The Particular Sadness of Everything

My birth father has been occupying a peripheral role in my life for the last 2 and half months. As with all long lost people, I've held him out at a distance, admiringly, but not really convinced of his ability to achieve permanence. I have negotiated my life without him up to this point, and we both agree that his not being in my life was better for me. In the least defensive way possible, I don't require much. I have always believed that this is the most advantageous position in a relationship, that if a relationship is going to take, neither person can come to it with needs that overburden the fledgling phase. at the outset I decided that if he ever stopped calling. . .

Chimneys & Tulips

My summer Independent Study has begun! In the context of that IDS, I am exploring five texts: The End of the Alphabet (Claudia Rankine), I Love You Is Back (Derrick C Brown), Otherwise (Jane Kenyon), Teahouse of the Almighty (Patricia Smith), and Chimneys & Tulips (e.e. cummings).

getting used to life on a tree lined street

i've been a bolton hill resident for about two weeks. here's the thing. it's not mt. vernon. do i have a significantly better living space? absolutely. but i can't get anywhere nearly as easily. if life were perfect, this house would exist in the cultural district of my fair city. also, what is up with my achilles tendon? makes life as a pedestrian tres mal.

here's the good news. grades are in: not mine as a student, but mine as a teacher.

i'm starving. no groceries, so i'll have to order something. that's another matter. who delivers to this suburb in the city??!!

also, something wonderful and delicious is occurring to me in waves. ah... ah.... ah...

Life in Boxes: Grading still to do

I've finally done it. I've had the busy grad school semester so many of my friends have bemoaned. During my first grad program, I faithfully took two courses a semester for two years. Even though I worked full time then, too, the workload never got to me; I finished without breaking a sweat. The degree was no cakewalk, but I was only truly time-stretched during the thesis completion semester, but that, too, was manageable.

As I did last semester, I took three classes this term. I continued to work 40 hours a week. And I taught one section of composition that met twice a week. That was the tipping point. Teaching is arguably the most fulfilling thing I've ever done, but in the context of my life as a student and office wonk, I felt filleted. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I have almost no short-term memory. At least I've gotten past my 10-day, lowgrade stomach ache. No nausea or suppression of appetite. Just an ambient pain.

It doesn't help that I'm moving--that by this time next week--I will have already moved. The packing is fairly far along. It's something of a miracle that I can say that; two weeks ago I wasn't quite sure I could see my way to assembling and filling a single box.

You have to understand. Usually when I move, there's a spreadsheet called the Moving Schematic that details by week and date when certain milestone activities should occur (e.g., call magazine subscription services to have address formally changed).

It's been a bit willy nilly this time around, but somehow I'm crossing items off the list of To Dos that exists only in my mind.

How wonderful would it be if by this time next week, I had also fully wrapped up all my grading and my own homework? Not to be. Grades aren't due until the 21st, and one of my own homework assignments isn't due until May 17th. That means I'll be taking grading and writing into my first two weeks at the new place. No clean slates till later in the month.

But. . . but. . . my students. I am always going to remember these 19. I am always going to remember how much they grew as writers, how brilliant they all were, how hard they tried, and how much they made me laugh. What I wished most of all is that I had had more time to give them.

Halfway marks, tearing up at work, and the comma

Spring break is two weeks away. Because I have a 40-hour per week gig in addition to being a student myself, and teaching one section of freshman comp., this doesn't really equate to any sort of vacation for me. It is an indication, though, that we are at the half-way point. I have to turn in mid-semester grades, so I guess I'll need to figure out the drop-dead date for that.

In other news, I've teared up twice at work this week due to some stuff that I blew way out of proportion. Going into it here would be cumbersome and impolitic. I've come back to a rational place and an appropriate perspective, which has made my boss happy.

In other, other news: Today is my half birthday. A coworker gave me a huge bag of Utz Crab Chips to celebrate.

Finally, for now, I've been schooling my writing students on the wonders of the comma. Somehow, they were not as amazed and intrigued as I thought they would be.

On blizzards, stress headaches, and homemade Americanos

This winter, it seems, has some old scores to settle. If we count the mid-December event, we have had 3 blizzards in accord with the technical definition of the term (wind gusts up to 35 mph).

For all of last week, I and the entire mid-Atlantic were marooned. Snowbound. This gift of schedule disruption and stays of execution was undermined considerably by a days' long muscle spasm headache, the onset of which I can trace directly to being on a customer service call with Sprint on the Friday things really started. By Wednesday night, I was still popping 4-5 ibuprofen tablets every few hours.

But I still managed to find the relief and thrill in things as simple as sleeping in.

Before a single flake fell, my sister and I went to get my mom so she could be snowed in with us. I thought that by day 2 or 3, it might be somewhat annoying for all of us. Instead, I have reconnected with the part of me that knows what it's like to be taken care of and wants that more than anything.

As I worked from home, graded students' papers, and generally bemoaned my spasmy headache; she made me lunch, snacks, and rubbed my back. I did not realize how much I had missed her company.

In the evenings when all the three of us and the dog could do was part the slats of the balcony blinds and look out in wonder at our blanketed smothering, I sipped homemade vanilla lattes, cappuccinos, and Americanos and thought, prosaically, about the abundance of everything.

I usually wish deeply for a boy in these situations. What a waste not to be snowed in with the benefit of sexual tension to keep things interesting and cozy. Lately, though, like the grass and seedlings such wants are dormant in me.

So, my girls and I--Mom, C, and our doggie--dug in deep. We watched sitcoms in syndication, wondered when we'd ever get out, and simultaneously hoped that the weather's grip on us would not loosen. Not yet.

hitting my stride

i felt as in my element in my classroom today as i've ever felt anywhere. saw my "almost student" in the hallway after I dismissed my kids, and he said "I wanted to be in your class, but it wasn't to be..." that was sweet.

My First Disappointment

On Tuesday, my freshman composition class met for the first time. The standard syllabus review fare and introductions were all I had on the table, but a few of my students' personalities came through clearly, and I found that I had a strong sense of those kids almost right away.

One of these is a young man who carries in his being earnest mindfulness and acute intelligence. He showed up, as did a few others, at least 20 minutes early, which I appreciated and made a mental note of.

In taking attendance, I discovered that his name wasn't on my roster. And for as much as I hoped it was a mistake due to late registration, I had a sinking feeling that this kid was too advanced for my syllabus.

He asked a question about collective essay events, first of all. My first tip, aside from that mysterious factor x that told me he was set apart. Aside from that, he was in the front row, giving the best, most appropriate indications of paying attention (eye contact, other, nonverbal acknowledgments, small smiles at my lame jokes, etc.). Basically, he was a port in the storm, the person I knew was tracking with everything I said.

Today, after I did some asking and digging, it became clear that he is actually registered for the class that meets after mine in the same room. The Honors Composition class.

I was so disappointed, but also very happy for him that he'll be more challenged and that he won't be understimulated by some of the material that I need to cover, according to pedagogy, for my class section.

bummer, though.

not off to a great start, it seems

turned in my syllabus to department head for review and was told it's fine, but that a few things need tweaking. yet, one of his few comments was about the pacing and scaffolding of lessons. to my mind, this means the whole syllabus needs to change. apparently, kids don't write till they're a month in. granted, i don't remember my freshman writing class, but I would almost swear that we had a paper due at the second week.

i'm not quite sure what to do.

online dating again?

should i bite the bullet and try the dreaded eHarmony?

full interrogating the place i'm in

i've had a few opportunities to see into my own self in the last few months. i've rarely liked what i've seen. the old impulse toward irrational anger, the tendency to control, to not see possibilities, and to stay stuck also remain. i do not think of 2009 as having been a categorically bad year, though it is destined to be thought of as the collection of months when i mostly regressed.

the good things, though, are these:

i wrote about 10 new poems that have somewhere to go
i read my work twice in public
i won a msac individual artist grant
i (grudgingly) left a job where i was stuck and took steps to have the job i should have,
so i'm teaching my first undergrad writing course as adjunct faculty this spring

now to take another step. and do my syllabus. now to take the reins back more fully. now to be more intentionally walking in the right direction.

My Decade MashUp

who's the president?*towers crash*the whale watch from hell*back to baltimore*hellacious commute*hot dog vomiting*blowing chunks in my polyester hair*a job on the waterfront* Introduction to Whole Foods (life is never the same)*dead-end career*apply to grad school*get in to grad school!* professor love muffin*weight loss* father dies* thesis snafu*m.a.*career upswing*almost lose my virginity*finally stop hating black men*sister gets married*weight loss*applying to grad school II*getting into grad school II*sister gets divorced*move in with my sister and the dog*weight gain*obama runs for president*obama becomes president*laid off*unemployment denial*letter to the governor*michael jackson dies*back pay!*pay cut* career downgrade*36th birthday*first college teaching job*

So This Is Christmas (Semester's Over)

I still have about five poems to revise and somehow package/turn in before I can say that I'm really done, but the end is two days away. Last week marked the end of classes, but my poetry workshop instructor gave until this Thursday to hand in revisions. Of course, I have to attend the MFA student reading on the 17th, too, but that will likely feel more celebratory than obligatory.

This particular morning finds me working from home waiting for the fireplace cleaner person to come and... clean the fireplace. Neither my sister nor I felt like arranging to be home to be with the dog, so we decided to forego the service last year. That means we've never used the fireplace. Since we're committed to moving when the lease is up, this could be the last chance for a while.

Guess this means I need one of those little sweeper sets.

where can i really start?

a few days out from thanksgiving, with no preparations complete. but, i have a hair appointment today for the first time since my birthday. my self-esteeem will jump up ten points, which may in turn motivate me to do the things i need to do.

i also have a connundrum. i can start teaching in the spring, but i'd have to have a slightly weird schedule at work. i wanted to broach this topic with my boss yesterday, but there wasn't much time in his schedule to have even a brief conversation. there are pros and cons, but maybe i'll do the thing i haven't done before, which is take the chance.

i know i'll have to work full-time, be a full-time student, and teach (if i do this) twice a week, but isn't that the busy, meaningful life i want?

double o-c

i had a dream last night. i walked out a back door house entrance to set something out into the ocean. at first, i was glad to get away from the assembled group, just to have a breath of fresh air. the tide was coming in, and the water was a little violent. i remember making the mental note that it would be okay, because i wouldn't have to wade too far out to set whatever it was i was letting go of onto a wave that would quickly bear it out to sea.

before i could walk down to the beach, though, the waves quickly became tidal. the length of 16 foot walls at the peak. i stood there, my horror growing as i realized that when this wave crashed, it was going to pull me in and out with it when it receded. my assessment of the situation happened quickly, yet i could not gather myself fast enough to simply go back inside (i was still right outside the door of the house). instead, i grabbed the doorknob. i knew that the water would knock me down, but that holding on to the knob would mean i wouldn't be pulled out--bad, but not an irrevocable disaster.

the water was a dirty brown and green. storm lashed.

Under Wraps

some combination of school work and having nothing to say accounts for the 10-day hiatus from blogging. mostly, though, i've been in a state of waiting to hear about an opportunity. and my mental energy was so taken up with that waiting, that i couldn't find the energy to do much else. i never heard, so of course i've had to come to the obvious conclusion. a no go.

all that aside, i've decided to take a pedagogy course next semester--specifically for students who might want to teach at the university level. between the MA i already have and the MFA I'm just about a year away from, I should be more than qualified when the time comes.

my current thinking is that one way to approach some level of happiness is to maybe decrease my hours (wherever i put in those hours) next fall, and pick up an undergrad class or two. and i'll be off...

Chapter 3: In which the Writer of this Blog Says What She Wants Aloud

Prospects.

Blog world, I have had to be careful. Ever since that news article a few years ago now, when Kate Krupnik and Salimah Perkins officially became one person. More accurately, it was confirmed that we are one in the same. Kate Krupnik, the thin veil over Salimah's thoughts and wishes. And embarrassments and humiliations.

I've occasionally said some true things. Some real things.

Here's something real. Here's something true.

I've tossed my hat into the ring for something and I want it. I'm prepared for it. I'm good enough for it. And I'm open to it coming to me, without equivocation.

In the past, I have stopped short of what I want because I didn't think I was good enough to have it, or I thought I owed someone else my allegiance, or consideration.

If this comes to me, it will be another chance to be faithful to myself, and to own my own sense of promise. I welcome it.

Chapter 2: In Which Kate Krupnik Discovers That If She Were a Typeface It Would Be Helvetica

blog world, do me a solid. don't ask me where i've been. i have been off solving puzzles of no consequence and eating oatmeal. i have discovered the best coffee on the east coast right in my own backyard, and i've had some near misses. i'm in hiding and i'm in plain sight. i've figured out my way around some stuff. i've made my peace with some stuff that i know now will never work out as i'd hoped, and i'm grateful for the things that will. and also, i do not like this cold, spitty rain. the end.

Chapter 1: In which Kate Krupnik ponders Unifying Themes

The weeks immediately following Kate Krupnik's 36^th birthday found her preoccupied with unifying themes. It was the onset of fall—as good a time as any—to throw away scraps of paper, outdated outfits, and to mail in rebates and appliance registrations. This was her gift to the cosmos, she decided. She would be better this year, she would not just say she would be better. She would actually be better. This enterprise involved, among other things, finding a signature fragrance and a suite of supporting products to signify her commitment to the scent. She settled on a coffee brew and grind that was the most agreeable to her palate—something nutty and chocolatey. She would no longer be swayed by these nouveau blends that promised so much in the way of smooth, nuanced sensuality (namely a better life) but delivered something vaguely acrid instead. Oh, she was tired of all that.

The first step is always to take each thing on its own terms. Then you had to figure out your terms. Or was it the other way around? In any case, each party had to come to the table with its non-negotiables already decided. No, you did not want to try to figure that out on the back end. Kate Krupnik would approach every new situation by asking herself "What are the facts as I understand them in this scenario?"

It would likely be tiresome.

But whenever she failed to ask that apparently pedestrian, unimaginative question there was always a nasty consequence. That had been the problem. In the past she'd been just focused enough on the semblance of order, of ducks in rows, that when her attention wandered at the last moment it felt like even more of a tragedy. Really, only occasionally had there been a payoff for her deviations. Not consistently enough to justify making it a way of life. And no wonder. Is it really a deviation to be unfaithful to your coffee brand? On her less moored days, she couldn't be sure.

Tourist in my own city

Another eventful weekend at the Baltimore Chronicles. C went away to points north for the weekend, so Friday night it was just me and the dog and Thai takeout (which I did not share with the dog). She woke me up on Saturday with cute little barks and jumps that translated roughly to "okay, up! time for my walk! i've let you sleep long enough!"

Sarah and I had prearranged to hook up for a bank errand (mine), breakfast, and then to revise an assignment for my Tuesday night class. That took longer than I expected, but we still managed to catch a matinee of the new Fame movie. Really, it was much better than reviews led me to believe.

Then on to the Hawaiian Fusion restaurant for dinner. I hadn't been there in at leaast 4 years, but the entree I had so long ago impacted me so deeply that I ordered it again. Braised short ribs with a deep and abiding cabernet.

Because I was on doggie duty, S stayed at my place on Saturday night. It was cool to be hosting her for once.

Sunday morning we watched the Fame TV show in reruns. S found some new-to-me channel amongst those in my cable suite lineup called "Centric" that was showing back-to-back episodes. Boy, talk about aging badly. The 80s was such a cheesy decade--the first 5 years, especially.

After babygirl's afternoon walk, Sarah and I headed back to the movie theatre to see "Love Happens," which was fine. I had moments of impatience with it for reasons that I couldn't even really decipher. I always root for Jennifer Aniston. I think that's her charm, the charm of all those actresses who excel at romantic comedies: Renee Zellwegger, Sandra Bullock... you want them to have what they want within that tight little construct. "Love" is not a rom com, per se, but it's definitely a film that will appeal more to women than to men.

Deciding that some local adventure was in order, and because Poe is on the brain in this city right now b/c it's his bicentennial birth year (I think that's the reason), we decided to do something Poe-esque. We got a map of the city and wended our way west to his gravesite. There were hours of daylight left, so it was decidedly not creepy. Fresh flowers adorned the monument.

Pushing our luck somewhat, we went a little farther to the decidedly bad neighborhood that surrounds what was his very narrow, 3-story house. We didn't get out of the car, for sure. S took a quick photo and we peeled out.

We finished up at the City cafe before parting ways. I came home afterward to give the dog her evening walk. By the time the little princess and I returned from our jaunt, Crystal was back home.