Saturday, October 20, 2012—Long Beach, CA
Busy week, but a very productive one. Somehow, for the first time since the beginning of the semester, I’m not only caught up on my teaching work, but I’ve gotten ahead of the game—I’ve written all my upcoming exams and study guides, made the last of my lecture revisions for the entire semester (with the exception of one lecture). I’ve even managed to clean up my house a bit and catch up on some correspondence. On top of all this I proofread all of Backwaters of Beauty this week (I’m going go thru it once more and then get it to some outside proofreaders). I’ve even managed to work out four of the last six days. One result of this, though, is that I’m now exhausted: it’s only 7:15 on a Saturday night and I’m already in bed, for the night.
I’m not out of it just because of this, though. My seemingly endless sinus infection is still existing at a moderate level. One of the worst aspects of a sinus infection, at least for me, is how draining they are; when fighting them I always feel a little run down and at times I’m completely wiped out. This week featured a lot of the latter. In fact this one’s been a particularly annoying infection all around. In addition to being really tired, I’ve been feeling feverish from time to time and there’s been a lot of pressure throughout the lower part of my face (at times). Most annoying is that my teeth are hurting, (though not as bad today as earlier in the week). This sometimes happens when I get a sinus infection. This time around is a little different, though, in that my lower teeth have been hurting as well. If this thing doesn’t start clearing up soon I’m going to have to see a doctor. Luckily I’ve been planning on setting up an appointment for a checkup anyway.
As usual for this time of year there’s not much going on beside work. Still, I’m trying to squeeze some other things into my life. In addition to proofing Backwaters I’ve been thinking a lot about my writing and where it’s going. I’ve also been thinking about my life in general. I’m almost sure now I’m going to lose the Irvine job at the end of this semester. This is going to force me to move in some new direction, if for no other reason than I need to replace that income. I’ve also found out that the lit graduate program I have been seriously considering going into has been canceled because of state budget cuts. I’m not sure how I feel about this. I need to shake up my life but maybe yet another degree is not the answer. I love the idea of throwing myself into such a project, and of getting the teaching monkey off my back, but I know I don’t need the degree, on a personal level—intellectually I am not a work in progress. Besides the fun of it, the main reason I’d be doing the degree is to expand my teaching options—for money in other words. I’ve found that whenever I do anything primarily for the money it’s a mistake. My problem is that I’m already who I should be—I have enough degrees—but who I am does not pay. I have many things I want to do, need to do to be happy, to be who I am. But poverty thwarts me. This is the long run could be a good thing. I need to force certain issues in my life, break free from constraints, which are coming from both the outside and from within me. Having few traditional options could be a big benefit—I’ll be forced to cut my own path, a path that could from me from the both kinds of the constraints that hold me. The problem is of course figuring out that path (or perhaps how to continue that path—isn’t this, cutting my own path, something I’ve been doing my whole life) …
Not writing much. The Backwaters stuff has gone fallow. I’ve been playing around with some ideas in my head, but little has made it on paper. The truth is I don’t really want to write much these days. Writing is often about not writing. I’ve found that successful writing comes at the end of things, after certain decisions have been made in one’s life; it’s the finishing touch. Right now things are growing inside me; I’m coming to new conclusions. Any writing I do now (besides here, of course) would just be to fill space, a waste of time, in other words. I think I’ve known this for many months at least, but haven’t been able to admit it. Writers, by which I mean serious writers, have often given up a ton to do what they do—writing is all they have. When the writing stops flowing panic sets it because a writers identity seems to be ebbing with it—and without that identity a writer truly feel to be worthless. I think I’m getting over this fear. If so, this must mean that I’m growing up a bit, that I really understand who I am …
Been reading a book called The Civilization of Europe in the Renaissance, by John Hale. Good stuff, a slow and winding take on many topics of that era. Very erudite. I’m also still slowly working thru my big book of Grimm’s fairy tales. Picked up Selected Poems, by Paul Verlaine, from Oxford World’s Classics (I love their books). I grabbed it mainly because the translation looked good. I’ve been interested in getting into Verlaine for a while, but every time I’ve tried crap translations have quickly put me off. I’ve only read a handful of poems so far, but I think I might finally have found the right edition; the translator is ignoring the rhymes and going for the big-picture feel of the work, which is something I almost always approve of in regards to translating poetry.
There’s still not enough people in my life. S— and E— were in town a couple of weeks ago, which was great. Seeing them, though, made me realize, as it always does, how I’d like to have those close to me closer, geographically; I’m just about the last of my friends who has remained in Southern California. K— is in town from Rome. I haven’t seen her yet, but we’re planning on getting together next week. I’m sure seeing her will stoke similar feelings as those I felt with S— and E—. Again, I need to make some changes in my life …
Lots of weird dreams lately. Not bad dreams, for the most part, just odd—strange swirling stuff whose existence I feel the need to note, but don’t interesting enough that I want to spend the time writing them down. I wish I could sleep more soundly. I’m tired of what’s running around in my head at night …
Busy week, but a very productive one. Somehow, for the first time since the beginning of the semester, I’m not only caught up on my teaching work, but I’ve gotten ahead of the game—I’ve written all my upcoming exams and study guides, made the last of my lecture revisions for the entire semester (with the exception of one lecture). I’ve even managed to clean up my house a bit and catch up on some correspondence. On top of all this I proofread all of Backwaters of Beauty this week (I’m going go thru it once more and then get it to some outside proofreaders). I’ve even managed to work out four of the last six days. One result of this, though, is that I’m now exhausted: it’s only 7:15 on a Saturday night and I’m already in bed, for the night.
I’m not out of it just because of this, though. My seemingly endless sinus infection is still existing at a moderate level. One of the worst aspects of a sinus infection, at least for me, is how draining they are; when fighting them I always feel a little run down and at times I’m completely wiped out. This week featured a lot of the latter. In fact this one’s been a particularly annoying infection all around. In addition to being really tired, I’ve been feeling feverish from time to time and there’s been a lot of pressure throughout the lower part of my face (at times). Most annoying is that my teeth are hurting, (though not as bad today as earlier in the week). This sometimes happens when I get a sinus infection. This time around is a little different, though, in that my lower teeth have been hurting as well. If this thing doesn’t start clearing up soon I’m going to have to see a doctor. Luckily I’ve been planning on setting up an appointment for a checkup anyway.
As usual for this time of year there’s not much going on beside work. Still, I’m trying to squeeze some other things into my life. In addition to proofing Backwaters I’ve been thinking a lot about my writing and where it’s going. I’ve also been thinking about my life in general. I’m almost sure now I’m going to lose the Irvine job at the end of this semester. This is going to force me to move in some new direction, if for no other reason than I need to replace that income. I’ve also found out that the lit graduate program I have been seriously considering going into has been canceled because of state budget cuts. I’m not sure how I feel about this. I need to shake up my life but maybe yet another degree is not the answer. I love the idea of throwing myself into such a project, and of getting the teaching monkey off my back, but I know I don’t need the degree, on a personal level—intellectually I am not a work in progress. Besides the fun of it, the main reason I’d be doing the degree is to expand my teaching options—for money in other words. I’ve found that whenever I do anything primarily for the money it’s a mistake. My problem is that I’m already who I should be—I have enough degrees—but who I am does not pay. I have many things I want to do, need to do to be happy, to be who I am. But poverty thwarts me. This is the long run could be a good thing. I need to force certain issues in my life, break free from constraints, which are coming from both the outside and from within me. Having few traditional options could be a big benefit—I’ll be forced to cut my own path, a path that could from me from the both kinds of the constraints that hold me. The problem is of course figuring out that path (or perhaps how to continue that path—isn’t this, cutting my own path, something I’ve been doing my whole life) …
Not writing much. The Backwaters stuff has gone fallow. I’ve been playing around with some ideas in my head, but little has made it on paper. The truth is I don’t really want to write much these days. Writing is often about not writing. I’ve found that successful writing comes at the end of things, after certain decisions have been made in one’s life; it’s the finishing touch. Right now things are growing inside me; I’m coming to new conclusions. Any writing I do now (besides here, of course) would just be to fill space, a waste of time, in other words. I think I’ve known this for many months at least, but haven’t been able to admit it. Writers, by which I mean serious writers, have often given up a ton to do what they do—writing is all they have. When the writing stops flowing panic sets it because a writers identity seems to be ebbing with it—and without that identity a writer truly feel to be worthless. I think I’m getting over this fear. If so, this must mean that I’m growing up a bit, that I really understand who I am …
Been reading a book called The Civilization of Europe in the Renaissance, by John Hale. Good stuff, a slow and winding take on many topics of that era. Very erudite. I’m also still slowly working thru my big book of Grimm’s fairy tales. Picked up Selected Poems, by Paul Verlaine, from Oxford World’s Classics (I love their books). I grabbed it mainly because the translation looked good. I’ve been interested in getting into Verlaine for a while, but every time I’ve tried crap translations have quickly put me off. I’ve only read a handful of poems so far, but I think I might finally have found the right edition; the translator is ignoring the rhymes and going for the big-picture feel of the work, which is something I almost always approve of in regards to translating poetry.
There’s still not enough people in my life. S— and E— were in town a couple of weeks ago, which was great. Seeing them, though, made me realize, as it always does, how I’d like to have those close to me closer, geographically; I’m just about the last of my friends who has remained in Southern California. K— is in town from Rome. I haven’t seen her yet, but we’re planning on getting together next week. I’m sure seeing her will stoke similar feelings as those I felt with S— and E—. Again, I need to make some changes in my life …
Lots of weird dreams lately. Not bad dreams, for the most part, just odd—strange swirling stuff whose existence I feel the need to note, but don’t interesting enough that I want to spend the time writing them down. I wish I could sleep more soundly. I’m tired of what’s running around in my head at night …
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