What happened to May?!  Both my husband and I turned another year older. My baby is now over 6 months old and I can hardly believe it. I’m nearly done as a graduate teaching assistant. Next year I get to write and study (only one or two writing theory classes) in luxury (time-wise)... well, except I’ll hopefully have a part-time job. That doesn’t sound like much luxury, trading in a part-time teaching job for a part-time unknown as of yet job, but the teaching gig was much more than part-time—a mistake I won’t make again (of course I won’t be applying for another teaching assistantship again, so that solves that).

After a first year or so of happiness in the Northwest, we are seeing the cracks in the veneer, so to speak. It isn’t as bad as it was down south with all of the rude and angry people, but there is some of that here too. Of course, I am curious if the way we (hubby and I) view these things is actually a reflection of our own angst and moods. We are a bit less happy with this place and the people as we first were, so of course they all seem less friendly than before. Perspective is perspectivey that way.

My students this quarter are absolutely fabulous compared to a time before that will hopefully soon be forgotten. Although they are probably just a rather typical class. Perspective again.

I’m holding back my excitement for my thesis which is barely begun and still mostly just floating dust particles in the ether of my mind. I feel very much as if I’ll call down the mother of all jinxes if I talk about it too much. So, I’ll simply say I’m excited, but trying not to be too excited (this is a much better state of mind than what I felt a few months ago, aka dread).

Now I get to watch June flitter away and wonder where it all went… then July…

Once a month is rather pathetic for blogging, but I may remain pathetic for awhile. We’ll see.

The winter quarter is almost done. I have final grades to do this weekend and then I will officially be on spring break. Very exciting. Several of my students will not be so excited, as they have failed the course and will need to repeat it. Luckily, it isn’t that I am an awful, hard grader, but they didn’t pass the department’s portfolio assessment.

I think there is a relationship between this and my attitude, though I think it is not what some may suspect. By my judgment, my attitude adjustment came after realizing how little some of the students cared about their education. Perhaps some people might want to think that my “caring less” directly affected those who failed. But, basically I can’t write the essays for them, I can’t think for them, and I can’t make them listen and take my insightful advice on their essays. Heck in one case I couldn’t force a student to show up for her one-on-one conference to discuss her essays. Students have a lot more control over their education than they think they do.

This quarter definitely left me burnt out on teaching. I wonder if next quarter will be any better…

I don’t care like I used to care. I’m talking about my freshmen students in my beginning composition course. Last year, the first year I taught comp, I used to agonize over their success in the class. It was as if I suddenly had 24 children who were all struggling and I had the knowledge to navigate them out of the treacherous jungle of the English language. Of course, some of them could care less, or rather cared less than I did. I have always been an “A” student, even when I wasn’t getting A’s that first go-round at a bachelor’s degree. So, I was more worried for them than they were about their grades.

This year, I don’t much care about worrying. I care about giving them good feedback on their writing and about presenting the information to them that they’ll need to succeed as college writers, but beyond that, they have their own grades to worry about. It seems much healthier for me. I have other things and people to worry about. I make myself available to my students outside of class and whether or not they choose to utilize me as a resource is up to them. Of course, very few of the “struggling” students seem to want to get help. It seems to be the ones who are actually pretty good who take the time to worry about themselves and their grades. But I guess that makes sense. If they are worrying about such things, they are probably making an effort to do their best.

When I first discovered that I was caring less, I felt a twinge of guilt. But now I realize that I’m simply caring more efficiently. I care about the things I can control. Nothing wrong with that and definitely no more guilt.

Last week, I began teaching creative writing to middle school kids as part of an afterschool program. After the first day I felt as if I was in over my head. It wasn’t as if I had any expectations and then got blown out of the water; I had very little in the way of expectations, yet their energy was so much more than I’ve experienced in a long, long while that it threw me (out of the water, perhaps?). I think the last time I was around tweens and young teens was when I was one. So, a few *coughtwentycough* years or so.

This week I was much more prepared. I didn’t run out of writing activities. In fact, I over-planned which was predictable for me (I seem to usually have too much planned for many of the classes I teach...just in case). In fact we only got about halfway through my lesson/activity on the short story, so I have next week’s class all ready to go.

Anyway, back to the students. They talk. They talk a lot. Did I talk that much at that age? If there was a “talking” event at the Olympics, kids this age would be winning all of the medals. They are great. I find myself listening to them and forgetting momentarily that we’ve strayed from the writing stuff. Luckily, it isn’t a normal class, but an afterschool “club” of sorts, so we’re more free to go at our own pace. Did I mention that they’re great?

On a different subject: My daughter likes the chorus of “Who Let the Dogs Out?” She breaks into giggles and laughter when I sing it. I find myself singing the strangest snippets of songs to her since I don’t know many (okay, hardly any) nursery rhymes or lullabies.

All right. So, I know it has to be expected that there will be some truly uninspiring assignments. I mean some true pieces of intellectual feces. Of course, it may not be entirely the assignment’s fault. Which may be what has happened with this assignment I just completed (and the result is a giant turd of grand defecatory powers). The fault may be that the assignment-giver has not adequately explained either, A) What the assignment is (thereby causing confusion and wonder) and/or B) Why the assignment exists (thereby restricting from the assignment-doer the feeling of accomplishment even in the face of extreme piles of shite).

As it is now, I feel like I just wasted hours of my time writing a bunch of useless crap. Not how I wanted to spend my time here. Maybe in our session today, some abstract angle of light will be shed on the whole thing that will make it seem like glittering gold. But I doubt it.

Now, maybe something a little uplifting… Or just creepy… Who’s to say… I was walking home (even in Oxford it feels like I have a home… yay!) from the bus stop and two drunk old Brits hit on me. Called me gorgeous and everything. I’m sure they were slurring their compliments at every female that was walking solo, but it made me laugh because just like in the US there are dirty old men who fall into their drink and lose all sense of their tongues.

Ta.

Like most women in the first trimester of pregnancy, I’ve been fatigued. I’ve been out and out exhausted, and no matter how much I’ve slept, it doesn’t seem to help. I’m hoping for a change in a few weeks, like the doctor said. But where does that put me now?

I have much to do this week. Super busy week. Story due Tuesday. Lesson plans need to be worked on. There are several authors I have to still read for Lit class, and I’m working with a friend on a new project to teach creative writing in an alternative high school. Plus, this is Get Lit! Week. I missed Rita Dove and Robert Bly tonight. But I’m all signed up to see David Sedaris (Yay!) and Salman Rushdie (Woot!). Crazy insane.

I did get some exercise in today. We went for a walk around the neighborhood. Two walks actually with a slight break in between to rehydrate and get warm. The wind made it quite a bit colder than it seemed at first and a thicker jacket was required for the second leg of the journey. All in all we were out for about 50-60 minutes walking.

All of that said, I’m still struggling with my patterns. Patterns of procrastination. Patterns of not using time wisely. The pregnancy has really highlighted it. I sort of have this reason, this fatigue, but even that doesn’t seem good enough. I keep thinking about the healer my friend is seeing, a man who is different than a counselor, looks at things differently. I probably won’t contact him or do anything about my problem, knowing me and if I am being honest about it. But a part of me wants to, the same part of me that wishes I wouldn’t fear the unknown quite so much.

Since I am not heading off to summer session four days a week, I have less and less interaction with the outside world now. And this seems to have an effect on my ability to write here or at the very least observe things with my usual scrutiny for later use here.

What interaction I’ve had has been mostly on the phone. I don’t have the best phone ettiquette, though I often try to be patient and pleasant when dealing with business calls. Some people just don’t want to hear what I’m saying. It can be extremely frustrating to explain something to someone 3, 4, or 5 times only to have them respond as if I never even said a word about it. And usually it isn’t even a situation I can control, and yet they will expect me to work miracles and change an entire governmental organization’s methods to accomodate their need for urgency. Sometimes I wish I could and I do feel sympathy for them, but I promise that I’m not an all powerful being (even though I play one on the sitcom of my mind).

Also, when will the cable (insert other agency here at will) company phone tech guy believe me when I say I’ve already tried a manual reboot of my cable box, and the things he is having me check, I have checked, and that the box is actually sending the information to the cable company and the error is coming back from the cable company, not from within my box? Ah well, I humored him, and did everything he said, because I understand to many people cable boxes and such are foreign objects. I just know that when the guy comes out on Sunday to “check my box” (oh sexy) that he is going to find nothing he can do here, but something they have to do back at the home planet, err I mean, office.

So, life right now is a bit boring. My arm is still injured, though I’ve regained quite a bit of painfree movement. And other than watching TV, reading and doing laundry, I’m not doing too much. Hope everyone else is having a more exciting time.

I was driving around in the middle of the night as I am apt to do in my line of work, and I was was outlining a blog entry in my head, as a few of us bloggers have been known to do, and then I came home, checked my email account for school, and found that I have been awarded a fellowship which involves teaching creative writing to either K-12 students or Seniors. And it took wind right out of my contemplative mood-sails, and blew it into my Yippee!-sails.

Now, I’m excited about something again. I didn’t realize just how mopey I was for the past three weeks. I thought I was just relaxing and slacking and being useless, but I have been downright lumpish (as in on a log, yep) in attitude not just in physical imitation.

Putting that excitement aside for a moment, let’s get back to my driving thoughts. I wanted to leave. I wanted to drive someplace I’ve never been that’s hundreds of miles away. It wasn’t the first time I’ve had that thought while driving alone at night. It is always at night. There is something about the cover of darkness that makes all things seem possible to me. I never would leave, though. Not just on a whim, anyway.

And then I thought about the first vacation that we took as a couple, my hubby and I. It was up to the Sierras, and to visit his brother near the Bay area, and we drove and we had never been there before. And I had the big map, and it was the first time we found out how good we were at finding places with him driving and me navigating. I read a map like a mofo. Yes, I do. And I remembered the smell of the redwoods and pines. And the fact that we drove on some pretty deserted roads blaring Offspring and singing loudy to it. And I made him listen to the “Best of George Michael” and he humored me. We were new, our trip was new, and it was the first driving vacation I ever took without my parents. I felt grown up on that trip at the tender age of 21.

We’ve never had a trip like that since. We’ve gone to Maui repeatedly, because well, it is Maui, and how can you say no to Maui? We’ve been to Vegas for short jaunts (and drove), but there is no sense of adventure in it except the slight possibility of hitting something big at the slots, and that’s nowhere near the same. It’s a man-made playground, and I want to discover Nature’s playground. Though, to give reverence to man-madeness, I had a bit of the excitement of discovery in New York last September. Those several days on my own in the city really fostered that in a way that a tour group or guide to the city would not have.

So, I’m still having escapist thoughts of fleeing this place. And while that fantasy of today may become a reality of tomorrow (aka summer/fall 2004, hopefully), I’m trying very hard not to place too much burden on any given destination, for fear that once I arrive some place else, I’ll feel the need to escape once again.

Johnny Depp. (How’s that for a non sequitur?) This is a man I can respect. He could have gone the way of teen idol icon, and instead he took himself off of that track and followed his instincts in his career. I think as a teenager, I wrote him off simply because of the fact that he was so beautiful and during the “21 Jump Street” era, he was so commercialized. I didn’t actually fall madly for the Teen Beat idols growing up, though I got that magazine for awhile (and later, Sassy). I think it was always an effort to fit in for me. Yes, I was most seriously a subject of peer pressure, before I figured myself out at around age 17. Worshipping teen idols was just one more way to fit in, I thought. But back to Mr. Depp. It was only a short time ago that I saw “Chocolat” and decided that Johnny Deep was truly sexy, and deserved more attention from me. And then to see him on “Inside the Actor’s Studio,” and see his humor and presence just made me think, wow, this is one of the truly special, thoughtful individuals inhabiting the earth.

Johnny Depp’s humor… how do I explain what I saw? He would make a comment that was perhaps a bit ironic or sarcastic or just observational and never once was he offensive, and he would have this look on his face, a smile that taken out of context might seem shy or reserved, but I imagined he was thinking, my goodness, I’m getting away with this. I can say anything and they will laugh. Do they realize the power I have over them? Oh, shit. The laughter is dieing out. Better say something else funny... Of course, that’s just what I imagined, and probably not even close to the truth. In fact, there was probably a little bit more of the embarassment factor on some of it—like I can’t believe I just said that on television. Well, they are laughing, so it couldn’t have been too bad. And after giving it even more thought, it may have been playfulness I saw in his eyes—that devious spark that combines the getting-away-with-it and the sweetness that enables such a quality in a person. And really he was very witty, and seemingly humble (probably actually humble, but his gorgeousness leaves him suspect in my mind which I know is a stupid prejudice on my part), and I couldn’t help but respect him more than I ever thought I would.

There are critics of the show and of James Lipton’s schmoozing style. And I don’t care to play into whatever thoughts are for or against the show. I only know that when I see an actor in that way, it helps me to think of them as a real person just like the billions of others out there that I’ll never know.

The giggling boys in statistics class have stopped. Now there is just the occasional quiet chatter in the back, and the heavy sighs of several different students (male and female) whenever the instructor goes from definitions and theorems to examples. But all in all, considering the number of questions asked during the examples, they are definitely needed. So, class is going good.

Also in the news of my life, our air conditioning was fixed tonight! I’m already basking in the cool flow of artificial air, and I love it.

I’m about to get ready to move into action… Any minute now. Wish me luck.

First day of statistics class and it is already boring, but I didn’t expect parades and fireworks. I may live close to Disneyland, but I’m not that delusional (yet). My expectation was that the definitions and the concepts would be dry, but that hopefully when we start doing applications and analysis, things might get a little more exciting. It looks like that will be the case. However, the instructor has an accent and it is obvious that English is her second language. I didn’t mind at all because she speaks carefully about 90% of the time, and slowly enough so that she is comprehensible (at least to me). Also, she has extremely legible handwriting and she writes just about everything on the board, so even if a word here and there gets a little garbled, you can just read it. There is also a handicapped woman in the class who is very eager to learn and asks questions and volunteers answers and such, and actually her focus and inquisitiveness remind me of me.

What is a little disconcerting is the laughter that occassionally arises from the back of the room (at both the instructor’s accent and the handicapped woman’s contributions) from a small group of boys. I say boys because to call them men would be an injustice to men everywhere. We are in college, and even if these are high school juniors or seniors, they should realize they are in a college class and act appropriately. I know, I know—the old lady inside of me is coming forward here, but really I just prefer that people show respect, not only for the instructor, but for the other students who have a strong desire to learn.

I know these things happen, so I’m hoping over the next 5 weeks that they either learn to control themselves or possibly skip a lot of class. Either would suit me just fine.

As I was buying my book, though, the student worker at the book store asked me if I was buying the study guide, but it was out. I wasn’t going to buy it anyway because I don’t need to spend the extra $35+ for it when I know I can learn the material from the book and lectures. He commented that he bought it because the instructor was so hard to understand. I just blinked and said I had no problem understanding her, and that ended the conversation as the purchase had been completed.

This is Southern California. When did people start having problems understanding non-native accents? Do people just freeze at the sound of an accent? Because I was thoroughly impressed with the instructor’s ability to be clear in spite of her accent of which she obviously was aware. Is it so hard to tune-in, pay attention, take notes, and ask questions for clarity in today’s college classroom? Or maybe they just don’t want to take responsibility for their own education, and like to lay blame for any failure on someone else. That said, the student clerk at the bookstore at least had the right idea. He was aware of a problem for himself and countered it with the study guide. I have a feeling the boys in the back won’t even bother with that and will spend the rest of the summer blaming the instructor for how poorly they did in statistics.

P.S. We’re heading down to San Diego tonight to see Tracy Chapman in concert. (for those of you keeping track of my concert addiction)

I did get all A’s, and I’m very much happy and relieved to know. This means another quarter on the Dean’s list (the third), so that means I’m on the Chancellor’s list for the year. I’ve never done that before. A few Dean’s lists here and there, but never straight through. Woot!

Nothing much else to tell, except I’m still being a slacker, and will likely do so until Monday when my summer class starts. At that point I’ll get back to being responsible and doing things that aren’t all about being relaxed and groovy (aka lazy lazy lazy).

I have this excitement building for next fall quarter, and I know it is premature. The peer mentor program that I’ll be a part of seems like it will be challenging and rewarding. After meeting with the Professors, and Teaching Assistants, and being praised as intelligent and prepared (all six of us who have gone through training) by one of our college’s Associate Deans and the Dean of Students, I was on an emotional high. Also, with the talk and planning for next year’s Mosaic, I’m getting excited. All this excitement and none of it actually comes into play until September. I need to curb my enthusiasm, I think.

I’m also a little sad about the people who are graduating. I’m not sad they are graduating. I mean I’m sad they won’t be around next term. I had forgotten about this part of college. I tend to think I’m so aware, and yet lately, I seem to be surprised by things I once knew.

I also found myself defending some people I don’t hardly know to a woman I just met. And I kept wondering why I was doing it. And I know it is because one guy in this gang of creative writing “bad boys” has the sort of talent that I admire. And I also got to talk to him at some length (whilst getting my drink on at the local hangout with a load of fellow students) about writing, and philosophy and things that didn’t have much rhyme or reason. And I like his genius talent, and I know he will actually be someone important someday. I think he reminds me of someone from my childhood, but I’m not sure of whom. He seems frail on the outside, skin and bones, delicate, seemingly breakable they are so thin, but he’s got fire inside of him. So, I defended him and the gang that surrounds him, and the way they can act cruelly in workshops, and the fact that they are snobs.

I did back off a bit when she explained some of the things they did in class. I wasn’t in her class with them. But I recall some similar behavior in a class I had with them last quarter. These young men do act as if they are superior, and as a group they are formidable. And I can’t condone what they do at all. For all their talent combined they don’t have the right to treat people in the way they do. But in my mind I see the one I got to know away from the group, as different. But I suppose when he’s with them he is the same. I’m not sure. I don’t know why I felt compelled to defend them all for the sake of him. After I leave the university, I doubt I’d be in contact with any of them, including him.

Maybe, I was projecting. Maybe, because once, I thought that being with the right people and being cruel to the not right people was the best way to be. And I see someone with more potential and talent than I could ever hope for, and I see him where I once was. I think I see him where I once was, but maybe he’s not. Maybe that’s who he really is. And maybe I shouldn’t defend anyone, because they don’t need it. The silent observer. I can try that for awhile, because I’m no good at being anyone’s defender but my own.

[Update] P.S. I am entirely aware how hilarious the concept of The Badboys of the Creative Writing Dept sounds. So, if you chuckled even a little bit, I’m right there with you.

I was at a Bad Religion concert held at a small local club last night. The sound/acoustics were horrible. The band hadn’t played a concert since October of last year, and it sounded as if they hadn’t rehearsed very much since. Most of the time it sounded as if they were all one or two seconds off from the others in their playing. Ah well. I would have stuck it out, but my husband, who really likes them and was the reason we were there, wanted to leave. So we left.

As we were walking to our car, half deaf, I started thinking about sound. Sound has come up a lot in my English Lit class as we have been discussing Sister Carrie and the sounds, the white noise of industrialization, that Carrie encounters as she arrives in Chicago. On the first night back from Maui, I heard the noises of this city more clearly then usual--the bleating horn of the train, the whoosh of traffic on the street below--and for a moment, as my head lay upon my pillow, I missed the silence of Upcountry (Maui).

We get so we don’t even hear sounds after awhile, accustomed to it. There are other things like this. Landmarks we don’t see in our hometowns that visitors would see. People we ignore, who just may enjoy a smile from a stranger. Advertising that is so deeply ingrained in this culture that its effects are getting harder to calculate. How would we live without so much white noise, and background influences? And will there ever come a day when we are given that chance?

Nine books for my English Lit class. Nine. Two novels of large size (500+ pgs), two of medium size (190-300 pgs), one small novel (120 pgs), one play (142 pgs), and three books of poetry (selected readings from these). Woooo. That’s a lot of focused, thoughtful reading. There’s one other book for my fiction workshop, but it is a short story collection that is meant to give us some inspiration and modeling for such things as voice, plot, etc. So, it’s not quite as intimidating.

And as if that wasn’t enough fun stuff to have (I’m not being sarcastic, I’m truly looking forward to the books), I have 13 tubes of oil paint (one more on the way), and various brushes, and masking tape, and turpenoid, and other bottles of mysterious liquids, and messy bits of black charcoal, and some clean white canvas boards, and drawing paper. It’s all so exciting and intimidating too. I’m imagining myself as the mad scientist mixing things, and then as the mad artist slapping paint on canvas with wild abandon. Of course, I realize that this is entirely a fantasy. There is going to be a lot of grumping around, drawing things that don’t look like they are “supposed to” and then painting them so again they won’t look like they are “supposed to,” and I’ll feel more like an unartistic clutz then an artistic genius. But I’m ready for it, and until we actually get to work in class tomorrow, I’m going to let myself have the fantasy.

A friend has said to me over the past weeks, “You are doing everything.” It’s obviously an exaggeration. But yesterday, I finally had the thought that maybe I am taking on too much. I agreed to get involved in a project next quarter, on top of all of my other projects. The allure of the people involved, and the project itself was too strong.

I guess by mid-May I’ll know if I’ve taken on too much.