost like three pounds in February and have certainly gained that back. And I've certainly not been doing well with food this week. The whole thing is annoying, but I'll go to the gym after this and I should be able to get in at least four days next week. I need to keep up confidence here, just saying.
Saw The Poet on Tuesday for the first time in two months. Mixed feelings. Don't really want to be back with him, but very much want to be his friend. I'm not sure he has friends like me and it became clear over the course of our conversation that he is, in many ways, extremely isolated right now. And he would switch back and forth between these crazy future plans of how we're going to end up together in a couple of years living in some cute place in Hoboken or something and talking about our relationship in this weirdly extreme past tense. I have a feeling that there's a lot of this that's being displaced from other things going on in his life. I hope I can continue to be there for him in some way, though.
Saw D. the Tuesday before I left. He drove out to Brooklyn on one of those nights where I had more or less lost my voice. Did my best to function in the fog. We had a really great phone conversation on Wednesday, and I haven't heard from him since so now I'm all nervous again. It's the nervousness of a relationship (such as it is) that's pretty much non-fucked up and I do tend to worry that I'm nothing without the sense of the sordid. But I also worry about seeming to put demands and expectations on him--which I'm not, except that I really do like seeing people I'm sleeping with at least once a week. Which has been difficult for us lately for various reasons. Also, I ended up talking a lot with C. about her stuff last night which meant that I kind of unconsciously started obsessing over D., which is never good. But I do know that if I continue to not hear from him today, it's going to be distracting.
Had my recurring dream about K. earlier in the week. Still, everything's less wretched than last March. And with that, I should probably get ready for the gym so that eventually I can make spring break mean something productive. It's never too late to hit the ground running--right?
(By the way, I signed up for a Twitter account, for no apparent reason. It's my firstname/middle initial/lastname.
The play was also quite a wonderful illustration of Coleridgean suspension of disbelief at its best--particularly the part about transferring from these shadows of the imagination a human interest and a semblance of truth--but in a way that, I think, complicates any sort of "live for today" message at the end. It's possible that the blindness isn't a tragedy after all.
Other things. It's my last weekday of spring break. I've accomplished very little and it's snowing. I need to go to the gym, sit zazen, put in several hours with Browning and get my life back in order. Was in Charlotte visiting family last week at this time; the weather was awful and my aunt got the stomach flu (which I am still worried about coming down with, since it seems to appear about a week after you think you should have gotten it) so there was a lot of sitting around, but in many ways this was perfectly fine. I didn't really have to think. Just thought that by the time I got back to New York I'd be ready to do that again. Not so much. Not sure where these days have gone...possibly too much fuzting and a bit too much drinking on Wednesday. By tomorrow I'm going to have to switch back into teacher mode and prep virtually the entire rest of the semester. Of course I am not looking forward to this.
On the other hand, I'm finally (mostly) over the cold I had for two weeks and I have my voice back. I'm also not as miserably run down as I was during the first two weeks of March. So this is good. The downside is that while I was sick and not going to the gym for 2 1/2 weeks, I ate a lot of takeout and then just ate a lot of food in general in North Carolina. So I'm feeling pudgy. Disappointing, too, because I lost like three pounds in February and have certainly gained that back. And I've certainly not been doing well with food this week. The whole thing is annoying, but I'll go to the gym after this and I should be able to get in at least four days next week. I need to keep up confidence here, just saying.
Saw The Poet on Tuesday for the first time in two months. Mixed feelings. Don't really want to be back with him, but very much want to be his friend. I'm not sure he has friends like me and it became clear over the course of our conversation that he is, in many ways, extremely isolated right now. And he would switch back and forth between these crazy future plans of how we're going to end up together in a couple of years living in some cute place in Hoboken or something and talking about our relationship in this weirdly extreme past tense. I have a feeling that there's a lot of this that's being displaced from other things going on in his life. I hope I can continue to be there for him in some way, though.
Saw D. the Tuesday before I left. He drove out to Brooklyn on one of those nights where I had more or less lost my voice. Did my best to function in the fog. We had a really great phone conversation on Wednesday, and I haven't heard from him since so now I'm all nervous again. It's the nervousness of a relationship (such as it is) that's pretty much non-fucked up and I do tend to worry that I'm nothing without the sense of the sordid. But I also worry about seeming to put demands and expectations on him--which I'm not, except that I really do like seeing people I'm sleeping with at least once a week. Which has been difficult for us lately for various reasons. Also, I ended up talking a lot with C. about her stuff last night which meant that I kind of unconsciously started obsessing over D., which is never good. But I do know that if I continue to not hear from him today, it's going to be distracting.
Had my recurring dream about K. earlier in the week. Still, everything's less wretched than last March. And with that, I should probably get ready for the gym so that eventually I can make spring break mean something productive. It's never too late to hit the ground running--right?
(By the way, I signed up for a Twitter account, for no apparent reason. It's my firstname/middle initial/lastname.
3.09.2009
On the pleasures of the textual exchange
I don't have time to go into this right now--I need to get to Not-NYU well before 5:00 to make copies of a handout I have not yet created, et cetera--but I wanted to note this nonetheless...
I know there was that big article last year about the whole ritual of looking over the bookcase of a potential lover. Fine, of course. I've been judging people on the merits of their books my entire sexual life. However, at least for a certain type of people, there's another, more intimate exchange: the part where you begin to exchange texts that you've written--ones that are not explicitly addressed to the other person, but examples of whatever you're working on, whether it's creative, critical, or some combination of the two. There are a couple ways this can be presented, depending on what kind of feedback you want. There's the already-written move, where you send a lover something you've published in one form or another, looking more for a reaction or discussion than anything else. Many times this is posturing (especially when two academics are involved), but possibly not in every case.
At the other end of the spectrum, there is the work in progress submitted--at least ostensibly--to the lover and looking for feedback and critique. This is the more fraught situation, of course, for both parties, but particularly for the lover (or, I should say, potential lover) who is asked to respond. First, you have to determine whether they really want feedback, how serious it should be, how much criticism they can take. And then, of course, it's your critical skills on display....
Anyway. You know where I'm going with this. There's an intimacy in all this that really goes beyond the email thing, and I know that I'm probably (or was probably) more likely to sleep with someone than solicit his feedback on something. I'm beginning to think that this marks a specific milestone--at least in a certain kind of relationship--this moment of editing, or of textual exchange more generally. It was pretty much the hottest thing that The Professor and I ever did with each other, especially when we were both still dating other people. The Poet sent me all kinds of things he wrote, almost right away, too, and as our relationship went on he'd have me read things for school. Every now and then I'd reciprocate, but more in terms of "oh, this is what I did today."
And now, D's doing it. I spent the first part of my morning ripping up and restructuring something he sent me, this brilliant and funny hybrid piece. We talked about what he wanted me to do and I did it, with more confidence than I usually have at this point in a pseudo-relationship...mostly moving things around, leaving the sentences for him to play with. And it feels momentous, in a certain way...he's also sent me a poem and a song, but I don't read that kind of thing as critically. (It's a policy I have with the work of my friends in general.) It's a kind of intimacy that helps make up for not having seen him in awhile. (Though hopefully that changes tomorrow night.)
In return, I sent him a copy of the conference paper I gave on Friday. Obviously, not an entirely equal exchange, but one that I think helps make us even, where I'm exposing myself in the midst of What I Do and How I Think.
Also, I do sort of loosely follow his occasional online writing, mostly on sites attached to his band. It's kind of fun to see the things we've talked about (too crazy and too specific to discuss here) get transmuted into his prose; there's an intimacy in that too and I may be slowly figuring out how he thinks.
-----
In completely unrelated news, I haven't taken a shower today because there is a large roach in it. I'm pretty sure it's dead (hello, morning's epistemological debate!) but I'm still traumatized from having come face to face with it near my desk at 1:00 this morning. It's too big to vacuum and I really don't want to look at it. I'm out of paper towels. I'm wondering whether it will go down the drain if I poke it with a long stick. Augh.
Also, in spite of my best intentions, no gym today. Partially a time crunch with prep, but also continuing congestion and rundownness; would rather be reasonably healthy to teach and see D. tomorrow. And I realized that I'm not sure I'd really want to use a treadmill after myself today.
I know there was that big article last year about the whole ritual of looking over the bookcase of a potential lover. Fine, of course. I've been judging people on the merits of their books my entire sexual life. However, at least for a certain type of people, there's another, more intimate exchange: the part where you begin to exchange texts that you've written--ones that are not explicitly addressed to the other person, but examples of whatever you're working on, whether it's creative, critical, or some combination of the two. There are a couple ways this can be presented, depending on what kind of feedback you want. There's the already-written move, where you send a lover something you've published in one form or another, looking more for a reaction or discussion than anything else. Many times this is posturing (especially when two academics are involved), but possibly not in every case.
At the other end of the spectrum, there is the work in progress submitted--at least ostensibly--to the lover and looking for feedback and critique. This is the more fraught situation, of course, for both parties, but particularly for the lover (or, I should say, potential lover) who is asked to respond. First, you have to determine whether they really want feedback, how serious it should be, how much criticism they can take. And then, of course, it's your critical skills on display....
Anyway. You know where I'm going with this. There's an intimacy in all this that really goes beyond the email thing, and I know that I'm probably (or was probably) more likely to sleep with someone than solicit his feedback on something. I'm beginning to think that this marks a specific milestone--at least in a certain kind of relationship--this moment of editing, or of textual exchange more generally. It was pretty much the hottest thing that The Professor and I ever did with each other, especially when we were both still dating other people. The Poet sent me all kinds of things he wrote, almost right away, too, and as our relationship went on he'd have me read things for school. Every now and then I'd reciprocate, but more in terms of "oh, this is what I did today."
And now, D's doing it. I spent the first part of my morning ripping up and restructuring something he sent me, this brilliant and funny hybrid piece. We talked about what he wanted me to do and I did it, with more confidence than I usually have at this point in a pseudo-relationship...mostly moving things around, leaving the sentences for him to play with. And it feels momentous, in a certain way...he's also sent me a poem and a song, but I don't read that kind of thing as critically. (It's a policy I have with the work of my friends in general.) It's a kind of intimacy that helps make up for not having seen him in awhile. (Though hopefully that changes tomorrow night.)
In return, I sent him a copy of the conference paper I gave on Friday. Obviously, not an entirely equal exchange, but one that I think helps make us even, where I'm exposing myself in the midst of What I Do and How I Think.
Also, I do sort of loosely follow his occasional online writing, mostly on sites attached to his band. It's kind of fun to see the things we've talked about (too crazy and too specific to discuss here) get transmuted into his prose; there's an intimacy in that too and I may be slowly figuring out how he thinks.
-----
In completely unrelated news, I haven't taken a shower today because there is a large roach in it. I'm pretty sure it's dead (hello, morning's epistemological debate!) but I'm still traumatized from having come face to face with it near my desk at 1:00 this morning. It's too big to vacuum and I really don't want to look at it. I'm out of paper towels. I'm wondering whether it will go down the drain if I poke it with a long stick. Augh.
Also, in spite of my best intentions, no gym today. Partially a time crunch with prep, but also continuing congestion and rundownness; would rather be reasonably healthy to teach and see D. tomorrow. And I realized that I'm not sure I'd really want to use a treadmill after myself today.
3.08.2009
Words kicking around in my head makes it hard to deal with composition papers
Variations on the Search for Fresh Produce, scribbled in the margins of 3/8/09. Not really a poem or anything much.
Queen of the peppadaws
Strawberry season
Now it's turnips and fingerlings
As far as the eye can see
The market reminds us
That nothing is timeless
Hydroponic red peppers and mesculun mix
(And I'm not so sure about you this time)
Grand Army Plaza / Prospect Heights / Park Slope
But I'm the wrong side of the museum lights
(Where else can you express the bargain in those terms?)
Hazeleye bursting green
I looked up into them
Washington Avenue but you aren't there
Queen of the peppadaws
Strawberry season
I saw your face in a canvas bag back recycling back weekends of fresh eggs and summer squash
(And I'm not so sure about you this time)
The fountain's covered in ice
The socialists are patrolling the library steps
That car is heading right for me suddenly swerving
(It's just the road baby, you know where the lines are)
And this is only Saturday morning
This is only Saturday morning
Saturday's warning
This is only Saturday morning
Queen of the peppadaws
Dreaming of summer
Flatbush Avenue but it never pays to look ahead, no not that way
Setting up a day against the rest of your life
Attention veering off
Cars in the roundabout
Coming at you
Queen of the peppadaws
I'm not so sure about you this time
Queen of the peppadaws
Strawberry season
Now it's turnips and fingerlings
As far as the eye can see
The market reminds us
That nothing is timeless
Hydroponic red peppers and mesculun mix
(And I'm not so sure about you this time)
Grand Army Plaza / Prospect Heights / Park Slope
But I'm the wrong side of the museum lights
(Where else can you express the bargain in those terms?)
Hazeleye bursting green
I looked up into them
Washington Avenue but you aren't there
Queen of the peppadaws
Strawberry season
I saw your face in a canvas bag back recycling back weekends of fresh eggs and summer squash
(And I'm not so sure about you this time)
The fountain's covered in ice
The socialists are patrolling the library steps
That car is heading right for me suddenly swerving
(It's just the road baby, you know where the lines are)
And this is only Saturday morning
This is only Saturday morning
Saturday's warning
This is only Saturday morning
Queen of the peppadaws
Dreaming of summer
Flatbush Avenue but it never pays to look ahead, no not that way
Setting up a day against the rest of your life
Attention veering off
Cars in the roundabout
Coming at you
Queen of the peppadaws
I'm not so sure about you this time
Not sure I'm doing it right
Well, okay, no. There's one thing that I know went right this week--I gave the best fucking conference paper of my life on Friday morning. It's not something that would have come about any other way than how it did, and every time I've thought back to it since I'm kind of amazed by it. Just in terms of the convergence of events, how I would never have had enough confidence to give this paper in this way at anywhere other than a grad conference at my own institution--but also, I think, in the sense that I both wrote the paper the day before the conference (in a particularly dismal/socked in exhausted six hours in the department lounge after a dismal and frustrating day of teaching) and that I had been writing it for the last two and a half years, more or less. The frame--autobiographical but not marked as such--was something I decided on the week before, a risk undertaken precisely because of the situation of the conference and feeling like I had nothing to lose. It was related to something I told D. before we met but also to a set of experiences I had last summer and an idea I blog about quite frequently. It turned out to be a disturbingly successful metaphor and frame. (I only wish K could have been there. We'd run into each other in the cafeteria a few days before and managed to have a nice conversation about a number of things, including this idea...but no such luck.)
The last conference I'd been to before this one was the one in Toronto last April, and I was struck by how much I *miss* conferencing without even knowing it. Even when no one says anything wildly earthshattering, it's still inspiring to think alongside new people, to spend an entire day or so thinking mostly about books and ideas. It's mentally regenerative even though it's physically exhausting--and, in this case, physically exhausting on top of the worst cold I've had in three years and one of the most horrible and draggeddown weeks I've had in ages--two of them actually, and I'm not sure next week is going to be any better. (More on that anon.) It was enough to make me think, in this horrible, paradoxical, "oh my god I really am an academic and in this economy that's seriously going to fuck up my life" kind of way, that many of my frustrations of the past few months can be traced to having gone to Wisconsin (where I experienced a lot of lethargy and frustration when I actually did want to think) instead of to MLA.
The conference, though, was wonderful, in spite of the fact that I had pretty much lost my voice by the end of the night. Sometime in the afternoon, D. sent me a piece he'd been working on....something crazy and brilliant that I read through instead of listening fully to the faculty panel. This made me grin, especially since he wants me to give him some feedback. (Also, he wrote me a song, he said, and sent the lyrics.) On the downside, I haven't seen him since we went to Edgar's show two weeks ago, and I'm going out of town on Thursday. This is precisely the sort of thing that makes me all stressy. But I'm realizing, though, that my saying last week that I didn't want to go back to The Poet was important, so I don't have to look to D. to provide a reason not to be with The Poet. I did actually talk to The Poet for awhile on the phone yesterday and got a better sense of what's going on in his head and his life--and all of this rather affirmed the fact that it's best I'm just a friend right now, and that he's using my breaking up with him as a way of thinking around something else that's actually much worse.
The rest of this week pretty much sucked, hardcore. I got everything done that I needed to, but it was miserable, sloggy, frustrating. I was almost in tears all day on Wednesday, feeling jerked around by stupid requests from professors treating me like a secretary rather than a colleague (too many flashbacks to my first job in Chicago), frustrated with my students, exhausted from the performance of engagement, too sick to go to the gym, everyone around me seemed to be dragging me down. I almost didn't go to zazen, though that at least temporarily made me feel better, even though I had to start running again right afterwards. I do not want people telling me that I am supernecessary for one group or another to succeed. If I ask you to do final proofreading on something, I do not want to get the okay to do the final copy and then hear three days later that there are changes that need to be made. And so on. I skipped my monthly field seminar on Wednesday night for the first time since I started grad school, was still in the library until after 7:00 grading papers, and so on, so on. The week before was like this too--just as busy but slightly less miserable--this past week--which was all supposed to be about doing my best to get everything done, suddenly had me on the rack.
The teaching thing is especially frustrating and overwhelming: this is the part where I have to keep telling myself: UR NOT DOING IT RIGHT. Basically, I feel like I'm back in my first semester at Erstwhile Teaching College, where I'm spending insane amounts of time on this thing with absolutely no payoff and then when the lesson plan fails because no one can be bothered to do the reading or, if they've done the reading, to talk about it, things only get more frustrating. I realized that part of the reason why I have an aversion to grading papers is that they seem, unlike drafts or even homework assignments, to be a kind of referendum on my ability as a teacher. Which is completely bullshitty, just not so much that I can believe it's not partially the case. And that, in turn, is clearly not helping my mood. I keep feeling like I'm failing this particular group of students and I don't know what's going wrong. Partially, it's teaching too many things I'm not familiar with, but--still. I think I'm better at first-semester comp than I am at second semester comp. But this, too, seems like it's emanating from self-centered reasons: I feel more secure when I know my students don't have anyone else to compare me to. So I think I get all weird in the spring. (Then again: the first spring semester I ever taught was the semester when I broke up with The Ex and got raked over the emotional coals with The Professor. And last spring I taught the fall version of the class, which made it the easiest semester ever. So perhaps it's time to give myself, and my students, a break.)
Right now the idea is basically to get better and get to spring break. The week is going to be pretty much running uphill. Today is grading, midterm evaluations, and the letter of recommendation for one of my fall students. Tomorrow is prep, hopefully being well enough to go to the gym (I haven't been in over a week and feel tubby--I'm sure this is also one of the reasons why this past week was so unremittingly miserable), getting a few stupid things done at school. Conferences all week, and somehow finding the time to do laundry, pack, maybe buy some cute shoes for spring. And then--down to Charlotte to hang out with one contingent of my extended family. And spring break, which is already being filled in for me, but I have to believe that things will get better after that, that I will eventually stop being sick, that D and I will get many walks through Prospect Park and that things will be okay for a little while.
I hope. Now zazen. Then grading.
The last conference I'd been to before this one was the one in Toronto last April, and I was struck by how much I *miss* conferencing without even knowing it. Even when no one says anything wildly earthshattering, it's still inspiring to think alongside new people, to spend an entire day or so thinking mostly about books and ideas. It's mentally regenerative even though it's physically exhausting--and, in this case, physically exhausting on top of the worst cold I've had in three years and one of the most horrible and draggeddown weeks I've had in ages--two of them actually, and I'm not sure next week is going to be any better. (More on that anon.) It was enough to make me think, in this horrible, paradoxical, "oh my god I really am an academic and in this economy that's seriously going to fuck up my life" kind of way, that many of my frustrations of the past few months can be traced to having gone to Wisconsin (where I experienced a lot of lethargy and frustration when I actually did want to think) instead of to MLA.
The conference, though, was wonderful, in spite of the fact that I had pretty much lost my voice by the end of the night. Sometime in the afternoon, D. sent me a piece he'd been working on....something crazy and brilliant that I read through instead of listening fully to the faculty panel. This made me grin, especially since he wants me to give him some feedback. (Also, he wrote me a song, he said, and sent the lyrics.) On the downside, I haven't seen him since we went to Edgar's show two weeks ago, and I'm going out of town on Thursday. This is precisely the sort of thing that makes me all stressy. But I'm realizing, though, that my saying last week that I didn't want to go back to The Poet was important, so I don't have to look to D. to provide a reason not to be with The Poet. I did actually talk to The Poet for awhile on the phone yesterday and got a better sense of what's going on in his head and his life--and all of this rather affirmed the fact that it's best I'm just a friend right now, and that he's using my breaking up with him as a way of thinking around something else that's actually much worse.
The rest of this week pretty much sucked, hardcore. I got everything done that I needed to, but it was miserable, sloggy, frustrating. I was almost in tears all day on Wednesday, feeling jerked around by stupid requests from professors treating me like a secretary rather than a colleague (too many flashbacks to my first job in Chicago), frustrated with my students, exhausted from the performance of engagement, too sick to go to the gym, everyone around me seemed to be dragging me down. I almost didn't go to zazen, though that at least temporarily made me feel better, even though I had to start running again right afterwards. I do not want people telling me that I am supernecessary for one group or another to succeed. If I ask you to do final proofreading on something, I do not want to get the okay to do the final copy and then hear three days later that there are changes that need to be made. And so on. I skipped my monthly field seminar on Wednesday night for the first time since I started grad school, was still in the library until after 7:00 grading papers, and so on, so on. The week before was like this too--just as busy but slightly less miserable--this past week--which was all supposed to be about doing my best to get everything done, suddenly had me on the rack.
The teaching thing is especially frustrating and overwhelming: this is the part where I have to keep telling myself: UR NOT DOING IT RIGHT. Basically, I feel like I'm back in my first semester at Erstwhile Teaching College, where I'm spending insane amounts of time on this thing with absolutely no payoff and then when the lesson plan fails because no one can be bothered to do the reading or, if they've done the reading, to talk about it, things only get more frustrating. I realized that part of the reason why I have an aversion to grading papers is that they seem, unlike drafts or even homework assignments, to be a kind of referendum on my ability as a teacher. Which is completely bullshitty, just not so much that I can believe it's not partially the case. And that, in turn, is clearly not helping my mood. I keep feeling like I'm failing this particular group of students and I don't know what's going wrong. Partially, it's teaching too many things I'm not familiar with, but--still. I think I'm better at first-semester comp than I am at second semester comp. But this, too, seems like it's emanating from self-centered reasons: I feel more secure when I know my students don't have anyone else to compare me to. So I think I get all weird in the spring. (Then again: the first spring semester I ever taught was the semester when I broke up with The Ex and got raked over the emotional coals with The Professor. And last spring I taught the fall version of the class, which made it the easiest semester ever. So perhaps it's time to give myself, and my students, a break.)
Right now the idea is basically to get better and get to spring break. The week is going to be pretty much running uphill. Today is grading, midterm evaluations, and the letter of recommendation for one of my fall students. Tomorrow is prep, hopefully being well enough to go to the gym (I haven't been in over a week and feel tubby--I'm sure this is also one of the reasons why this past week was so unremittingly miserable), getting a few stupid things done at school. Conferences all week, and somehow finding the time to do laundry, pack, maybe buy some cute shoes for spring. And then--down to Charlotte to hang out with one contingent of my extended family. And spring break, which is already being filled in for me, but I have to believe that things will get better after that, that I will eventually stop being sick, that D and I will get many walks through Prospect Park and that things will be okay for a little while.
I hope. Now zazen. Then grading.
3.02.2009
Still kicking my own ass, though not as hard
He writes back something very sweet that helps set my mind at ease, just rights things again. Predictably, my own self-recriminations start immediately--everything was fine, what happened all of the sudden, why do I always *do* this, etc.--but I'm trying to do the thing where you just notice those thoughts are happening and then don't invite them to stay for tea (or, in my case, a Flying Pigs Farm pork chop, despite my not having gone to the gym today). Recognizing that my angst has little to do with him in a way, remembering that I am not actually clingy or overly expectant and that I can just continue to sit with this, as it were, because what else am I going to do? Holding lightly is always so much easier when...something.
I think I did the right thing in being up front about some things--like my recent readiness to actually be in a relationship if I had the chance, something that's a bit different from where he is--without serving up the whole plate of traumas and pastness. I gave general outlines and just said that the decisions I made in 2008 were motivated by a desire to mitigate my loneliness and heal a bit. That's all that needs to be said for now, I think.
At least I'm writing today. Did a first draft of the fellowship app that like 9,000 other people I know are working on just now. It doesn't fully hang together, but I can address that in an edit tomorrow. (Another day I probably won't make it to the gym, but perhaps that's also not the thing I need to beat myself up about today.) I still have four papers to grade after dinner that I didn't get to last night due to exhaustion and the bat call that probably started all of this. My other blogging duties may have to wait until tomorrow. Would love it if Not-NYU called another snow day, but this seems unlikely.
I feel not unlike an ass, by the way. But less so than I did with J. Some of this was at least illuminating, like when I found myself typing to him that I trust other people more than I trust myself when it comes to these interstitial kinds of spaces--the not just hooking up and one night standing, but also not the boyfriend/girlfriend thing. I think it's important that I'm even recognizing that.
Okay. Must do dishes if I want food.
I think I did the right thing in being up front about some things--like my recent readiness to actually be in a relationship if I had the chance, something that's a bit different from where he is--without serving up the whole plate of traumas and pastness. I gave general outlines and just said that the decisions I made in 2008 were motivated by a desire to mitigate my loneliness and heal a bit. That's all that needs to be said for now, I think.
At least I'm writing today. Did a first draft of the fellowship app that like 9,000 other people I know are working on just now. It doesn't fully hang together, but I can address that in an edit tomorrow. (Another day I probably won't make it to the gym, but perhaps that's also not the thing I need to beat myself up about today.) I still have four papers to grade after dinner that I didn't get to last night due to exhaustion and the bat call that probably started all of this. My other blogging duties may have to wait until tomorrow. Would love it if Not-NYU called another snow day, but this seems unlikely.
I feel not unlike an ass, by the way. But less so than I did with J. Some of this was at least illuminating, like when I found myself typing to him that I trust other people more than I trust myself when it comes to these interstitial kinds of spaces--the not just hooking up and one night standing, but also not the boyfriend/girlfriend thing. I think it's important that I'm even recognizing that.
Okay. Must do dishes if I want food.
The entire stupid play by play
Sent off the MLA abstract. Spent the next hour and a half composing a response to his email. Back on forth on how much to share, erred on the side of not a lot of detail. Too many flashbacks to a similar missive sent to J to little avail. Wondering how I can be so astonishingly deluded about the possibilities of my own life, even as I still think it could maybe be okay. Listening to Liz Phair because, of course. Steeling myself for the fellowship application and then grade papers; resisting the urge to curl up in bed for the rest of the day instead. Wishing I'd gone to the gym despite the weather, too late now. Hate this, hate this, hate this.
And I hope this isn't the beginning of another end
I don't know. I just don't. He said it wasn't intended to be grave and heavy, but still--the disappointment is there for me. I'm tired of all the waiting I have to do for people. I'm back to my old mantra about wanting to, just once, fully coincide with someone. You know, find someone who's already worked through some of their shit, like I have, finally, after two years of running uphill. Someone who can be here, just because I would like them to be, here. Someone to help me justify all of -- this -- whatever this is.
I want a boyfriend. Can I just say that and have it be okay? Something really simple. Or just simpler. Someone ready to be counted on. And I don't like this position--it makes me worry that nothing I do is based on actual affinity ever, that it's all just because I want it to work. The J. problem. And the fear that the only thing that ever worked was The Poet precisely because there was no way for it to work, because I still to this day don't really know what working would mean in that context, except that he managed to make me happy and save me from a couple pretty bad mental spots.
I don't want this to be so hard. Browning and MLA abstracts and faking interest in fellowships and planning classes--this I'm willing to allow to be hard. The rest of it--come on, universe, really? I would like someone I can trust myself to count on, if that makes sense. In some ways (and they may not, of course, be fully evident on the blog), I'm too good at self-sufficiency and dependability and non-clinging.
It's possible that this is all premature. There's a dialogue to be had, but I'm not sure it will end well for me. As much as I'd be willing to...I don't even know. I thought I was getting better at this, but what a fucking learning curve.
I have too much work to do to be thinking about any of this. I need to finish my MLA abstract, at the very least, before I write back, and this is going to require an enormous overhaul so I better get started, pretending it's still last week, or two weeks ago, slipping back into the generally possible and reclaiming the composure that I had that wasn't externally constructed.
The thought of going back to Nerve again--or, for that matter, of being more than friends with The Poet--these thoughts do not alleviate the descending bleakness.
Maybe it's all nothing, maybe there's a dialogue to be had. But I can't have it before I send in this abstract.
I want a boyfriend. Can I just say that and have it be okay? Something really simple. Or just simpler. Someone ready to be counted on. And I don't like this position--it makes me worry that nothing I do is based on actual affinity ever, that it's all just because I want it to work. The J. problem. And the fear that the only thing that ever worked was The Poet precisely because there was no way for it to work, because I still to this day don't really know what working would mean in that context, except that he managed to make me happy and save me from a couple pretty bad mental spots.
I don't want this to be so hard. Browning and MLA abstracts and faking interest in fellowships and planning classes--this I'm willing to allow to be hard. The rest of it--come on, universe, really? I would like someone I can trust myself to count on, if that makes sense. In some ways (and they may not, of course, be fully evident on the blog), I'm too good at self-sufficiency and dependability and non-clinging.
It's possible that this is all premature. There's a dialogue to be had, but I'm not sure it will end well for me. As much as I'd be willing to...I don't even know. I thought I was getting better at this, but what a fucking learning curve.
I have too much work to do to be thinking about any of this. I need to finish my MLA abstract, at the very least, before I write back, and this is going to require an enormous overhaul so I better get started, pretending it's still last week, or two weeks ago, slipping back into the generally possible and reclaiming the composure that I had that wasn't externally constructed.
The thought of going back to Nerve again--or, for that matter, of being more than friends with The Poet--these thoughts do not alleviate the descending bleakness.
Maybe it's all nothing, maybe there's a dialogue to be had. But I can't have it before I send in this abstract.
Psychology of the Snow Day
I got like 600 text messages from Not-NYU telling me that school is cancelled today because of the snow. That's lovely, but of course I don't teach on Mondays, so it has little actual effect on my life. (The snow is, however, likely to make me less excited about slogging to the gym, which also might be having a snow day.) Nevertheless, knowing it's a snow day is making it much harder to get work done; I feel like I should be able to curl up on the couch and watch movies--even though it's not a snow day for, say, turning in one's MLA abstract or grading papers. Augh.
I'm thinking of two other March blizzards. One was my first Spring Break in New York, when the cheap platform boots I bought at the Joyce Leslie on University Place basically split in half. It was also the Spring Break when my then-boyfriend showed up for the St Patrick's Day parade having Bic-ed his head. I had recently received The Worst Haircut of My Life at Astor Place (as one does while a freshman at NYU)--we made a fantastic couple. The St Patrick's Day parade I remember as involving beers hidden in winter hats, long lines for the bathroom at Sbarro, and high school kids from Long Island puking on the side streets. I have not attended since.
The other March blizzard was two years ago, the day of the new student recruitment event, which is sort of a perpetually weird day. (I just found out I'll be in Charlotte for this year's and I'm not sorry.) Before that I was at West Village Coffeeshop with The Professor and ran into someone from my very deep New York past--the archetype for a lot of things that happened to me since college and the sometime hero, sometime villain, sometime addressee of much of my LiveJournal posts circa 2001. It was awkward and came out of nowhere and we smoked a cigarette on the steps of West Village Coffeeshop and then The Professor decided that he needed to leave, so I ended up talking to this guy for awhile and then going to school and a lot of this is a blur. This may be why the snow day has left me somewhat unsettled, needing to focus and finish this abstract, make a decent effort to finish the fellowship application, and grade the rest of the somewhat dismal first set of papers from my class.
Well, that and the fact that I ended up on a bat call with L last night, found out about something The Poet did that I found somewhat less than amusing, came home at 1:30, made popcorn and sent D. a kind of gooshy drunk email, and then went to sleep and had a dream about my latest Facebook friend. Good lord.
I'm thinking of two other March blizzards. One was my first Spring Break in New York, when the cheap platform boots I bought at the Joyce Leslie on University Place basically split in half. It was also the Spring Break when my then-boyfriend showed up for the St Patrick's Day parade having Bic-ed his head. I had recently received The Worst Haircut of My Life at Astor Place (as one does while a freshman at NYU)--we made a fantastic couple. The St Patrick's Day parade I remember as involving beers hidden in winter hats, long lines for the bathroom at Sbarro, and high school kids from Long Island puking on the side streets. I have not attended since.
The other March blizzard was two years ago, the day of the new student recruitment event, which is sort of a perpetually weird day. (I just found out I'll be in Charlotte for this year's and I'm not sorry.) Before that I was at West Village Coffeeshop with The Professor and ran into someone from my very deep New York past--the archetype for a lot of things that happened to me since college and the sometime hero, sometime villain, sometime addressee of much of my LiveJournal posts circa 2001. It was awkward and came out of nowhere and we smoked a cigarette on the steps of West Village Coffeeshop and then The Professor decided that he needed to leave, so I ended up talking to this guy for awhile and then going to school and a lot of this is a blur. This may be why the snow day has left me somewhat unsettled, needing to focus and finish this abstract, make a decent effort to finish the fellowship application, and grade the rest of the somewhat dismal first set of papers from my class.
Well, that and the fact that I ended up on a bat call with L last night, found out about something The Poet did that I found somewhat less than amusing, came home at 1:30, made popcorn and sent D. a kind of gooshy drunk email, and then went to sleep and had a dream about my latest Facebook friend. Good lord.
3.01.2009
So, Sunday. And, Saturday.
I think I'm kind of glad that February's over. It's kind of an overdetermined month for me to begin with, and it's one where, increasingly, its meanings aren't readable until much later anyway. It also inevitably seems long and sloggy--perhaps even because it's so short, you're always surprised it's still going on. Mostly I'll keep telling myself that at least I'm far less wretched than I've been at this time in either of the last two years.
And I feel slightly better today, calmer. Could be it's all just Saturday, something about the way I experience a week making it inevitably--something. I've never really had a comfortable relationship with the weekend, not when I was growing up or working a 9-5 job either. Saturdays rarely sit well with me, and I can't really remember the last time I felt like I actually accomplished something on them, other than going to the farmers' market and making a nice dinner (or going to the museum to meet a cute boy whose recent silence has me going a bit churny). Perhaps there's a lesson in this, about changing my expectations. (I feel much more ready to work today, much more ready to go to school and sit down with all this. The idea of going to school on Saturdays, especially if the next plan is to just go home when I'm done, is incredibly, crushingly depressing even now.) Like perhaps I could have gone to the afternoon sitting at the zendo yesterday--that might have been a good thing to do, something to take me out of the loop I got myself into. These happen once a month; perhaps I should look up the next one and plan for it now. (Of course, now that I look at their calendar, I see they don't have another one on there for awhile. Anyway.)
I suppose the point is that I should maybe ease up on myself where Saturdays are concerned. I'm starting to do that informally already, but even when I'm cleaning the apartment I feel a kind of guilt of how I should be reading or working; I sit down to read and immediately fall asleep no matter how much sleep I got the night before. Perhaps as the weather gets warmer (which is not happening this week--wtf, winter storm warning?) I'll just make a point of being outside, trying to do something to ease some of the anxiety I felt yesterday. Of course this will / would always be easier with another person around. I know what gets me on Saturdays a lot of the time is the solitude, which is why it was so great to have D around those couple of times. But right now I'm not sure that's something fully in my control.
But I'm feeling calmer this morning. I hope it lasts. About to sit zazen, then make an egg sandwich or something to fortify me on the way to Manhattan, which will probably suck. Going to hide out in the department as long as they'll let me, only going to the library under duress. (Though something tells me that if I do go to the library I'll run into K. Which might be amusing. I do occasionally wonder what he's up to, how he's doing.) Mostly, though, I want to spend today really focusing on the strength / productivity / creativity / non-wretchedness that's bigger than the last couple weeks of having D. in my life, something a bit more--grounded, perhaps? I don't know if that's exactly the right word--less contingent, maybe, or at least something that's expressing its contingency in a different way. Like one that isn't so tied to another person, because at least at some level, I know it's not, not entirely anyway. (On the other hand, I don't think that my conference paper for this Friday would be starting out the same way, but that was something I've been thinking about ever since I read Hegel last year.)
And maybe he'll call me. Maybe he won't. I don't know what I'll do in the latter case. I may call him and I may not. I'll see how I feel several hours from now; I'd very much like to get in a solid 7-8 hour workday if I can. (Which means I should have been sitting zazen like 20 minutes ago, but, alas.) I'm getting to a point where I'm simply ready to say: I want a boyfriend. If he can do that right now, if he wants to do that right now, then--great. I'll be in 100% as they say on teevee. If not...then I have to think of something else, someone else.
I often have a hard time figuring out my posture when I sit--I don't really have a good sense of my own body position, whether I'm actually sitting up straight or not. The foregoing paragraph is more or less an emotional correlative of this physical confusion.
And I feel slightly better today, calmer. Could be it's all just Saturday, something about the way I experience a week making it inevitably--something. I've never really had a comfortable relationship with the weekend, not when I was growing up or working a 9-5 job either. Saturdays rarely sit well with me, and I can't really remember the last time I felt like I actually accomplished something on them, other than going to the farmers' market and making a nice dinner (or going to the museum to meet a cute boy whose recent silence has me going a bit churny). Perhaps there's a lesson in this, about changing my expectations. (I feel much more ready to work today, much more ready to go to school and sit down with all this. The idea of going to school on Saturdays, especially if the next plan is to just go home when I'm done, is incredibly, crushingly depressing even now.) Like perhaps I could have gone to the afternoon sitting at the zendo yesterday--that might have been a good thing to do, something to take me out of the loop I got myself into. These happen once a month; perhaps I should look up the next one and plan for it now. (Of course, now that I look at their calendar, I see they don't have another one on there for awhile. Anyway.)
I suppose the point is that I should maybe ease up on myself where Saturdays are concerned. I'm starting to do that informally already, but even when I'm cleaning the apartment I feel a kind of guilt of how I should be reading or working; I sit down to read and immediately fall asleep no matter how much sleep I got the night before. Perhaps as the weather gets warmer (which is not happening this week--wtf, winter storm warning?) I'll just make a point of being outside, trying to do something to ease some of the anxiety I felt yesterday. Of course this will / would always be easier with another person around. I know what gets me on Saturdays a lot of the time is the solitude, which is why it was so great to have D around those couple of times. But right now I'm not sure that's something fully in my control.
But I'm feeling calmer this morning. I hope it lasts. About to sit zazen, then make an egg sandwich or something to fortify me on the way to Manhattan, which will probably suck. Going to hide out in the department as long as they'll let me, only going to the library under duress. (Though something tells me that if I do go to the library I'll run into K. Which might be amusing. I do occasionally wonder what he's up to, how he's doing.) Mostly, though, I want to spend today really focusing on the strength / productivity / creativity / non-wretchedness that's bigger than the last couple weeks of having D. in my life, something a bit more--grounded, perhaps? I don't know if that's exactly the right word--less contingent, maybe, or at least something that's expressing its contingency in a different way. Like one that isn't so tied to another person, because at least at some level, I know it's not, not entirely anyway. (On the other hand, I don't think that my conference paper for this Friday would be starting out the same way, but that was something I've been thinking about ever since I read Hegel last year.)
And maybe he'll call me. Maybe he won't. I don't know what I'll do in the latter case. I may call him and I may not. I'll see how I feel several hours from now; I'd very much like to get in a solid 7-8 hour workday if I can. (Which means I should have been sitting zazen like 20 minutes ago, but, alas.) I'm getting to a point where I'm simply ready to say: I want a boyfriend. If he can do that right now, if he wants to do that right now, then--great. I'll be in 100% as they say on teevee. If not...then I have to think of something else, someone else.
I often have a hard time figuring out my posture when I sit--I don't really have a good sense of my own body position, whether I'm actually sitting up straight or not. The foregoing paragraph is more or less an emotional correlative of this physical confusion.
Thoughts on a day that was less productive than I would have liked
Enlightenment and clarity of the mind occur only in response to the sustained effort of study and practice. Endeavoring in the way ripens the conditions of your practice. It is not that the sound of the bamboo is sharp or the color of the blossoms is vivid. Although the sound of the bamboo is wondrous, it is heard at the moment when it's hit by a pebble. Although the color of blossoms is beautiful, they do not open by themselves but unfold in the light of springtime. Studying the way is like this. You attain the way when conditions come together. Although you have your own capacity, you practice the way with the combined strength of the community. So you should practice and search with one mind with others.
A stone is turned to a jewel by polishing. A person becomes a sage by cultivation. What stone is originally shiny? Who is mature from the beginning? You ought to polish and cultivate yourself. Don't diminish yourself. Don't be lazy in your study of the way.
--from Enlightenment Unfolds: The Essential Teachings of Zen Master Dogen, trans. Kazuaki Tanahashi
I think I am slowly learning things about myself, belatedly, perhaps, about the way I work, about the knots that I will have to untie. I ran myself ragged in my teaching week--Tuesday I was "going" for about 18 hours--woke up at six as usual, then teaching, looking at drafts, going back to Brooklyn to run errands then go to the gym then do laundry, then look at more drafts, answering personal emails then finally sleeping a bit after midnight. Wednesday it was hard to do anything except sit zazen and have lunch. Thursday was much like Tuesday, without the gym and with seeing Caroline later. I have three major, unbreakable deadlines next week in addition to all the teaching stuff. While I haven't exactly pissed away the last two days I don't think I've exactly rocked them either. I understand that I need to rest. I'm not sorry I had some time to myself finally. And yet--
I miss D. Already. It's stupid how fast I got used to seeing him regularly--even when he went upstate, I'd seen him Thursday, but nothing this weekend, not even an email since Thursday. I know he's going through a lot--more than I can imagine--and yet...I miss him. I missed having someone here, just to break up the work. I think I have sort of a base level of productivity for a weekend, and it would be nice to see him. It's much easier to be self-sufficient during the week; I feel like the writing I'm doing would be more interesting if I had somehow been able to be in his presence. We talked on the phone a bit Thursday night. It was the first time I ever called first. I know he's just going through a lot. I wish we'd made firmer plans. I'm not obsess-y, yet, really, not like I was with J., but still...I get unsettled. I start to doubt. I start to overcompensate for the doubt. This time, I can see it happening. I've tried to sit with it. I've tried to walk with it. I've tried to write with it, to read Dogen with it, to cook with it, and to drink mediocre white wine that I will not be purchasing again with it. And still. Jittery. Spending so much energy calming down my own restlessness and gnawing loneliness that I can't do anything. Feeling the edge of missing The Poet. And it's not like we even had plans--it's just...I get used to good things fast. I know that in some sense I always wish I could start in the middle, skip this part. I said this with J., too: I'm fun on a first date and I'm a very good girlfriend. I am horrible at the part that comes in between. I'm trying to be careful with him. I am trying to sit with this, to do the nonattachment thing, to not invite all the usual worries to sit down to tea with me. My apartment's pretty damn clean. I made a good dinner tonight. I had some inspiration yesterday, but my classes for the week are not prepped, the MLA abstract due on Monday is not finished, the statement of interest for fellowships that I am not interested in but must apply for anyway by Wednesday has very few complete sentences in it, and the paper I am giving on Friday will be fine by then but is not fine now.
Perhaps needless to say, I will be going to school tomorrow to try to deal with all this somewhere other than my apartment.
And I guess I'm learning something about myself. At least I can see it all happening now, and not completely confuse some of my work/life balance issues with either being madly in love with someone or rejected by that same someone.
I hope this all works. And I kind of hope he calls me first tomorrow. I think we really complement each other and that I could be much shinier with him around. But I worry that I'm going to trip over his neuroses, or he mine. And that's a hard place to start from.
I do think I must like him, though. For what that's worth.
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