Limbo No More

Seems I have at least one loyal reader - so I will end her suspense. Yes, I got the job. I did many versions of the happy dance yesterday. Many versions included flailing arms like Kermit the Frog. Oh yes, I waved my hands in the air. I waved them like I just didn't care. It looked a lot like:

I have to admit that it's taken a while for this to sink in. Starting in August, I'll have a permanent job doing something that I really enjoy. OK, yes, students can be frustrating, infuriating, maddening, and tragic. But, on most days, on balance, it's a pretty good life. I get paid (not enough) to do something that I really like to do and that I think I'm pretty good at - if you can believe my students' evaluations.

By some miracle, I managed to quit a perfectly good, but unsatisfying career, embarked on a new adventure that turned out to be a LOT of work, and ended up right where I want to be. If I didn't believe in divine forces before, I sure do now. So, Susan Boyle, you live your dream, and if you don't mind, I'll live mine, without You Tube.

Best of all, this new job means I can live right where I want to be. As I watch friends take jobs far away from family and community, I know that I am very lucky. As I watch friends take jobs in the armpits of various states, I know that I am very, very lucky. Speaking as a former army brat and longtime gypsy, I can't believe that I don't have to pack up and move. Not next month, not next year, not ever. I can stay put. I can put down roots. I can make a life here. I might go nuts and buy a house (gasp). I don't have to try to find a new doctor, dentist, or hairdresser. I don't have to find boxes. It's about damn time.

I know that there will be days when this new job will be challenging and stressful. When I quit my old job, I said, "Every job comes with crap. You just have to decide which crap you're willing to deal with." I'm a regular Confucius, I know. From what I can tell, this academic job comes with less crap than most. I'm willingly giving up the big research university salary for easier tenure requirements and quality of life. I've reached a point in my life where I don't want to work all the damn time, and I don't want to bounce around from school to school so I can slave and sweat my way up the academic ladder. Nope, I'm happy teaching basic history courses at a small state college where the faculty aren't trying to cut each other's throats (at least they didn't try to during the interview, which is more than I can say for the faculty at my graduate school.)

I can only hope that my graduate school friends and current colleagues in visiting positions find permanent jobs right where they want to be. That will be a very happy day.

Limbo

No, this isn't a blog entry about shimmying under a pole. Instead, it's a blog entry about misery. I don't function well in limbo. Not well at all. Here's the back story: Last week, I did my first campus visit - the second round of hazing for academic positions. The interview was for a full-time teaching position at the state school where I adjuncted last spring. It was a full and exhausting day, made easier by the fact that I already knew someone on the search committee, everyone else was very nice and personable, and I'd managed to put together a cute outfit. I got through my teaching demonstration without falling down, insulting a student, or losing my voice (all major accomplishments, considering the state I was in - and I don't mean Georgia). I got positive feedback from the search committee and felt good as I drove away.

Two days later, I completed the grand tour by visiting the satellite campus close to my house. The fellow who I knew best showed me around and the interviews seemed to go well. As we parted ways, the fellow said, "You should be hearing soon, one way or the other."

I expected to hear this week. It's now 4:55PM on Friday, so I'm thinking that they're not going to call today. The "one way or the other" continues to ring in my ears and I've just about convinced myself that I somehow, someway, did or said something stupid and lost my chance at this job. I'm hoping the delay is related to some snag in the bureaucratic administrative process. I'm hoping the delay is not related to the fact that they are too chicken-sh** to call or email, so they're sending a snail mail letter to tell me that they found someone better. That would send me right over the edge.

All is not lost. If this doesn't work out, chances are very good that I can return for another year at Big City University. But, man, to be in a permanent position that allows me to stay put right where I want to be...

I don't do well in limbo. Even when I have lots of papers and quizzes to keep me company. I can manage about 5 minutes of not thinking about whether they've emailed, or whether the phone will ring. I can manage about 3 minutes without raging self-doubt and second-guessing. I can manage about 2 minutes without wanting to throw my phone through the wall.

Maybe Monday...

More Signs of Spring

It's still Spring in the southland. We've had beautiful weather for the past few days - no humidity, temps in the 70s, bright blue skies. Perfect. We'll all remember these days when it's as hot as the surface of the sun in August.


Over the past few days, I've also taken note of another sign of Spring, namely the outrageous amount of clutter and disarray in my home office. Because I live 75 miles from my campus office, I do most of my work from home. The campus office is where I hang out between classes. As a result, the normal amount of crap that is in your office is in my house. Fortunately, it is largely confined to one room - the largest bedroom in the apartment.


However, I know that the end of the semester approacheth because I can no longer see any flat surface in my home office. Allow me to present the evidence:


This is my desk. Note the stacks of books and papers that haven't found a home, and probably never will. Note that they are blocking access to the file cabinet. In other words, none of that stuff is in the file cabinet because I can't open the drawer. And, I have a problem with "out of sight, out of mind." Once something goes into a cabinet or on a shelf, it ceases to exist. Most people develop object permanence around age 3. Not me, apparently.


Also, note the stacks of papers on the corner of the desk. In case you're wondering, I don't have any idea what's in that stack. I simply pile more stuff on top of it when I'm working and hope that the stack doesn't become top heavy. Someday, I'll sort through that stack. Someday.


Moving on...

This is my dissertation. Well, it's part of the dissertation. If you look closely at the right side of the other file cabinet with blocked drawers, you can see the last 2 file boxes. When I was writing the dissertation, I kept all of my files in these boxes for easy transport. And, the boxes are transparent and when I open the lid, I can see all the files. No need for object permanence. The boxes are organized by archival collection and by region.


Note the files in the front of the file box. Those are the overflow files. They should have a home. They don't - because I ran out of room in the boxes and never bought another box. So, there they sit, like red-tabbed step-children while all the other files nestle in their army-green hanging folders. (By the way, there are 3 more file boxes in the closet - but since they are behind a door, I don't ever think about them.)

Note also the HUGE stack of paper in front of the file cabinet - the mound that's blocking access to the drawers. It's my "recycling/shredding" pile. It's been right there for well over a year. It is the remnant of my last attempt at organization. It is refuse, garbage, trash, crap. I intended to shred it or recycle it. Intentions are fantastic, and maddening all at the same time. The pile hasn't grown, it just sits there, gathering more dust and blocking access to the file cabinet. (In case you're wondering, I have no idea what's in that cabinet. I feel sure that I thought it was important at one time.) I always promise myself that one day, I'll work my way through that damn pile. I'll shred the papers with students' names on them and take the rest to the recycling bin. Then, I sigh, turn my back to the pile, and before I know it, another day has passed. I really need to do something about that pile of paper.


But, wait, we're not done. Here's a shot of the top of the table over the file boxes:



Yeah, I don't have much to say about this. It is as it appears - a table covered in crap piled on top of more crap. I think there's a grand total of 3 packages of paper under all of that crap. Really should do something about that.


I know what you're thinking: Why don't you buy more file cabinets? Well, because I have a perfectly good filing system. I pile crap on the table, on my desk, and on the floor, and when those spaces are maxed out, I pile crap on the sofa:


The good news is that the crap hides some of the hideous upholstery on this couch. No, I did NOT choose this pattern. I did choose to use it for de facto filing. Really should do something about all of that crap.


And, this isn't all the crap. No, here's the day-to-day crap that hasn't made the trip down the hall:



Recently, my friend posted an entry in her blog about spring cleaning in her home office. She is also a writer and does not have an office outside of the home. She described her cleaning process and gave an accounting of the trash that left her house. I don't remember the precise figures, but the accounting included trash bags, recycling bins, and file folders. What struck me was her utter joy at rediscovering the surfaces in her office.

So, with that inspiration, I've made a promise to myself. When this semester officially ends, I will get some control over the crap. I might even buy a new file cabinet. And, I will figure out how to remember what's in the cabinets.

Ides of Spring

I want to be clear from the beginning of this post: I am not writing in response to a certain comment by a certain demanding someone. I am writing because I finally felt inspired again. I do not produce on demand. (Though it is nice to know that someone is paying attention.)

Today, I'm reflecting on the coming of spring. There are many signs in the southland that spring is here. Trees with full green leaves, increasingly green grass, azaleas and dogwoods in full bloom, warmer temperatures, and shorter sleeves. And, let's not forget the pollen haze that turns everything a pale shade of yellow and took my voice away for approximately one week.


But, my favorite sign of spring has to be the annual unveiling of my chicken-white winter feet. Hidden from the world for the entire winter, my feet emerge, ready to shed socks and enjoy open-toed shoes. To celebrate this momentous occasion, I dressed up my toes. They're ready for their close-up, Mr. DeMille. Who knows, I may go hog-wild and treat myself to a pedicure.

Since applying this spring decoration, I've worn sandals twice. Both times, my little piggies squealed with delight. My feet basked in the sunlight, ready to shed the whiter shade of winter pale for a slightly darker shade of summer pale.

As I wear my flip-flops, I realize that my winter feet have softened. In this early spring, I'm actually enjoying the minor discomfort between the little piggy that went to market and the little piggy who stayed home. Such a welcome change from dowdy winter shoes and socks.

Book Without End

Lately, I've been reading Ken Follett's "World Without End." When I say "lately," I mean that I started the book in January. It's 1014 pages long and I'm reading at a slow pace - less than 10 pages/day right before I go to sleep. This is my normal pace with fiction, although I usually hit a point about 3/4 of the way through a book where I can't stop reading, so I push on through to the end, often staying up way past my bedtime. I'm on page 777 and still haven't hit that point with this book. I've taken to calling the book, "Book Without End."

I'm pretty disappointed by this turn of events. I was really looking forward to reading the book. I'd read "Pillars of the Earth" years ago and enjoyed it. At least I think I enjoyed it. I don't remember many of the details of the story - something about building a cathedral in Middle Ages England. Anyway, I had high hopes for the sequal.

Unfortunately, it hasn't lived up to my hopes. I knew I was in trouble when I started not caring about any of the characters after about 200 pages. There are a lot of characters and you'd think that I could find some reason to care about at least one of them. Nope. Don't care. They all seem so formulaic - the "good" characters do "bad" things but their "bad" deeds don't hold a candle to the "BAD" things that the "BAD" characters do.

For example, one guy's a raping, murdering, dog-killing monster who is completely devoid of any redeeming qualities and everyone knows it, but yet, no one rams him through with a sword. Meanwhile, the monster's brother is continuing a long-time love affair with his childhood sweetheart who is now (inconveniently) a nun. Not just any nun, she's the Head Nun. It's the only way that she, as a woman living in the Middle Ages, can use her natural intellect. She has an answer for everything. Economic crisis? She dyes wool and the crisis is solved. Plague? She wears a linen mask and survives. I think I'm supposed to feel sympathy for her situation, but I don't. I think she's a know-it-all smartass.

But, I have carried on. I have dutifully lugged this brick back and forth during my weekly commute to the Big City, substantially adding to the weight of my suitcase. I have endured the weight of this tome on my stomach as I've read chapter after dull chapter. I toted it back and forth to doctor's appointments, car maintenance appointments, and other "waiting" occasions. Despite my best efforts, I'm now on page 777 and I still don't care about any of these people. I actually want bad things to happen to the good characters just to make things interesting. Even the arrival of the plague didn't make any difference because the same dull characters survived.

So, it is with great relief that I am giving myself permission to stop reading this book. I'm open to book suggestions. For fiction, I like a book with substance but isn't gut-wrenching (no Jodi Picoult, please). And, I'd like a book that doesn't weigh 50 pounds. Something interesting with interesting characters. Something that will hold my interest but yet still allow me to fall asleep. Let the suggesting begin . . .

In the meantime, I'm turning my attention to Drew Gilpin Faust's "Republic of Suffering" about death and dying during the Civil War. Uplifting? No. Interesting? Absolutely.