intermission

Weekends have begun to feel like intermissions during a long play. They're a brief break to stretch my legs, use the bathroom, chat, gather yourself, figure out with tact who's coughing (or tapping her foot directly behind you) take care of any business (email, text, note to self), figure out plans for afterwards. And, then sometimes, I just keep my seat unless somebody needs to pass by me. This weekend was a hybrid between business and rest: I began a pants project (measured, cut the pieces, began sewing the tops together (wool and lining separately)) and did some final measurements for the vest.

Rest came as lunch with a friend, two movies (You've Got Mail and Four Feathers), dinner with my sister and my mom. I didn't even read. The fact that I got so little work done leads me to believe that I'm unconsciously expecting a snow day on Monday. An entitlement mentality does me no good. I've read enough Aesop's Fables to know that.

I made a hard decision: no Italy. I can't afford it: the economy is horrible, I'm not tenured (there's no guarantee I'll have a job next year), my student loans carry on (they make me see the positive side of inflation), I have trip planned for April and June already, I don't have a real summer job lined up-- very sketchy. My priorities need to have an air of prudence to them. I'd love to go to Italy, but it's not going to be Summer 2009.

Lenten update: I stuck to my limited internet use except for today. However, I didn't use the extra time to read my Bible. I used it to spaz out or sleep. Now, I need to convert the time to good-- it's not enough to clear the schedule.

Schedule Update: my work week was stressful: I can feel it in my neck and shoulders-- at least it's not to the point that I'm nauseous. My afternoon block was out of control and spiteful. And there's colleague conflict. It's as if I get into this painful, defensive crouching posture mentally and emotionally. I'm drained. I need to be reading my Bible and praying more. Friday night I had a great time serving homeless people dinner with my small group and hanging out with M & B.

Work highligt: I had my student's write a metaphor for hope in response to Emily Dickinson's "Hope is a thing with feathers." One kid wrote that hope was a set of car keys. You need your car keys in order to go anywhere, but sometimes you lose them. Yet you inevitably find them. I've been thinking about the metaphor a lot. It's brilliant... and I helped facilitate it. It makes my aching shoulders somewhat worth it.