where there's smoke, there's burnout

Some way, some how, I have to spend a certain number of hours on this exercise in masochism I'm told is law school. When that certain number of hours is not met because, say, I want to see my girlfriend and friends and maybe cook a nice meal or two, nights get late and mornings get earlier.

I didn't realize that last night was Daylight Savings Time, and I'm still lamenting the loss of that hour. Talk about a need for perspective - I'm fussing over an hour of my life that I spent sleeping curled up against M (or didn't spend at all - DST gets a little metaphysical for my taste) instead of poring over my Con Law.

If I had a time traveling DeLorean, I'd just bop ahead to next week: Spring fuckin Break.

There are projects, side projects, ongoing projects and new projects. The evolution from complete boredom to complete bemusement ("where did the last two weeks go?") is nigh upon me, and I wonder how long my new rut will suit me.

Thoughts of leaving the country again arise. Thoughts of law school persist. On top of all of it is the knowledge that I will likely live out most of my days on the West Coast, but I'll surely disappoint myself if "most" turns out to mean "all."

That having been said, I'm starting the long, slow process of entrenching myself somewhere new. With the projects. With the responsibilities and obligations. This is not the life I imagined ten years ago, or even ten months ago. But ten days ago, today would have been believable, perhaps an improvement.

Adulthood may crash in my lap sooner than I thought. Ick.

In less purple prose: I'm volunteering, making my house a home, embarking on new kitchen and garden projects, wrangling furniture for our half-furnished house, learning to knit, and collecting the supplies and wits and funds necessary to get the dog I've been raving about for months. My baby brother visits for Thanksgiving. I go back to Alaska for Christmas for the first time in three years. In the back of my throat and the well of my stomach, something shifts every time I think about it all.

Realistically, pictures of the house will come when pictures of the dog do.

MS 224 didn't hire me. Welcome back, doubts. Make yourselves at home.

Apparently, my lesson "showed [my] potential," but class management was lacking. I could have told them that. I'll likely have to teach demo lessons in all of my interviews -- if possible, I'm even more intimidated now than I was before. Damn it. I've never cried about a fucking JOB before.

EDIT: Not that the doubts haven't been a long time coming. They're starting to mount, not as a matter of self-doubt (although that's certainly an element,) but doubting whether or not I want to do this altogether. I'm hard-pressed to come up with a reason why Teach for America is a compelling option. Making a list of pros and cons has, over the course of a few hours, resulting in a staggering mountain of cons. What am I doing with myself? Why? THE FUTURE IS LAME.

FURTHER EDIT: considering I spent the first three years of university (to say nothing of the many cogent years prior) saying that I'd never be an educator, the sudden decision to teach perhaps ought to give me pause. It's hard to illustrate how beyond second thoughts I am, how doubts have rapidly galvanized into regrets, how I've made NYC into some kind of Saving the Children Fantasy Camp where I'll be totally happy no matter what. I didn't think about this much before. "hey! health insurance! awesome!" is kind of how it went down initially. Damn me for not knowing myself. And damn the Cubs and their losing streak.

but hooray for student loan checks! and sunshine! and new CDs/retail therapy!

also: a bird shat in my hair. C said it's good luck.

Kid E's first conference

This whole weekend has been a lesson in staying my own awkwardness. Never terribly adept at conversation when meeting new people (see also: my father), I've run the gamut of venues at which to "network" -- conference rooms, bars, hoity toity restaurants, beaches, fire pits. While my "network" has only minimally grown -- just as well -- I've made somewhat minor strides in chatting with strangers who intimidate me. Like Jonathan Lethem. Who sat at our table and was largely engaged with the musical obscurefest going on round that neck of the woods. I got some good shots in when conversation turned to Batman, but get a bunch of geeky and PUBLISHED academics together and set them loose... fangirls like me have trouble keeping up with the sheer force and quantity of the "when I met Tina Weymouth" variety. See M for a more comprehensive account of the nerve-wracking drive(mart) and other more eloquent bits.

That said, I'm having a blast. A mass geek-out? Hells yes. I'll even submit a paper once I get up the nerve. I mean hell, there was free beer at one point.

Likewise, hanging out with old friends and friends of old friends has lead to some escapades such as hanging out on a beach listening to a didgeridoo jam session on 4/20 and wandering about Discovery Park, trying to avoid childrens.

Moral of the story: the Experience Music Project is the ugliest building I've ever seen. The Science Fiction Museum's space croissant is bitchin', though.