True confession #1: I woke up at 6 this morning. I want you to understand -- this is an unheard-of feat. I woke up at 6 without the alarm, that is, au natural, alarm peacefully set for 7, which is kind of crazy for me anyway. There's something seriously wrong with me. (During Spring Break Woops, may it rest in peace, I woke up between 10 and 1 and maybe got going with stuff around 5. Those were the days.)
But instead it's still in the 9ams here and I have gassed up my car, taken my rent check over to the management company, gotten coffee, done the dishes, put my winter sweaters in a bag so I can find shirts to wear in my drawer when it's ranging between 50 and 80 degrees, and done the wash. I'm waiting for my clothes to dry so I can go and meet with Peppy Advisor about my peppy dissertation and not-so-peppy (more like harried and freaked out) timeline. (Note to self: write timeline somewhere other than in diary -- PA might actually want to see it without the skull and crossbones and doodles of doom.) Clearly the anxiety of getting the diss done so I can go to Adventure U is affecting me at all levels. Plus, I'm leaving town tomorrow morning and am busy every moment until then, so basically I'm doing the wash so I have clothes to pack. Now, I thought waking up in time to get laundry done before the Peppy Advisor meeting was probably not going to happen. I didn't think my body would flip out and refuse to let me go back to sleep at a staggering 6AM! That's just not right.
True Confession #2: Yesterday, I tutored in the morning, tutored in the afternoon, then before tutoring in the evening I went and had a drink over at a bar. (I figure if I don't exist, they won't notice I'm happier than usual.) WSF says I need three-martini lunches. SO thinks I should be drinking more, though I don't think he meant before going to work. WSF says I should be smoking more. (I gave up not smoking for Lent. I did manage to have a cigarette last night in the beautiful night that reminded me there is something deeply spiritual and magical about nighttime in general, especially a balmy night with the trees starting to flower and the moon seeming to follow you down the street.) But dear readers, do yourself a favor. Do not drink and then go back to work tutoring students. Not because I don't think you can handle an alcohol-laced cup of coffee. Because you'll find yourself having such a good time helping students with master's projects and resumes that you'll find yourself still sitting there an hour after you're supposed to go home. That's just not right. Tutoring for 7 hours in one day is not right.
True Confession #3: Remember how when I was sick and at the Caffeine Corporation I had overheard a barista lamenting his art school application letter of intent? How I wanted to help him but decided I'd keep my nose out of it? Well, guess who is going over to the Buck of Stars during her only free time of the day to go and help him with his letter of intent. It's as if now that I've got a job I feel I should spread my Englishness over hill and dale. Or maybe since I'm not in my own classroom, I have to grab at opportunities for teaching. Not right. I'm telling you. Not right.
In other news, yesterday I saw a person (gender unidentifiable) who was walking across the parking lot wearing an old-fashioned spaceman's helmet. The white kind with the one small horizontal bubble of glass in the front. So basically what I'm saying is that I saw an alien walk across the parking lot as I was going to buy a salad. See why I had to have the drink? I just don't get what's going on. The next thing you know I'll be waking up early. Oh wait. . .
I have not worked on my dissertation. Barely worked on it yesterday. Am stuck in an ethical representation conundrum that I should probably just go ahead and write out in hopes I can turn it into part of the subject of the chapter. Going to Urban Home City tomorrow with SO. Have much muchness to do today, including meeting Hate-Filled Dissertating Friend and working in the afternoon-evening. Talked to one of my favorite people in the world (not WSF, a friend currently without smart and appropriate pseudonym) and she asked if I were still in a funk. I told her I was too busy to be able to tell. And that's the dumb truth. Too much to do to funk. Even to do the funk. That's not right. As is waking up at 6 and then starting to run late for my meeting. OY!