cyclics

Last day of class, tomorrow.  And my reward? A shitload of papers, followed by a shitload of finals, on Tuesday.  If I handle it right (i.e. punish/reward myself sufficiently), I should have it all cleared off my desk by this time next week, so I can abandon the paper I was working on today (*waves cheerily*) and turn to the one I haven't written (*waves warily*) before then turning back to the one I was working on, etc.  The turn around is brutal - a single week of spring break, and then the new quarter, and in that week the two talks and two classes to prepare.  Yes, of course it could be much much worse, and to the one of you who I know reads this with her 4-4 teaching load, yeah, poor little rich kid, etc., but hell, it's my blog and I'll whinge if I want to.  Last year I taught Fall and Winter, and had spring off - I went to England last April, to look at the books (and drink of the pints, if my increasingly saturated memory serves aright).  An email exchange with the friend who probably will never receive the letter, and a friendly reminder that her shit doesn't stink.  And a thought, unexpected, that if I stay here until they've decided they won't make me leave, I'm playing it safe.  Never been my strong suit, safe, even if it's been my weak point (if that makes any sense, and I think it does, if you know what I mean and I think you do).  Why not shove my head in the jaws of a hostile institution halfway through?  Although I should probably finish this book of mine, in that case, and get it out the door and perhaps a polite review or two.  Or, fuck it, burn the shit.  Admit that I have less control over my life as "successful" than I ever did whilst betwixt and between and in the cracks.  And reassert that control by redefining successful.  Or just admit that I'm annoyed I finished the Scotch.  "I'm out of Chivas," he said to a room full of construction workers, staggeringly slightly.  Not me, fools.  Him. To quote M., as N calls him, "Only to read childrens' books / only to love childish things, / throwing away adult things, / rising from saddest looks."