I still have not gotten into the rhythm of summer. I've never taught first summer session before, and it is further throwing me off. I feel like I never got my break. I had a week. I spent it in Asheville, sick.
I obsess about having a desk chair where I can sit half-lotus while still comfortably accessing my computer. In fact, I am doing that now...except for maye the comfortably part. And this has little to do with my lack of rhythm, but it is something I often think about when blogging. When I picture myself at my computer, I see myself half-lotus, with a cup of tea by my side. I'm doing this now, but leg just got sleepy/pins 'n needles, so I had to drop it down.
I've been reading "for fun." I feel like it is summer, and that is what people--even academics--do when summer comes. While I traveled, I read two pieces of lesbian fiction: Ann Wadsworth's light, coming back and Michelle Tea's Rose of No Man's Land. I escaped into them wholeheartedly. And was as delighted by Tea's book as I was melancholy over Wadsworth's book. For the flight home I treated myself to a copy of Mark Z. Danielewski's House of Leaves. I've been wanting to delve into this text since Dave introduced me to it, as he's working with it as part of his dissertation. I'm relishing it.
But now I'm not on a plane, and I'm wanting...no NEEDING...to take exams in August, and yet all I want to do is read about this house. All I want to do is read about this house and watch TV and hang out and do nothing. I don't even feel like working out, riding my bike or playing tennis. It's appalling. It's so unlike me. And it's freaking me out.
Oh...at least I've accomplished this:
The garden is in. And I loved every minute of it.
And all I want to do is blog without structure and without academia.
And all I want to do is go house-hunting on the internet. Go to open houses. Dream about what is out of our/my reach.
And eat ice cream.
Sounds like summer.... I guess.