It's so hot. I don't wanna work anymore. I blew off my exercise class this afternoon. I ate free pastries all morning and may skip dinner in lieu of ice cream again tonight. It would be a lovely day to go to the beach or even outside, if I had the energy. It would also be a good idea to get my work done, but my brain has melted. And then the hot weather turned the melty brain stuff into sticky, possibly toxic, goo.
I also recently realized why I've been having trouble: all of my projects are at the same state of intensive writing, so I don' t have anything on the list to switch over to when my brain hits the melting point halfway through the day: I've pulled the books and made my copies, and I'm not to the point yet where I could proof things and make bibliographies ---- everything's at the "pull it together into a cohesive argument" point. Which is no fun. Especially when it is hot.
So instead of working more on them, I will describe my projects using pictures.
Project #1: The Sadly Neglected Final Chapter
Ooh, the poor widdle thing! How long has it been since I played with it, I wonder? I really need to get back and work on it before it makes my heart break from cuteness. Of course, that's only appearances ---- in reality, when I turn back to it, it will growl at me and bite and possibly take an arm off because it feels bitter about being so mistreated. That will suck, because those rabies shots hurt and then you'll see me around town, one-armed, tacking up "Have You Seen My Chapter?" posters while holding back tears. Tragic.
Project #2: The Light at the End of the Tunnel Project
Thank god this one will be over soon! I have too much on my plate right now. But that's the nice thing about impending deadlines of this sort ---- you can't put off, or fake, a conference paper. After slogging away in the dark avoiding this one for so long, it's so nice to see some daylight at last. Why do I have this nagging feeling that I forgot to do something though? And what's that sound?
Project #3: As Soon as I Know What I'm Doing, I'll Do It
I got an invitation to revise and resubmit an article. At least, I think I did. I still haven't ever actually seen the invitation, or the readers' reports. But they were supposed to be sent out to me a while ago. Maybe I just can't find them ---- can you see the readers' reports in the Magic Hidden Pictures? Just find Waldo, the managing editor, in the picture below and he will give you the readers' reports, and possibly a pot of gold.
Project #4: It Just Needs a Bit More Work Before Sending Out Again
Trust me, what with the way everyone is running out of room around here ---- they're not making any more land, you know! ---- this little diamond in the rough will be a big hit in the near future. Sure, it's a fixer-upper; it needs some work before it gets sent out again. But really, how much time will a lick of paint and a little elbow grease take, anyway? Why, this little baby hardly counts as a project ---- I mean, I could whip this up on the one hand while writing my dissertation with the other! And then, with the mystic arms of Shiva, I will also cook dinner, fold laundry, and write The Great American Novel.
Project #5: Whatever Happened to...
Gosh, remember that thing from way back? You know, wasn't it a chapter, or a paper, or something? Yeah, way back in the day I had that cute little chapter 4 draft and I turned it in to my advisor to get some feedback about finishing it off. Ah, those were the days! The carefree youth, our crazy hair, those outfits... ah, memories! How those little chapters do grow up. Or do they? Anybody seen that chapter lately? It was so cute and fresh-faced, so precocious beyond its years. Somebody told me they had seen it giving lap dances down at the Whiskey on Sunset. I hope not; I don't want to remember it like that.
Project #6: The Hail Mary Dissertation-Formatting-and-Filing Pass
What? It wouldn't be a Hail Mary Pass if it wasn't made at the very last minute in sheer desperation, would it?
(First, I should say that I am really craving the ice cream in my freezer. But it is mint coffee chip and it made me sick and overcaffeinated and unable to sleep last night, so I shouldn't have it right now. But I want it anyway, and it is probably only a matter of time until I cave and eat it. That is all.)
I haven't been applying to jobs lately --- hell, I'm barely keeping up with my teaching and various writing projects, not including the dissertation. But on one of those breaks the other day when I looked over at The Chronicle of Higher Ed's website to see if there was anything amusing, I caught sight of some private high school job ads. For some reason I looked them up. I hadn't really considered private school as a Plan B, mainly because I am invested in the idea of Making a Difference if I can't be working in my dream career, and the kids at elite private schools seem a bit too spoiled and wealthy to count as Difference-Making. Anyway, I got off on an extended search all evening and I don't have any conclusions really, but I'm just going to think out loud here.
First of all, it's really hard to find private school salary ranges anywhere on the web, which is frustrating. Both job ads described themselves as "competitive" and "in the top 10 percent" of whatever the national private school association is called, but how much is "competitive" then?
Well, I found some data that says the median salary at some private schools is 58k, with 40k being the starting salary and 82 being the "median highest salary." Now, I don't know if that should be higher or lower once you add the "other" private schools 'cause there was no clear explanation of how extensive this data was. But one job ad did point out that the position entailed teaching 4 classes with a course cap of 15 students. So that's 60 students a semester. At 58k that would be pretty sweet. That's for a private school in CA, by the way.
But that would not be Making a Difference nor really Doing Good in a serious way. And how does that compare to public schools anyway? I did some more searches.
This one job search website (no, not Monster) has a salary wizard on it listing all the cities --- or is it counties? --- in California. Anaheim is listed first, so let's go click on that. It's got a bell curve listing salaries from about 46 to 68, rounded up, but it tops out at 77 as a hard limit. In fact, only a couple schools list salary options as high as 80k. So I'm assuming most teachers don't get that high on the scale, and if they do, it's only at the very end of their careers.
Now, a PhD will get you shit in the CA school system, since you have to have a credential. And if you want to teach while using your degree as an "emergency credential," you gotta go where no one else wants to go. That will bring us into Making a Difference territory.
For example, the Oakland school district has some programs to bring noncredentialed teachers into the classrooms (ok, they want math and science people but I'm betting I could weasel my PhD --- or at least the MA --- into counting for something). This teaching fellow web site says you'd start at 38k, which is even lower than the salary.com site claims, but perhaps that's because you'd be working at getting your credential at the same time. And what would those teaching loads look like? The site says that Oakland school district's high school classes are between 30 and 40 students, and it's unclear whether you'd be teaching 5 classes or 4.
That would mean teaching anywhere between 120 and 200 students per semester in Oakland for 38k while also taking classes and studying for the credential.
Dear lord.
I haven't even touched on the fact that this would be Oakland, and I assume the students wouldn't want to be there and wouldn't want to deal with me. I would be scared. And that while I have teaching experience, it's as a middle class white kid teaching other middle and upper class white kids (mostly) who are there of their own will. Wow. I don't think I could hack that. I would want the public school kids at the private school class size and paycheck. And let me just state how shitty it is to have the kids who are poorest and need the most help have some of the biggest class sizes in CA, not to mention the teacher revolving door that has prompted this program. Wow again. Clearly I have not been paying enough attention to CA's k-12 side of education and I'm going to be following that more closely now.
But ok ---- there's always the Community Colleges, and depending on which one you work at you could very likely be Making a Difference. (though I think I'd rather teach shit like A Separate Peace in the high schools than do nothing but comp, day in, day out, forever.) I have a friend who got hired TT in a CA Community College and they started her at 74k. I think the scale goes up to 100 ---- it does on this salary scale I downloaded from a different CC. So what would that be? If we assume that their 5-5 load was for 20 person classes, that would be 100 students a semester. Well, at least the starting salaries are high.
By the way, on the job wiki last year they had a page where they asked peoples' starting salaries (in English). Most people listed their starting salaries at 50k or right around there. That doesn't give us any data on top-end salaries for English profs, though. Does anyone notice the irony --- no wait, that's not the word --- the shittiness of a system that puts us through 8 to 10 years of grad school and debt only to have us land smack in the same pay scale as public school teachers who only had to do 1 to 2 years postgraduate work? That's if you land a tenure track job. I'm not saying that there aren't amazing benefits to being a professor, but money is not one of them.
And no one talks about this; why do none of us talk about money in a serious way in the profession, in grad school? I'm just kidding; I know perfectly well why it is advantageous to the system to have us not be comfortable with discussing money publicly --- after all, now the courts have decided women have to file pay discrimination suits within 6 months of the discrepancy happening, meaning people with the middle-class value of not discussing money are all hosed. Or even more hosed.
Anyway, last year I had a blowup with a grad student who I overheard talking in in office hours. This grad --- let's avoid gendering this person and call hir Idealism Grad --- was asking hir student what said student was going to do after graduation. Since this student had no clue, and had just been talking about getting a C on the latest English paper, Idealism Grad advised said student to go to grad school in English, because it is really fun and it's a great job. I proceeded to barge into the office and rip hir a new one. Zie looked hurt, but acknowledged that maybe grad school is more of a commitment than zie was portraying it. "But you know, it pays well once you get out, right? Starting around 60, 70k or so, right?" zie said. "What fucking planet are you on? Did you mistake the E for Engineering and not English?" I responded. We haven't really talked since. But really, the fact that Idealism Grad thought undergrad English majors could just randomly clear 50k right out of undergrad and that profs all made way more than that ---- is that just that Idealism Grad is on extra-strength crack? Or is this a larger part of the grad school bait-and-switch problem ---- that we don't actually have these conversations publicly until, you know, 10 years later when it's time to go on the market crippled by debt.
Oh, yeah, the debt bit reminds me of one more thing. Besides looking at jobs and salaries and such the other day, I looked up the definition of a Roth IRA. Basically, it's a special account designed to encourage ordinary people to save for retirement, because you save money on taxes when you sock it away and let it compound for 20 or 30 or so years. You can put in a maximum amount each year --- usually 5 grand if you don't make boatloads of money --- but if you don't max out the contribution one year, you can't put in more the next year to make it up. I don't have one. That means that I can't make up the money I could have been putting in through all my 20s. I had no clue about this --- sure would be nice if people would have talked to me about this and other financial facts when I went to grad school! Let's compare using this Roth IRA calculator:
Your age: 22 Current IRA balance: $600 Contribute $ 5000 a year until you turn 50 ... then ... Contribute $ 6000 a year until you turn ... then ... Withdraw equal annual amounts over the next years.
At age 60 your account balance will be $582,513 You'll then be able to withdraw $36,089 annually for 30 years.
versus:
Your (real) age: 32 Current IRA balance: $600 Contribute $ 5000 a year until you turn 50 ... then ... Contribute $ 6000 a year until you turn ... then ... Withdraw equal annual amounts over the next years.
At age 60 your account balance will be $322,172 You'll then be able to withdraw $19,960 annually for 30 years.
The Cog: Ok, I'm getting started a little bit late today, but that's all right, that's all right, I can recover. (places coffee on desk at 2 oclock. Places folder of notes to left, three pens next to it. Places stack of clean paper directly in front of self. Picks up and straightens stack by tapping it against the desk with a satisfying sound. Takes off watch and sets it down to the right. The desk is now set much like a place setting at the table, only with writing implements.)
The Cog: (consults watch) Ok, ok, fine, it's actually just turning to 9 a.m. on the dot right .... now. Great. I can start right on the dot right now.
(tick. tick.)
(The Cog sips coffee, takes an abstract from the folder and reads it. Sips more coffee. The coffee is now midway between the 2 and 3 oclock positions on the desk. She moves the coffee back to 2 oclock and stares at it. Replaces the abstract in the folder, straightens the pens in their alignment, tilts the stack of clean paper slightly, then tilts it back. Then straightens the stack by tapping it against the desk again, this time not quite so satisfyingly.)
The Cog: Ok then. Where am I starting in this argument? (The Cog gets out the abstract and reads it again. Consults the watch.)
The Cog: Nine-oh-----four. Hmm.
(The cog writes the word "concatenation" on the stack of clean paper, then crosses it out. Then writes the word again, this time in a different color.)
The Cog: Ok. O--K. Right. Right right right. Where am I starting, where am I starting? (Takes out the abstract again, stares at it. Rereads it without seeing any of the words.) (More softly to herself this time:) Right. riiiiiight. right-o. (suddenly:) Where am I starting?
(The Cog glances at the watch. It is now 9:07.)
(The Cog stares off into the distance with an expression of great concentration and slight pain, as if she might be listening to internal intestinal ailments. Then with a great burst of motion, she lists four themes.)
The Cog: Riiiiight. Ok, ok. O.K. That's where I should start. I have these four main things to say. Right. (sips the coffee.) Ok, but what order am I going to talk about these in?
(The watch ticks.)
(The Cog numbers the four themes, then crosses out the numbers, then doodles the numbers into little daisies.)
The Cog: Riiiiiight. Hmm. Right- (a long pause, as if she has forgotten she was speaking) -o.
(The watch ticks.)
(The Cog draws a concept map trying to link the four themes but this does not help produce a numbered order. The watch ticks. The Cog sips the coffee and then doodles the concept map into a large Conceptual Daisy.)
The Cog: Hmmm. Where do I go from here?
(The Cog repeats the coffee-shifting, pen-straightening, paper-tapping ritual. Consults the watch.)
The Cog: Nine ohhhhhhh-nine.
(The Cog looks at the paper, then with annoyance at the watch. The watch ticks helpfully.)
The Cog: It's a good thing I have the whole day to work on this, because I got started a little later than usual. Luckily I have the whole day, so I can get a lot of work done.
(The Cog shifts coffee, straightens pens, paper. The watch ticks even louder.)
The Cog: Riiiiiiiight. Ok, ok, right. (then louder, as if attempting to wake someone up:) Right, ok, righto righto, let's go then, right!
(The Cog repeats the shifting of coffee, pens, paper with much energy and verve.)
(The Cog stares at the paper, flicks a smidgen of definition onto a daisy petal.)
(The watch ticks.)
(The watch ticks.)
(The watch ticks slower and slower.)
The Cog: Right. Riiiiiight. Ok, right.
(The watch ticks ever slower: right, right, right, riiiiiiight.)
(Entire civilizations are born, rise through a golden age and beget empires, then diminish to but a shadow of their former selves, wreathed in nostalgia and a late-capitalist service economy. The watch ticks.)
The Cog: Right. Right-o. (re-orders the list of themes.) Riiiiiight.
The Cog: Now what?
(The watch ticks.)
(The watch ticks.)
(The Cog rearranges coffee, notes, pens, taps paper stack, then re-orders the list of themes.)
The Cog: Right?
(The Cog consults the watch. It is now 9:15.) The Cog: Dear lord!
(The watch ticks even slower.)
The Cog (to the watch) Let's get on with it, then!
The Watch: right, right, right, right, right, riiiiiiiight...
(The Cog angrily crumples up the top sheet of paper and tosses it, then moves the crumpled wad to 10 oclock on the desk. Slightly shifts the coffee so the two are in line, then rearranges the coffee, notes, pens, taps the paper straight, and does the whole process again. The Cog notices the paper wad is now slightly out of place and rearranges it.)
The Watch: right, right, right, right, right, right...
(The Cog stares at the paper. The watch ticks. The paper does nothing. The Cog rereads the abstract, then copies the paper title over onto the clean paper. The watch does nothing. The paper ticks. The Cog pulls on her hair, then rearranges the coffee, notes, pens, taps the paper straight, moves the crumpled wad, and pulls on her hair again.)
The Watch: blight, blight, blight, blight, blight ...
(The Cog looks over in annoyance. The watch behaves itself. It is now 9:21. The Cog ticks, the paper straightens itself and the coffee cools off until it is but a shadow of its former self, wreathed in nostalgia and a late-capitalist service economy.)
The Watch: right, right, right, right, right, right...
(The Cog glares at the watch. The watch smugly pretends to not notice. They now engage in a battle of wills. The paper helpfully remains blank.)
The Cog: Righto. Ok, ok. Rightok. A nap. Maybe a nap will help. That's it, righto, righto, a nap will certainly help. Yes, just a short nap. And then I can get going at 10. That's it, right at 10. Right on the dot.
I've got about a billion library tabs open in my internet browser right now, each one open to some journal I've never heard of before.
I got home from my long day and much craziness spent with grading essays and the obnoxiousness of dealing with the person I'm teaching for (and here I thought I'd be able to rant about that for you today) to find that I've been summarily rejected by the journal that I've been waiting to hear back from for so long (hereafter to be referred to as Sucky Journal), you know, the one I was emailing every month for an update since for ever. It was a form letter with no explanation except that due to the high numbers of submissions, they wouldn't be sending any sort of readers' reports or give a reason why it was rejected. Those fuckers!
I heard back about a month ago about the other article, which is a revise and resubmit. But I hadn't said anything about it on the blog because they explained they were behind on getting the readers' reports back to me and asked that I be patient until after they dealt with finals and such and would contact me soon. Which is fine, as I've got grading and my conference paper and my dissertation chapter and now this rejection to send off again. So my immediate reaction to the rejection was, ¡pinche cabrons!, you pissed me off so much I had to go find my upside-down exclamation mark! And I decided to follow all the advice I had heard about publishing and pop that article back in the mail so fast it'd leave skid marks.
Only, the journal I had submitted to has a much higher word limit than a lot of the others, so I need to cut it a lot. Only, I'm not so sure what are the other options "in my field" it would be good to aim for. Only, a lot of the journals I can think of are "up" on the selectivity scale, not down. Only, I do weird stuff.
So, since I had promised myself that I could play on the internets tonight, and since I use this blog as a way of thinking through things, I opened another tab.
(And as a side comment, I have to say that finishing a dissertation with no job prospects or even adjuncting prospects has a strange sort of --- closure --- embedded in it, and closing all the publishing folders and conferencing folders is adding to this feeling of an ending, of the idea that a moment of a really clean break is coming up soon and leaving the profession completely, while painful, looks really logical for that moment. All these doors are closing, and there will be a gap before I open them up --- if I open them up --- with the job market in the fall. This is really weird and I keep wondering if I'm even gonna be here doing anything related to this in a few months.)
So anyway, back to the article. As I am trying to explain, I don't really do literary studies. I don't know what I do, but it ain't your typical "read patterns within a text very closely" type thing (I have banned the phrase "close reading" from my vocabulary, as none of us are really matching patterns to find the keystone of irony or whatever was in the New Critical method. It's become a pet peeve of mine that lit scholars use "close reading" and "reading a text closely" interchangeably. I digress.) So one of the advantages of Sucky Journal was its interdisciplinary perspective and openness to allowing work that combines 18th century novels about nose-picking, to use my perennial example, with economic study of the manufacture and circulation of early modern nose-picking implements. (You think I'm odd? Seriously, I love this imaginary topic so much I could almost drop my diss and start over on this new one ---- it has everything! gentility, the rise of the middle class, manners, the democratization of consumer goods, the body, liminality, social anxieties --- what's not to love? Plus, you'd get to say the words "nose-picking " over and over in conference presentations, and perhaps coin noseological words.) It's like that dude who railed like an old fogey in The Nation a while back about how nobody does "real literary studies" anymore; they stray from the neat boundaries of texts and ideas:
The items on these lists are not just different things–apples and oranges–they’re different kinds of things, incommensurate categories flailing about in unrelated directions–apples, machine parts, sadness, the square root of two.
Exactly! How can you not see this list as cool and wonderfully Borgesian --- I would so love to write an article incorporating all of these things! In fact, I think my whole methodology is actually what I dismiss as "bizarre metaphors" on this blog ---- I love to bring together the "incommensurate categories" and have them raise sparks. Mostly because everyone else seems to stay within their disciplines and not read the work of other disciplines, so that when I go tramping across the fields of research without regard to the lines and borders I come back with sugar packets and bits of twine and a rock and some idea some other scholar tossed off and bricolage them up into something rich and strange. And I think they help us see the "canonical" stuff in new and interesting ways. Hmm, metaphysical conceits as methodology. Yeah, it's so me.
But, it's actually not very literary studies-y. Mr decline-of-English can grouse all he wants but I think the profession is way more like his ideals than his fears; from where I stand it's tough to be taken seriously when I stuff rocks and a novel and sugar packets all in a big metaphysical conceit and hit "churn." I have had bad luck dealing with what I call "author journals" and "author people." You know, they ask me to cut two thirds of the essay ---- all the cool stuff that is not a boring retread of Done to Death Novel. They come up to me after conference papers and say, which of Overdone Author's novels are you dealing with in your other dissertation chapters? And then when I start telling them about a chapter with no novels, but with kitchen sinks, their eyes glaze over and they walk away. And, their lit-focused or specific-author focused journals appear to vastly outnumber stuff I feel "a good fit" applying to. I mean, if I cut out all the "yoking together of heterogeneous ideas" parts, you're getting rid of my biggest strength.
So, in sum, I have no clue where I'm going with this. "This" being not only this blog post but my career. Do I even want to write about nose-picking metaphors if they're not going to let me include photographs of antique electric nosecleaners I've been collecting? I dunno. Writing this post has reminded me that I still do love what I do; I just can't get anyone else to love it. Or pay me to do it. Same difference.
Oh, and if you are one of the people who knows what I really study and have any good journal suggestions for me, drop me an email. Hopefully you know of a better one than some of these with a 5,000 word limit.
Allright, I slaved at the coffee shop this morning, grading, hit my caffeine overload, and came home to burn it off on some dishes and lunch. Then I pounded out another good hour and a half on grading away at stuff. Shit, I feel like I deserve to take me a break.
Unfortunately, the stack of essays to be graded is still HUGE. And I haven't even been able to get to work on my dissertation yet this week, and only fitfully put in time on Impending Conference Paper of Doom. Aigh!
I am so far behind on my shit that even working productively on it makes me get further behind. Sigh. It's making me waver between freezing up completely in terror and shrugging, chucking it all up and walking away from it. In spots like this, something has to just give way, but I gave up my sanity ages ago, you know? And giving up sleep just doesn't help in any productive sort of fashion for me.
I'm thinking that cloning myself is the only option. How else will I get through all the things I need to get through? I'm not even dealing with any of the graduation or get-a-job to do lists at the moment!
(yes, cloning myself will solve allllll my problems...)
Oh, and I'm still hating all you people who are finishing up your semesters ---- Thphpththtpthtphh! I don't actually know how to spell that, I just realized. Never mind --- reading these essays is slowly destroying my ability to spell anything. The "its" vs "it's" rule is already erased from my brain and currently one last brain cell is fighting a losing battle against "student's in the classroom are"-type crap.
Back to graduating nonsense, did I tell you my advisor will now not be there at the ceremony to hood me? You know, to award the degree? I mention that to clarify, because I was grousing about it to Cool Scientist Friend and The Political Animal, and they a) had no clue what that meant (though they made plenty of sexual puns about "hoods") and b) didn't care. What's the big deal if your advisor is there or not at graduation? I only see mine once a year, as they put it. Yeah, well, fine. I'll just sit here and throw a pity-party for myself if you won't join in.
It bugs me because a) my advisor promised to be there back when we laid out the timeline of deadlines for graduating and b) then got tickets to fly out of the country and didn't even tell me about it. I had to find out about this from a random graduate student and then only got confirmation later from Spouse of My Advisor, who is also known on this blog as Not My Advisor. Grr.
Since there are important conferences that run into our academic calendar (back to the people on the semester system: Ththththththhtpththp!), I know that Advisor has often skipped out on hooding the doctoral students. But not always, and so I'm feeling grumpy and slighted, because some people got to be hooded and introduced Advisor to family and got to hear Advisor tell everyone how brilliant of grad students they were, and others, like me, didn't. Or don't. Or whatever ---- I'm just annoyed, you know? Not that there is anything wrong with Professor Second Fiddle, who I wouldn't want to think of him/herself as a second fiddle and all that, but let's just say I am very over-invested in the ceremonial part of this ceremony. Not quite Bridezilla-level control freak over it ... yet ... but I do have certain ideas about how the day should go and what should happen. Remember, our dept. --- I think the whole school --- does not do doctoral defenses, so I'm considering this as my closure moment and big ritual of celebration.
(I had tried talking people into creating a "walking to the filing office" ceremony, which would involve crowd-lined streets tossing rose petals and cheering and singing victory songs as I carried the box of dissertation materials, wearing a crown and ermine-lined cape, to be carried back to the bars on the shoulders of the adoring crowd afterwards, but for some reason this ritual didn't get traction on our campus. Too bad, as I was just getting started fleshing out the songs and speeches, too.)
Anyway, everything is hectic and grumpy-making over here, with lots of work and no time to brood over graduation crap (or even plan it --- I think I have tons of paperwork to do to get Dr. Second Fiddle's name rather than Advisor's announced at the ceremony at this late date). I blame Society. After all, its what my student's are all arguing.
But just because you're busy doesn't mean you're too busy for art. You look like you need some wonder and surprise. So if these shots intrigue you, go here for even more sheep pics to ponder. (they're much larger and nicer quality on that site, too.)
Baaaaaaa-ring! (which is nothing at all like boring, I'd say.)
Seriously, though, how cool is this? ---- I've added a bunch of arthistory blogs to my reader, to become a more well-rounded cog, and so I'll try and post about cool art stuff more regularly from here on out. Toodles.
Ooh, the poor widdle thing! How long has it been since I played with it, I wonder? I really need to get back and work on it before it makes my heart break from cuteness. Of course, that's only appearances ---- in reality, when I turn back to it, it will growl at me and bite and possibly take an arm off because it feels bitter about being so mistreated. That will suck, because those rabies shots hurt and then you'll see me around town, one-armed, tacking up "Have You Seen My Chapter?" posters while holding back tears. Tragic.
the way everyone is running out of room around here ---- they're not making any more land, you know! ---- this little diamond in the rough will be a big hit in the near future. Sure, it's a fixer-upper; it needs some work before it gets sent out again. But really, how much time will a lick of paint and a little elbow grease take, anyway? Why, this little baby hardly counts as a project ---- I mean, I could whip this up on the one hand while writing my dissertation with the other! And then, with the mystic arms of Shiva, I will also cook dinner, fold laundry, and write The Great American Novel.
Project #5: Whatever Happened to...
or something? Yeah, way back in the day I had that cute little chapter 4 draft and I turned it in to my advisor to get some feedback about finishing it off. Ah, those were the days! The carefree youth, our crazy hair, those outfits... ah, memories! How those little chapters do grow up. Or do they? Anybody seen that chapter lately? It was so cute and fresh-faced, so precocious beyond its years. Somebody told me they had seen it giving lap dances down at the Whiskey on Sunset. I hope not; I don't want to remember it like that.
