How to Make a Living.

Orchard labor, thinning (Tonasket)
Parking office clerk (WWU, Bellingham)
Cabin girl, guest ranch (Montana)
Cashier, Jack in the Box (Seattle)
Reference Assistant (UW, Seattle)
Translator/Interpreter (Seattle)
Temp worker (Seattle, multiple corporations)
Office Assistant, Seattle Indian Health Board (Seattle)
Medical Receptionist, Seattle Indian Health Board (Seattle)
Side, Herfy’s (Bellingham)
Campus Security officer (WWU, Bellingham)
Desk clerk, YMCA (Bellingham)
Day prep worker, Taco Time (Bellhingham)
Teaching Assistant, Art History (WWU, Bellingham)
Teaching Assistant, Art History (USC, Los Angeles)
Note Taker (USC, Los Angeles)
Green ceramic ware cleaner (Tonasket)
Teaching Assistant, Art History (UO, Eugene)
Night Janitor (UO, Eugene)
Translator/Proofreader (UO, Eugene)
Temp worker (UO, Eugene)
Billing Clerk (UO, Eugene)
Customer Service Rep, Symantec (Eugene)
Teaching Assistant, History (UO, Eugene)
Note Taker (UO, Eugene)
Research Assistant (UO, Eugene)
Chauffeur (Bloomington)
Hardware Specialist (IU, Bloomington)
Music Editor, Koreanday (Bloomington)
Electronic Resources Coordinator (IU, Bloomington)
Adjunct Faculty, Design Technology (Ivy Tech, Bloomington)
Construction Manager (Bloomington)
Prime Roller, One World Industries (Bloomington)
Commercial Drafter (Bloomington)
Computer Support, Forest Service (Bedford, Tell City)
Design Assistant (Columbus)
Teaching Assistant, Architectural History (UIUC, Champaign-Urbana)

Parting Gifts.

The best going-away gift I received last week was handed to me quite casually by my therapist. As we were wrapping up my final session, she looked down at her notes and agreed with me that I would be just fine this coming year. "You're meeting your potential, and you are going to do well." As you might remember, living up to my "potential" has always been a big burden for me. I never seem to be able to do it, I always seem to be chasing my potential and just falling short. But, finally, someone has decided that I'm doing enough, I'm maxing out my capabilities, and I should feel good about that.

The worst going-away present I received last week was a parking ticket. I was on my way back to my car with 20 minutes to spare on my meter when a faculty member stopped me to talk to me about her research plans. I kept trying to edge toward the door, but I couldn't bring myself to say, "Hey, my parking meter is about to run out of money, I gotta go!" My meter was 5 minutes expired when I got back to my car, and I had a $20 ticket because of it. It's just annoying, because I am so uptight about putting money in my meter, parking legally, and being responsible, and then, look what happens on my very last day on campus.

Itinerary and Ire

So, my airline tickets to London and Delhi are finally in hand. T-11 days and counting. Every other sentence out of my mouth is "I don't want to go," but it seems that I have to, whether I want to or not. We have the webcams all set up so we can Skype, and Catherine has promised to visit, but I can't seem to stop feeling like this is all one big mistake. I spend all my free time reading cake decorating websites, contemplating a second (third? fourth?) career at the local bake shop. I'm pretty sure I'd be a good cake decorator.

As my departure draws nearer, I find myself growing more and more bitter about the Defense of Marriage Act. It's standing directly in between me and my partner, keeping us apart for twelve months simply because we're both female.

Here's the exact language from the DDRA booklet:

"Dependents
A dependent is any of the following individuals who accompany the fellow to his or her research site(s) for the entire fellowship period if the individual receives more than 50 percent of his or her support from the fellow during the fellowship period: 1) the fellow’s spouse; 2) the fellow’s or spouse’s children who are unmarried and under age 21.

Dependents for whom the fellow is requesting a dependent’s allowance must accompany the fellow to the research site for the entire fellowship period. Should a fellow’s dependent return to the U.S. during the tenure of the fellowship, the fellow will be required to return the full dependent's allowance.

The word "marriage" means only a legal union between one man and one woman as husband and wife, and the word "spouse" refers only to a person of the opposite sex who is a husband or a wife. These definitions are found in 1 USC Section 7, commonly known as the “Defense of Marriage Act” and apply to all federal programs."

So, the fact that Catherine and I have been together for sixteen years means nothing--she doesn't count as a dependent, and doesn't qualify for a dependent's allowance. She could easily get a leave of absence from her job, and the living + dependent's stipend from the DDRA would easily support us both in London and India. But, no. Not straight, not possible. When my friends try to tell me I should be happy for "domestic partnerships" or "civil unions," I offer this as a clear and specific example of why these supposed "separate but equal" institutions are in fact still discriminatory.

A friend of mine who is in the process of applying for the Fulbright-Hays told me just today that she and her boyfriend have decided to get married so he will be considered a dependent. Well, I'm sure they would probably stay together, and even get married in the future, anyway; but the truth is, they can decide to get married because it's practical to keep them together in the next twelve months, reaping benefits denied to me.

Well, life isn't fair, and that's a lesson learned a long time ago, so I can't waste too much more energy on this. But when I'm sitting in front of the television, listening to a presidential candidate who believes civil unions are good enough, and that the federal government doesn't need to do anything to secure my marriage rights, I get angry all over again. It's probably a good thing I'll be spending the two months immediately before the presidential election away from American television and radio.

je ne parle pas français....

...but I still managed to find a hotel just two blocks from the archive I will be using in Vanves in November. I'm just saying.

Actually, I'm just saying because I've always wanted to go to Paris, but last time I had the opportunity, I was too tired to make the trip and I spent the long weekend in Brighton instead. Catherine has promised multiple times that she will visit me while I'm in France, and we've been planning to go to Versailles, since Vanves is only about 18km away, on the western side of Paris. One of the brilliant things about being an architectural historian: as long as you take time to look at a few buildings when you're out and about, it counts as research.

Anyway, I've reserved a studio with kitchenette in an apparthôtel, and couldn't be happier right now, really.

Because I Said So

So, in keeping with my Facebook declaration a few days ago, ("Susan decides to be happier"), I decided to make a list of reasons why I might look forward to a year abroad. Without going into details, I'm always astonished at my therapist's flexibility. Yesterday, that character/professional trait manifested itself in her willingness to serve as a rather amiable and encouraging sounding board for the beginnings of my list. What I've got so far:

Why I Want to Spend a Year in London and India:

• I've never spent time in the U.K. during the fall to winter transition, only spring to summer, high summer, summer to fall; something new to experience;
• The house I'll be living in is in Cockfosters, outside London, an area I've never visited, so a new place to see;
• Cockfosters is on the London Loop, and I've been wanting to do some more walking;
• This year's Serpentine Pavilion will still be in place when I arrive in London;
  
• This will be a chance to introduce more structure into my day, going to the archives at a regular time every day (at least in London)--I can use this as a chance to regulate my sleep/eat/work schedule and stabilize my life a little;
• Three months in one place! Followed by another three months of one place, and then another, and then another. Three months in one place sounds impossibly grand to me right now;
• An opportunity to see more of India: live in the Thar Desert for three months, finally visit Jodhpur, Jaisalmer, take a long weekend to Chennai, Mumbai or Goa;
• Reconnect with favorite Indian places and people: go back to Jaipur for a weekend or two, back to Ujjain, Varanasi, spend more time in Delhi;
• An opportunity to change my diet; although I've been living far away from vending machines for the past few months, it will be nice to be living some where with few processed foods to seduce me;
• Doing this puts me closer to the completion of the dissertation, and closer to my goal of leaving academia;
• This will give me a chance to regain the confidence and independence I discovered last summer in India;
• Networking. This seems like a good opportunity to meet other Americans working in my field; the more people I talk to now, the more likely it is that I will find a job--in or out of academia--in the future;
• A year without a car! Writing as someone who has put 14,232 on her vehicle since January 15, I can say I am very much looking forward to 368 days of Shank's mare and public transportation. I can't promise that I won't ever purchase bottled water when I'm in India, but even so, my carbon/resource footprint should drastically shrink over the next several months;
• I'm much more likely to bump into Preity Zinta on the street if I'm in India than if I'm in Bloomington, Indiana or Rantoul, Illinois [that one's for you, Beth].
• Both of my major fellowship awards come with a book-buying budget. I can finally buy all those books I need for my dissertation instead of relying on the library's copies.
  

Why I Do Not Want to Spend a Year in London and India:

• A year away from home, are you fucking kidding me?
• I miss the cats already, will they even remember who I am when I return home? What if something happens to Jackie while I'm gone?
• What is something happens to Catherine, and I've wasted what could have been good times together on archival research about which I don't really care?
  
• Living apart for 368 days is definitely going to put stress on my relationship;
• Reuniting after living apart for 368 days is definitely going to put stress on my relationship;
• My father's health--what if I don't see him again before it's too late?
• I don't even want a Ph.D. It feels like I'm doing this for some reason other than "I want to," and I'm pretty sure that's the wrong reason;
• I hate all people, and I'm pretty sure I'll have to talk to some of them in the next year;
• I'm really not a big fan of Indian food, unless it's dal makhani or veg jalfreezi. It's going to be a long year of no tomato soup or popcorn;
  
• What if I get sick, and there I am, out in the great Thar Desert, all by myself, unable to communicate? What if something really, really bad happens?
• A year of lack. While this is good in terms of my gas consumption, it will be difficult in terms of a lack of: privacy, access to clean water, friends, my native language, familiar objects, etc.
  

Back to Work

Apparently the airlines know all about me. Our reservation reference number for our flight to Washington state last week was LEZKWR. That's some sort of coincidence.

Today is my last day of vacation. I've been working off and on all month, in five-minute to five-hour spurts, but beginning tomorrow, I will start following my 32.5 hour work schedule (3 hours of writing in the morning, 3.5 hours of "miscellaneous academic tasks" in the afternoon. I've got to stop this practice of sitting down for five minutes to do a task, only to discover eight hours later that I've lost the entire day to research. That kind of behavior makes me angry and resentful, and quickly reminds me why I hate my chosen career path. If I want to make it through the long haul, I need to start forcing myself to work within pre-set limits. I've downloaded an electronic timer, and as soon as I finish this post, I'm going to install it. Write for three hours in 50-minute blocks and then STOP. Research/academic tasks for three hours in 50-minutes, with an additional 30 minutes of wrap up time, NO MORE.

Anyway, as I said, today is my last day of vacation. We've just returned from eight days with my parents. We tarred the garage roof, painted the wheelchair ramp, mowed the front lawn, helped my brother build a new dog fence, ran a billion errands, went over to the Methow to explore Pipestone Canyon and drive up Eight Mile (ran into snow before the end of the road), went up the Sinlahekin, had dinner with my best friend from my hometown, visited with three aunts and two uncles, and watched too much TV. We flew into Spokane on the clearly omniscient Frontier Airlines via Denver, and I have to say, for an airline experience (of which I have WAY TOO MANY), it was pretty nice. Avis Rentals, however, will be hearing from me soon--what kind of car rental agency sends you off in a 4-wheel drive with transmission fluid in it? Did they think I wanted to get stranded out in the middle of the forest with frozen gears?

So, back to the grind. A list of tasks to be completed tomorrow afternoon:

Writing Session

1. Literature review notes
2. Adapt fellowship to intro
   

Afternoon Work Session

1. E-mail M.D.
2. SSRC-IDRF bio/abstract
   
3. Article revisions
4. Make copies of dissertation writing workshop forms
5. Find JS book!
6. Overdue library book
   

After Work

1. E-mail L.S.
2. Call tree surgeon
3. Trim photos
4. Pick up paint chips
5. Mail insurance papers
6. Check medivac insurance policies
7. E-mail Ayse re: bills
   

The Where We Were

Since my wife is out of town, and the novel I'm reading isn't holding my attention, I think this would be a good time to take stock of where I'm at, what I'm doing, where I'm going these days. I had lunch earlier this week with the principal architect of the firm at which I was working before going back to school, and I feel like that closed some sort of cognitive loop for me. So, let's see...

Three years of coursework, complete. I have learned an incredible amount of *stuff* over the past three years. Let's face it--when I started the program, I could barely find India on a map. I couldn't tell you the first thing about even the Taj Mahal. In three years, I've managed to learn a foreign language, start on two others, spend two summers in India, demonstrate competency in two unrelated exam fields, present at three conferences and one graduate symposium (four different papers), win two paper prizes, have an article accepted for publication, and successfully defend a dissertation proposal.

I've traveled to Minneapolis/St. Paul, Madison, WI, Los Angeles, Chicago, Pittsburgh, Savannah, Washington, D.C., and Cincinnati to look at/learn more/talk more about architecture. I've managed to win a Critical Languages Scholarship, a summer FLAS, an academic year FLAS, a Fulbright-Hays DDRA fellowship, an SSRC-IDRF fellowship, two Graduate College Conference Travel Grants, a National Science Foundation Travel Grant, one Graduate College Dissertation Travel Grant, and several fellowships/grants within the School of Architecture. I've put in the hours to complete the campus Graduate Teaching Certificate. I've worked as a Teaching Assistant for the introductory course in architectural history, and I've planned an upper-division course on Indian Architecture to hopefully be taught before I leave this place.

I've talked back to a senior scholar in front of a room full of my colleagues. I've gotten into an emotional argument with a full professor during a doctoral colloquium. I have alienated graduate students in multiple departments on campus because of my unwillingness to listen to stupidity during seminars. I have earned the respect of one or two professors for the same reason. I have managed to hold on to just one friend among all the graduate students in my own department, and made a spectacular friend from the faculty in another department.

I have lost my flash drive twice, and recovered it twice. I have fallen asleep in my library carrel and failed to wake up before my afternoon class. I have received some of the highest praise I have ever heard about my work, and I have received the worst grade I've ever earned in a graduate course. I have fallen asleep behind the wheel of my car while commuting between home and campus, and I have run over a small animal making the same commute after dark. I have gotten lost driving from the apartment to campus in a blizzard. I have been frightened beyond belief by the sound of a snowplow passing over my head while in an underground room of the library. I've arrived home at the end of the week and burst into tears by way of greeting.

I have gained forty pounds. I have lost thirty pounds. I have gained fifty pounds. I have eaten food I don't even like from vending machines in the middle of the night. I have enjoyed eating a great deal of tomato soup. I have retreated from my own hysteria into the comfort of a warm plate of risotto at a local restaurant more than once. I have visited the campus clinic after falling on the sidewalk (twice), for treatment of giardia (twice), and for treatment of whooping cough (countless numbers of times). I have had surgery on my left shoulder, and flexed the collar bone on my right shoulder. I have gone to the student counseling center in crisis (twice), and have spent an obscene amount of money on regularly scheduled therapy sessions.

I have realized (belatedly) that only I will be able to call a halt to this entire process. I have decided that I want to be an academic. I have decided that I would rather put a gun to my head and pull the trigger than be an academic. I have driven as far north as Kankakee and as far south as Effingham while attempting to run away from home and my life. I have lost contact with most of the people I considered friends three years ago. I have lost an aunt, an uncle and a cousin to old age and disease. I have dealt with the extended and terminal illness of my father. I have learned how to grieve in twenty second bouts of tears while riding in the elevator of the main stacks, and during two hour sessions of sobbing while driving on the interstate.

I'm not sure I can really take three more years of this lifestyle. Everything that looks like a success seems to be propped up by a devastating amount of sacrifice. In September, I will leave home and country for twelve months overseas, with no allowance for returning home outside of a death in the family or health crisis. I can easily say that it hasn't been worth it, it hasn't been worth it since about 1/2 way through my first year. But I also don't seem to have the guts to stop myself, and the system doesn't seem to be doing anything to stop my forward progress, either. So, I have three years to finish up the next part of this task, complete my research, write and defend my dissertation. I can't believe that I will ever give myself permission to quit, and at least a small part of me wants to see if I can do it, even if I leave academia immediately after depositing my dissertation with the graduate college. Check back with me in three years, maybe you'll find another "my life in summary" post just like this one.

Something to look forward to, right?

Still, Don't Touch My Ankle, Okay?

Last week I was complaining about therapy (otherwise known as "talking endlessly about myself and my problems in repetitive circles even when my wife is trying to watch TV"), and it occurred to me that instead of just having some therapy for my brain, I should have some therapy for my body. So, I looked around for a reputable massage therapy place in town and made an appointment. As it turns out, massage therapy costs exactly 1/2 the price of psychotherapy on an hourly basis. I'm thinking--I could have have a relaxing two-hour massage by a stranger for the price of a painful one-hour conversation with a different stranger, that seems like a win-win situation to me.

Anyway, it's a good thing I had a massage scheduled for yesterday afternoon because yesterday morning I did a faceplant on the running trail at Thomson Park. I'm still waiting for the X-rays to come back on my ankle, but I'm guessing it's not broken. I'm also guessing that without that massage in the afternoon, I wouldn't have been able to get out of bed this morning. You try skidding along asphalt on your face and see how quickly you jump out of bed the next day... A stupid way to start my summer vacation, that's all I can say.

Well, I'm not officially on vacation. I have some article revisions due with the journal editor this Friday, but I can't do anything more on that until I get back to Illinois on Wednesday. And I have some minor revisions to make on my dissertation proposal before Friday, but again, I can't do anything until I get back to Illinois on Wednesday. So, I'm on vacation until Wednesday, apparently. Then I have to jump back in with both feet--do both sets of revisions, meet with a dissertation committee member, meet with my therapist (or swap that meeting out for a long massage? Tempting.), make myself more smart. Unfortunately, the golf game I had planned for Thursday a.m. is not going to happen for another 4-6 weeks.

You know what?

This has been a really, really tough week. I'm not sure I understand why--I should be happier than happy, and yet I've gone on two good crying jags in the past four days.

Take Tuesday, for instance.

I got out of bed tired and anxious because this was the day I was supposed to present my research in the doctoral colloquium (the day before my oral exams, what's that about?). Transitioned from anxious to irritated after checking my e-mail. Moved from irritated to relieved when I arrived on campus to find out that I had received a dissertation travel grant. Went into the colloquium feeling pretty confident, only to get into a ridiculously stupid argument with a member of the faculty. Spent three hours feeling furious and hurt. Followed that up with an afternoon of crashing through therapy, and in the evening I found myself crying in the kitchen while Catherine tried to make dinner. Pulled myself together, blew my nose, checked my e-mail, only to find out that I had received a major research fellowship. How many ups and downs can one very fragile graduate student take in one day? Not very many, as it turns out.

There is no sleep happening at my house. Tuesday night I slept for a total of two hours, dragged myself to campus for my oral exams Wednesday morning. Everyone will be glad to know that I advanced to candidacy before noon. Exhausted and relieved and glad I never have to go through that again. Had a very nice lunch with a friend, couldn't put two words together to form even teh shortest of sentences, and crashed again afterward. Made the mistake of checking my e-mail only to find out that I received a second research fellowship. Upward swing, crash again, another night of no sleep.

What day is it today? Still Friday, I think. Third night of no sleep. Yes, we felt the earthquake, but no, it didn't wake us up because we were already awake. I had just finished my second major crying fit. Reality hit about 3 a.m. Thursday night/Friday morning--having this research fellowship means 9 months away from home, no return visits allowed. The second fellowship offers me the opportunity to extend that 9 months to 12 or even 15 months. I can't turn that down, can I? Even if it means I won't be able to visit my family unless someone dies?

People do talk about post-exam or post-defense depression, but I'm not sure I'm there yet. I'm just exhausted from too much talking, too much thinking, too much emotion. I'm planning on staying in bed until Tuesday (therapy beckons). Then I'll try to sort through all the possibilities for my life and make some decisions.

After all, if they make a Pocket Diva...

Okay, time for a quick update.

Last night I found out (after a two week delay!) that I passed my major field exam. Add that to the pass on my minor field exam, and that equals...hm...let's see...1 pass + 1 pass = 2 passes. All I need to do now is pass the oral exam next week. Oh, yeah, and go to London for 3 months to do research. Oh, and go to India for 6-8 months. Oh, and there's that dissertation to write afterward, too. But let's keep it in the short term for now, okay? 1 + 1 = 2.

Yes, I'm relieved. There must be something else (happiness?) in the emotional mix, but mostly I'm just glad the writing is done and that I don't have to re-take the exam in August. I think what I'm enjoying most about passing are the reactions of everyone around me. I was pretty sure I failed (and indeed, although it was a pass, my advisor did agree that I kind of dropped the ball at the end of the exam), so the past two weeks have been pretty stressful for me. Not as stressful as for everyone around me, though, if their responses to my news are anything to go by. Catherine has been saying, "Congratulations! I'm so proud of you, honey!" on a non-stop loop. Dana sounded so happy and relieved that I suspect she had already resigned herself to my failure. Beth pretty much exhausted all the exclamations points available for the writers in the year 2008, and told me I was झकास! My therapist had asked me to call her and give her my exam results if they ever arrived, and I dutifully left a message on her office phone this afternoon. She returned the favor, leaving the kindest congratulatory message on my cell phone that you could imagine receiving from a counselor.

And this leads me to another thing I've been thinking about: I must say, "My therapist said..." 1000 times a week. I should start using her real name, instead of talking about her like an object I keep in my pocket. Hmmm...pocket therapist. That would make a *great* action figure. Gotta get me one of them.

But you said!

Mmmm....changing minds, the bane of the graduate student's existence.

I've finished one exam. When I sat back, I thought, "Okay, I think I passed." But just a couple of minutes later, I realized I'd left a big theoretical whole right.....*there*. And then I realized I'd left another one...*over there*. And so on. A friend of mine who is also a faculty member told me that's how all qualifying exams work. She says the point is that I sat in my library carrel and read what I was supposed to read, not that I turned out a perfect exam. There's no second reader for this thing, so I'm going to have to hope the my minor field advisor thinks the same way my friend does.

Anyway.

Looking ahead (definitely not forward to) to the next exam, trying to convince myself it's not just a pointless hazing ritual. Because I really think it is, no matter what anyone else says.

Let's Hope.

Okay. So, I've been completely stressed out about my minor field exam (among other things). I'd talked to my minor field advisor about what to expect generally, and I thought I had a good handle o what the possibilities were for questions. Then, a few weeks ago, she handed me a piece of paper and said, "This is more or less what your exam question will look like." It was nothing like I'd been expecting, and in fact, none of the reading I'd done really addressed the question. That was kind of bad, since I'd JUST THAT DAY finished reading everything from the minor field bibliography.

Anyway, I've been trying not to think about it actively, just let my mind spin with in those hours after 3 a.m. when I can't sleep from anxiety. Today, I finally deliberately let myself think about it, and lo and behold, I think over the past few weeks I've come up with something of an answer when I wasn't really paying attention. Let's just hope she doesn't change her mind in the next 10 days.

1 almost down, 3+1 to go.

Wow. My office is clean. And it wasn't just me procrastinating, because I'm feeling pretty motivated to study for my exams these days (fear of failure will do that to you). But it was pretty clear that finishing the penultimate draft of my dissertation prospectus would be easier if I could actually find the article I needed to cite, so I finally filed everything away in its proper place. My number one goal for the summer is to catch my bibliographic software up to my file cabinet, cross-reference everything, but in the meantime, I'm just happy to see the floor of my office again.

If only my mind was so uncluttered.

Plus, even though no one is answering the phone, I think I should get some sort of karmic credit for trying to make a phone call in Hindi.

It's kind of like a gambling addiction, isn't it? Even though you know the payout will never, ever cover the investment you put in to game, you keep playing. Why do addicts do this? More importantly, why do *I* do it?

Today I had a quite serious conversation with a colleague who shall rename nameless in order to protect her (although, since I only talk to 3 people in Illinois, your odds of guessing the right name are pretty good) about possibly developing a drinking problem. We're both suffering from insomnia, in slightly different forms, and both of us have been looking for ways to cure this problem. In my case, I've even starting seeing a therapist (NEWSFLASH: Therapy *causes* insomnia). At any rate, I said that I'd been thinking about having a drink in the evenings because it might help me sleep, but then I was afraid that if I had one drink today, then surely by tomorrow I would need two, and by the weekend, I'd need three. Well, we can see where that would lead. And my colleague said in all seriousness that she'd been having the same conversation with herself. A drink would help, but we can't take one, because we're both afraid of what seems like an inevitable drinking problem.

Now, I ask you--if you're sitting around in the evening thinking, "God, I need a drink!" and you DON'T EVEN DRINK, shouldn't this be taken as a sign of some sort? Shouldn't you stop doing whatever it is you've been doing to push you to contemplate the benefits of alcoholism in the first place?

I suppose I could take advantage of the blizzard blowing outside my back door to catch up on a semester's worth of news...but apparently I'd rather lie on the couch and read a novel. Anyway, I think it's going to take a few more days before I stop feeling....feeling what? Can you feel anxious and numb at the same time? I've been living five minutes at a time for so many weeks, now that I am healthy enough to look *at least* ten minutes into the future, it would appear that I've forgotten how. Hopefully, a few more days of couch time will sort that all out. Not kidding, I just realized I was sitting here in my chair, rocking back and forth like the autistic child from the ABC After School Special. Truly whack, I am.

Signs that I've been seriously out of touch this semester: I had a paper due yesterday at 2:00. 48-hours before that, two of my e-mail accounts starting sending me automatic reminders: "Travel Paper Due, 2:00, 12/14/07." Yesterday morning at 8:30, I heard strange music coming from the office. I came upstairs to find my cellphone playing a tone I'd never heard before, and flashing an announcement at me: "Travel Paper Due 2:00! Travel Paper Due 2:00!"

The thing is, I didn't even know my phone could do that. I mean, I know I can set a basic alarm, but I can make it remind me of due dates, too? I had no idea. Even worse, I have absolutely no recollection of setting up those auto-reminders in not one, but two, e-mail accounts. Obviously, at some point earlier in the semester, I was seriously worried that I was going to fuck something up before all this was over, and I went to a bit of trouble to try and keep that from happening (Note to self: next time, remind yourself about writing a 20 page paper more than two days before the due date--when were you planning to do the research for that paper? The night before it was due?). And yet, I remember none of it. It's hard to believe I thought I was going to forget an entire research paper, especially since I only had one class this semester.

I think I'll go back to rocking now.

Well, the sign outside the conference hotel in Savannah heavily suggested that we would be seeing some alligators. Or, at least, that if we did see some alligators, we should not feed them. The trip was a failure in that we didn't see even a single alligator.

Just so everyone knows: driving on the interstate across Georgia in a rainstorm is a BAD IDEA. You remember the night the lights went out in Georgia? Well, apparently they stayed out, because it's the darkest damn state I've ever seen. I mean, the astronomer in me hates light pollution, right? But my god, would it kill you all to put a street light or two near the off-ramps? I think your road-side commerce numbers would take a dramatic leap upward if you did. I'm just saying that I'm not getting off the interstate during a rainstorm in the black of night if I can't see what might be waiting for me. Just saying.

We did eventually pull off into the great dark night and get Catherine some boiled peanuts.

The conference was fine, and I learned a thing or two. It was fun having Jim around even though we only attended one session together (and he was late and then left early). Catherine apparently had a good time learning the history of Savannah. That's another thing--you want to know how to tell when you're over-interpreting your town for tourists? When you feel compelled to put up a sign telling everyone where Oglethorpe pitched his tent, that's when. In case you're all wondering where that might be, the sign/bench is in front of Hyatt Regency Hotel on Bay Street (see the Oglethorpe Bench Monument here). I'm serious. I have been trying to think of a more intensely interpreted location, and I just can't think of one. Possibly Gettysburg, but a) you need all the signage you can get to understand troop movement at Gettysburg and b) I still think Savannah has more.

On the way home, we stopped at Chick/Chatt (although we only saw the Chick part of that relationship). I think this is our first Western Theater battlefield, and I liked it enough that I'm writing my heritage paper (due Friday!) on it. Well, Chickamauga and the nearby lost battlefield of Franklin, Tennessee. We couldn't quite force ourselves into the tourist hell of Lookout Mountain (SEE RUBY FALLS), but plan to do it before we leave the Midwest.

There's probably other stuff I could write about if I tried a little harder. Churchill's Pub serves a good beer (says Catherine), as does Moon River Brewing Company (acoustics aren't great at Moon River, but it's your chance to eat in a building that a) is directly adjacent to a demolition site and b) once lost its roof to Hurricane David. I ate two pralines in two days. Over-priced, but good. The shipping traffic on the river is awesome. There was a dead body found in a nearby hotel. Catherine met a nice guy named Mr. Duncan who has a map shop with his wife (conveniently named V & J Duncan Antique Maps, Prints & Books). She bought me two maps of India (one from 1906 and one from 1860) and an 1858 restrike of an engraving depicting a Holi festival. We found out that Nashville, TN is only a 5-hour drive from Bloomington. We found out that Savannah is more like a 15-hour drive from Bloomington (Mapquest lies).

So that's it, then. My boss handed me my last paycheck, thanked me for my work, and shook my hand in farewell. One year of work--finished. I feel a little sad, because these past two weeks, with the clock running out, I liked my job. It was a lot like it was at the beginning, with a lot to do, much to be taken care of. I'm consoling myself with the knowledge that my affection for this position surely would have been short-lived; reality has a way of showing up again in the end.

My boss is going to be in a world of hurt without me, I can say that. I don't think he's realized how much I've been doing around here. Even worse, I don't think he realized how much more I could have done, if only he'd given me the chance. His loss. Now he doesn't have anyone to help him. Not that I'm irreplaceable, but he'll have a hard time, I think. I'm proud of what I've done in the last year. It's a heady feeling, looking around a construction site, knowing that a certain wall is located just where it is because I told them to put it there. I could have had them put it a half-inch or a half-foot in the other direction, but I didn't. Good, strong stuff.

Anyway, that's over and done with, and we'll just have to see what happens next.

On a partly un-related note, I've decided this is a good time to take an extended vacation from the chore of updating this page. I've been keeping an online life chronicle for four years now, and I stopped learning about myself in the process of doing it about two years ago. For the past six months or so, this journal has been limping along on crippled legs. For the last two months, it's been kept alive only by the internet equivalent of an iron lung. This seems like the right time to let it go for awhile. Feel free to check back in a few months--only about half of the goodbyes in the world turn out to be forever.