Done!

I made it! 


Week two of three classes on Tues and Thurs broken only by office hours and the 30 minute drive to another campus with 15 minutes to spare before class (what happens if there's heavy traffic or an accident?).


I came home and excavated some frozen store-bought naan and some long-ago homemade bean-potato-eggplant curry from the freezer (stuck there because there were claims that people didn't like it when I made it--lo--those two months ago, although everyone finished up yesterday), got everyone fed, supervised kid showers and didn't feel dead by 7:30. 


Week 1 found me passed out at 6:30; but Big A was home then and took care of dinner and kids. Still, yesterday with no co-parent backup, I managed it. I did it. I'm reading something for pleasure.  I'm ok.


_

What She Said (2)

This thief--my child.

Her smile 

fills her eyes 

takes my heart

talks.

Rest warm

firecat fears.

Her cool hand 

diadems my brow

girds my sleep.

_

Privately

Flood my blood 
at the edges of bed
our naked feet splinter
saplings, new miracles


Ravines of sheets
spin ghosts of arrival
taut wrist, tattered skin
bud, bury, holler: home


_

Note to Self

If you're involved with the on-campus hospitality for someone who is--quite conceivably--the most famous ecofeminist in the world, perhaps you should make sure that she does not have to drink water out of a disposable plastic bottle. At the podium. While talking about sustainability issues. In front of the--rightly--tittering undergraduates.

That's all.

_

One minute of rant; one moment of funny

So... not a good couple of days. I think I may need more help than sympathetic ears and on-tap multi-generational snuggles. Can't really talk about it because (a) I already growled at my parents when they insisted that I tell them (b) mostly I don't know.

I do have a very strong feeling that my squeaky vocal delivery and my default-setting smiles are interfering with everyone's ability to take my weltschmerzen seriously. That and the suspicion that everyone has fallen for my protestations: Really, you guys! Really! Cooking and cleaning up after and chauffeuring and entertaining a family of six while prepping and teaching and grading three courses (90 students; at least twenty seem to e-mail me every day) is nothing. Really, it's easy!

The teaching and a houseful of family IS fun and I'm sincere about being grateful to be able to do it. Then also, feels like there is something I could/should do to care for myself--but I don't know what. Therapy? A drug regimen? More than six hours of sleep? Not caring if the house looks ready for the photo team from Architectural Digest every fucking minute? That the kids get assigned and balanced calories at every meal? What?

________________________________________

We're listening to the radio stories about 9/11 with tight throats and goosebumps. Amma breaks the spell with an earnest warning that none of us should go downtown today. Our downtown =  < 3500 people. Any terrorist coming for us would have to be lost. Or a total underachiever.

_

Bike Path (Out)

In vain is the art of rain
I'm too far away children.
Children: help yourself. Until

I come for you, elastic-ed back. 

It's only nine miles to Spring-

field on a bike. Can feel longer 

walking, walking, walking,

carrying with me my words.

From either side of summer

robin breast and leaf windfall

commune, conspire to beat

in ongoing song, my surprise

the downfall of buried life--

And awake, even wilderness

becomes shelter, so all alone--

every one inherently memories.

__

Glen Helen (Lost)

I imagined myself walking, 

morning made itself a hike

No one knows where I am.

So no one can help me now

(if they wanted to)

If today I woke up 

some other died 

in my place

(with my face)

These roots for rock

lean on mossy claws.

Open, distance unlocks:

the wrong turn every time 

and lengthens why I'm here.

Become beautiful. Unreliable

--like leaves aged and plaid.

_