Reading Comparatively: Theories, Practices, Communities

Remember when I wrote last spring about the paper I was researching?  The one about Harriet Beecher Stowe and Margaret Garner?

I'm presenting a version of that paper at our department's upcoming conference, which is titled "Reading Comparatively: Theories, Practices, Communities."  If you want to read more about the conference, you can visit its website.  You can even find me on the program if you look hard enough!

I've been working all day on turning that seminar paper into one I can present at the conference.  Why does it take so long to write a paper that will only take 15 minutes to deliver??  Sometimes academia is crazy-making.  Luckily for me, I'm sitting on the same panel as one of our department's biggest names, so I might have an audience much larger than I've earned by myself (which would include my friend/classmate Katie, a few of my new classmates who were trying to be nice, one or two of my students who pretend to be interested in my research but are really just sucking up, and possibly the professor who already gave me feedback on the original draft).

Robinson Crusoe

As you may know, Defoe's Robinson Crusoe is the story of a man who recounts the monotonous details of his life at an excruciating level of detail because, among other reasons, it makes him feel like what he is doing matters (though he is stranded on a desert island for much of the narrative).  In the spirit of this novel (often called the first novel ever written, depending on how you classify it), I thought I would follow up my last post about a slightly more harried than usual day on campus with a description of what I did yesterday, which was a typical work-from-home day for me.

I woke up at 7am.  I intended to start my day by getting my day's allotment of student paper grading out of the way.  I only made it through three of the six papers I had intended to grade before I gave up to move onto something else.  I showered and got dressed, hoping this would make me feel like my day actually started with the next activity.

Then I got through about 40 pages of Robinson Crusoe before I had to quit that, too.

I read two articles about Katherine Anne Porter's work and typed up their entries for the presentation I'm due to give on KAP on Wednesday.  I emailed the curator of the KAP collection to ask her a question about the letters I read last week, to which she promptly responded with a very helpful answer.

I graded the remaining three papers from the day's allotment.  I formulated a plan for dealing with an act of academic dishonesty and emailed the student to request a meeting.  I considered smashing my head into the desk but restrained myself.

I read 20 more pages of Crusoe.  I cursed Crusoe for feeling the need to be so specific.

I took a 20 minute nap.  It is nearly impossible for me to make it through a day of reading at home without laying down for 20 minutes.  I have been told that my grandfather was narcoleptic, and I don't know if there's a narcolepsy "spectrum" like there is an autism "spectrum," but if there is, I'm on it.  I don't actually need to sleep, really.  I just need to lay down and give myself permission to drift off into sleep, and then I feel recharged.  Usually I am asleep within two minutes and I wake up on my own before the 20 minutes is even up. Sometimes I have brilliant ideas while transitioning from sleeping to wakefulness, but yesterday was not one of those days.

I spent a few hours reading a chapter from Jill Casid's Sowing Empire.  When Billy got home, I reached a stopping point, and we went to the gym.  On the way home from the gym, we picked up a rotisserie chicken at the grocery store.  I made a mental note that grad school is still better than working in a grocery store deli (I used to do this).  I made side dishes to accompany the chicken and Billy, Vickie, and I enjoyed dinner together.  (Verdict: Kraft's new "Homestyle" Mac and Cheese is still inferior to Velveeta Shells and Cheese.)

I finished the Casid article, then read 40 more pages of Crusoe.  Having finished 100 pages by 8pm, I decided I was quitting for the day.  I went downstairs to watch TV with Billy and Vickie until bed.  I felt satisfied that the only thing I had failed to accomplish in my plans for the day were the final 60 pages of Crusoe.  I questioned my level of sanity when I realized that I had assigned myself 160 pages of this dreaded tale in a single day.

In the midst of these activities I sorted, washed, dried, folded, and put away 4 loads of laundry.  It has also been brought to my attention that I ate nearly an entire bag (approximately 25?) chocolate mini-donuts.  I was not aware I'd eaten so many until Vickie and Billy independently lamented the missing donuts.  Over the course of the day I also glanced several times at the 300 page novel I am supposed to finish by Thursday.  I don't have a good feeling about the likelihood that it will be accomplished, but I feel okay about this, because it's a book I will actually look forward to reading over break.

Before I fell asleep I said a mental thank you to my old Graduate School Director, Kandice, for the double course release this year.  Teaching and taking three classes this semester is taking its toll on me, and I am thankful every day that I don't have to do it again next term.

And then I slept.  Well.

Ulysses

As you may know, James Joyce's Ulysses documents a single day in the life of his protagonist.  It's reputation is that it's fascinating but difficult to read (and exceptionally long).  I don't anticipate that this post will be of a length to rival Ulysses, but I thought some of you might wonder what my regular day to day life is like as an overcommitted grad student this semester.  And since I am nearing the end of this crazy, harebrained day, I imagine my prose will make about as much sense as Joyce's but will be must less intentionally obfuscating.

I woke up at 5:45am with Billy because I had to get work done this morning.  Most mornings I try to "sleep in" until 7am, but having to get up early is not an unusual occurrence.

I tried to start the day by reading the essay I meant to read yesterday, but which I didn't have time to get to.  I read the first three paragraphs before deciding it was really important, and I needed to take it seriously, and thus had to push it off until Friday.

I read an article for my Thursday afternoon class because though I'd read the novel assigned, I hadn't read any secondary texts yet.  I had meant to get to them, but I hadn't had time.  I chose the one that was about modernism, and wrote the required post on the discussion board online, which was another thing I had thought I wouldn't get to.  I felt like I had a productive morning.

I drove to work in the pouring rain.  I got to my office, loaded up my bag, and went to teach my freshmen.  Fifteen minutes into class I realized that I'd forgotten all of their handouts, so I had to trek back across campus in the pouring rain to get them.  I had to teach the rest of my class in a clammy, wet state.  It didn't go well.

I went back to my office again.  I ran into a friend I haven't seen in months and couldn't talk to her for more than a few minutes.

I went to the library to read a letter recommended to me by the curator of the Katherine Anne Porter collection.   It was really fascinating and will be useful to my research, but I didn't have time to really think about it.  I made conscious effort to stop and remind myself that this is why I want to be in grad school, even if I don't have time for it this particular semester.

I picked up lunch on my way back to my office and ate it while I met with a student who had asked for help with his writing.  He is writing about net neutrality, so he seems to be speaking a different language, but I am optimistic that he'll be able to help me understand it and I'll end up learning quite a bit from his research.

I went to my own class from 3:30-6.  My professor started class by suggesting that she hadn't gotten a chance to read any of our discussion posts.  Later in the class she said that the essay I read (the only essay I read) is a terrible essay, and is an example of how not to write a critical essay.  I tried to comfort myself by reminding myself that I'd pointed out something I thought was missing from her argument.

I went back to my office to begin this blog entry, but only got about four sentences in.  Katie stopped by and she took a few photos of me for the SSG blog. 

Then we went to our 20th Century Reading Group meeting.  I wanted to go to be with "my people" and to hear my professor talk about his new book.  Plus, there was pizza.  I knew two students were presenting papers, but I assumed my professor would go first and I could leave.  (No offense, ladies, but I'm exhausted!)  I was wrong.  I didn't get out of there until after 8:30 and didn't get home until around 9:30.

I got home and Oscar sat on my lap while I watched The Big Bang with Billy and Vickie. 

I came upstairs to look at the photos Katie took for the SSG blog and they're all blurry.  I answered an email from a student who did not turn in a major assignment today even though I have a policy of not answering emails after 8:30pm.  I realized that I left the powercord to my macbook in my office, so I'll be without a laptop until Tuesday unless I want to waste nearly 2 hours driving there and back to get it.

I sat down to finish this blog post.  And now I am going to bed without even reading through it again.  Every day is not like this.  Sometimes I don't even leave the house, and I get to sit around reading all day.  Saturday I will get to take some time off to go to the Navy game.  But if you happen to catch me on the phone, online, or in person, and I tell you that I have so many things going on that I feel like I'm not doing any of them well, this is why.

Tomorrow's a new day, though.  I'll get up early, brew some coffee, and hopefully the essay I pushed off until tomorrow will remind me why I love grad school despite days like today.

Mourning and Melancholia

It's been one year since Pop passed away.

I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we're still mourning, but we're not trapped in melancholia.  I still miss Pop all the time, but I'm happy to be reminded of him in the little things.

Don't worry about me, Pop.  I'm fine as a frog's hair.

(Freud explains the difference between the two in "Mourning and Melancholia."  Mourning is beneficial and Melancholia is self-destructive and endless, to boil it down to the basics.)