Reason Breeds Insanity

Today is strange. Today is the the last time I will ever have a first day of a school year as a student. I will have many first days as a teacher, but this is the last one as a student. I have a certain amount of excitement for this day, but I also know that a huge, long, probably too long chapter of my life is coming to an end. This year brings promise, the promise of a lifelong goal brought to completion. This year brings the beginning of new trials and new triumphs. I don’t believe this year holds everything, but it is a culmination of fifteen years of struggle, strife, and too many lessons learned. I hope I make it through.

I am taking four classes this semester, teaching two, and starting a brand new campus organization. I am sure I have said this several times before, but I am sometimes overwhelmed by the level to which I have extended myself. I think I may finally have gotten in over my head. Because I apparently just keep talking about all of my classes and not really telling anyone what they are, I think I will take a second to do just that. I am taking two creative writing classes, a literature class, and a theory class. My two creative writing classes are Creative Nonfiction (Memoir) and the Theory of Creative Writing. I am taking Native American Literature and Body Theory, specifically Fat/Thin Studies. I think it is safe to say that Jill, who teaches CNF, and Joyce, who teaches the Fat/Thin Studies, have helped me more with my writing than most people throughout my education. For some reason, it seems like they can read you through your papers. I have never had instructors who could tell me about my writing process simply by reading my papers before.

I am teaching two sections of ENG 104: Advanced Composition. Most of my students will be freshmen with a smattering of other levels. I teach on Tuesday and Thursday, so that I have Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to do my own work for classes.

Added on Tuesday:

I will need the time to work because, as I said above, I am starting a new student organization for GLBT Graduate Students. I am currently working with another graduate student to get the organizational stuff accomplished. I suppose I will end up being the president, she’ll be the VP, and we’ll look for a secretary and a treasurer. We had a party at our house during orientation week, and I would say there were about 20 people there total. It was fun, and since there is a decent level of interest for the group, we are going tomorrow morning to get the paperwork filled out. The amazing thing is that there are several faculty members that are excited about the beginnings of this group as well. I even had one counseling psych professor email me to ask how he could help. The difficulty of this organization is the high level of risk/confidentiality that is required. People are always sending hate mail to Spectrum, the undergraduate group, and there is a serious need to keep everything including the names of the members, their photos, and everything else confidential. I mean, who knows if the members are gay, lesbian, straight, bisexual, transgendered, or whatever because some members may just have GLBT friends. No one really knows or cares, but future employers might, so the strictest confidentiality ensues. It just makes things a little precarious initially. The only bad thing is that we have to meet the woman at 8AM in the student center. That meeting will make for another long day. It’ll be like a 3 for 3. I am so excited.

I have gotten to school by 9AM on both Monday and Tuesday and haven’t gotten home until after 8PM either night. I am learning that this will be typical this semester. On Wednesday, I will get to campus by 8AM for that meeting and I have class until 6:15PM, so it will be another long day. Thank goodness for vacation this weekend!

I realize I haven’t done the best job of keeping up the blogs lately. I also realize that I haven’t been writing much at all. The closer school gets the less frequently the Fat Cats are meeting and the less impetus I have to write for pleasure and my individual growth, which only means I should be writing things for class like my syllabus. I have not written my syllabus yet either. Essentially, I am trying to squeeze in everything I didn’t squeeze in over the summer: last minute meetings with friends, coffee dates, reading, house painting, and car shopping.

The 1990 Toyota Corolla that Bec drives is in the middle of taking a shit on us, so we are looking at Toyotas, Hondas, and Nissans of comparable cost, size, and gas mileage. I think we are going to go in a few weekends and just test drive one of each, and then she’ll pick which one she likes the best. I personally think the Nissan Versa Hatchback is pretty sweet, but since she drives the most, she gets to pick. It’s only fair.

I hung out with my old friend Julie today, and I have to say I remember why I love her so much. It’s nice to chat with someone who has some of the same concerns about the Church that I have. We come at those concerns from entirely different perspectives: she comes at them from a business standpoint, and I come from a mostly communalist standpoint, but we both agree that things need to get better in a hurry. It’s also nice to sort of just slide back into conversation with someone after a really long absence, like an old pair of jeans, or comfy old Chucks.

I worked at the mission on Tuesday. Molly and I cleaned beds. There are 100 beds in the new facility in three separate areas of the building. It really struck me this time while we were wiping the fresh dust from each bed that there will be 100 men to fill those beds, which made me in turn realize that there are 100 stories of pain and suffering that no one will ever know because no one will ask to find out, because no one takes the time to see the men as men, or because we prefer to keep their stories silent. After all if we hear their stories, we may find a small piece of ourselves in them. The mental illness, the lost job, the drug addiction, the family problems, the sexual issues, one of the difficulties that landed any of the men in the Mission may be something that we struggle with ourselves. Perhaps learning their stories would frighten us of our own. I can imagine myself losing it all one day, just because things got to be too much, or too big to handle. Some days I feel like I am one really bad decision or moment from the psych ward, so I can see how people end up where they are. I can also relate to those who just consciously decide to drop out of the rat race; on some days dropping out is very appealing.

You may ask if these profound thoughts are what keep me awake at quarter till four in the morning. Okay, they aren’t really profound, and alas, nothing so angst ridden is the case. I was plodding along fine today until about 4 o’clock this afternoon. All of a sudden from out of nowhere came this raging allergy attack. Ragweed. I looked it up on weather.com and the pollen count is “very high” for Indiana, particularly the weed pollen is really high. My left sinus is entirely clogged, making it nearly impossible to breath, but somehow that clog doesn’t stop that same sinus from continually draining. That said, I slept like a baby from 10 until 230, but then woke up, wide awake, and I couldn’t go back to sleep. Oh, the magic of the fall in Indiana!

Of course, once I was awake I had to start thinking about everything I have left to do before school starts. Here is a short list:

1. Paint the house.
2. Write the syllabus.
3. Redesign the website.
4. Order my books.
5. Get a desk calendar.
6. Get Celie’s staples removed.
7. Make and appointment with Student Life.
8. Go to Orientation Friday.

Those are the things I HAVE to do. The things I get to do are these:

1. Have coffee with David, the pastor not the kid.
2. Have dinner with Ed, Abbie, and Iz.
3. Have lunch with Kelley (and possibly Myra, if we can locate her).
4. Go to Ale Fest with Bec, Adam, Tim, and Whit.
5. And, since, school barely starts before we go, I get to go to Door County.

I am excited about the possibilities of this school year, but I am also scared shitless. This is my last year of course work, and then I take comps and write my dissertation. Possibly, I have a similar feeling to riding my motorcycle to Florida. I am in such anticipation and eagerness, but I am so frightened. The big difference is there isn’t a fire burning six inches below my crotch this time.

I was supposed to paint everyday this week, but other things crept in as they usually do. We are making some progress, as both of the porch areas, which are the most intricate, are nearly finished. On Monday, I went to help my mom clean out the spare room. I took the books I wanted, but there weren’t as many as I thought. I mean there were lots of books, but I only wanted a few of them. I took several that I thought Izzy would love, and it sounds like she is starting to initiate reading with Ab, so I am glad I grabbed the ones I did. I need to clean them up and then take them over to her. Also, my mom kept some of the toys just so Iz will have something to play with when she goes to visit. It was nice to go through childhood books. It helped me remember why I am doing what I am doing. Practically since I was born, I have been a reader. And I agree with Nathan, most of the gratification of studying literature is how we use it to impact the world, so it was pleasurable to reminisce about how text has always impacted my life and how I have used to impact others. I got to remember why I love books, and I got to throw away some of my really bad high school ceramics. Several abstract masterpieces bit the big one in the garbage box. Sad really, all that talent gone to waste.

Today, I had to do some things for school this morning and then Sarah and I met for coffee and workshopping. We got a little out of control; we chatted from 1030 until almost 3! I think that is pretty good since we have only gone out for coffee twice in the three years we have known each other. That averaged out with the other time makes about two hours a year! We had a good time and, more importantly, we had a good workshop. I think I know where I am going with the piece (a fat studies piece) I am working on, so that means things were beneficial.

I also have to say that the one thing that is taking up so much time right now is Celie. On Thursday we had her spayed. On Sunday her incision opened up, and Bec thought it might be herniated because there was a huge swollen place around it. We went to the emergency vet, and now she is wearing an Elizabethan collar. She did have a tight wrap around her belly, but today she got staples so she doesn’t have to wear the wrap anymore. We are pretty excited about that since it took both of us to put it on and duct tape to keep it there! She is healing nicely. However, her dip for the mange (non-contagious) that was supposed to happen on Friday is now happening in a couple of weeks. What an adventure: I love soon to be $500 free dog! The other fun part of all of this is that she has to be sequestered away from the other two dogs, so she is staying in the back porch. She is lonely. And she whines. We are trying to make sure they all get equal affection, but it is a huge task. I am sure it will be fine once she gets to lose the collar and go back with Lily and Sydney.

Tomorrow, I paint.

This is always awkward. The long pause between posts. How do I break such a pause? I wish I had a great story to tell, a fabulous anecdote to post, or like Robert Pirsig in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle maintenance, which is about neither Zen or motorcycle maintenance but instead about his descent into madness, a life-changing, profound realization. However, I have none of the above. All I have to offer is a short description of house painting, as exciting as watching the paint itself dry. We are almost finished with the porch, which is the most tedious part with the columns and the trim. I hope to finish it tonight. The inside of the porch is finished, but the lattice work around the base of it, and the trim work up around the top on the outside still need to be done. Once the port is done there will three stories of boards to scrape, wash, and paint. Good thing I have all of next week off to do it. I am also hoping to get some work done on it during the week before classes, but at some point I have to write my syllabus, the thing for Debbie, my course website, and order my books. Augh. It never ends, does it?

This is the beginning of a story about my trip. Enjoy it. I did.

There has been no experience in my life that is quite the same as the 1,109 mile motorcycle ride I just took from my house in Muncie, IN to my best friend, Merideth’s house in Sebring, FL. Apparently, the ride would qualify me for the “Iron Butt Club,” which is a club that you can join when you go on a ride of a thousand miles or more. I think this ride should qualify me. I have an Iron Butt now. Winding through Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee, Georgia, and Florida, the ride took 22 hours including stopping for gas and lunches, and the majority of it was ridden in the rain, up and down hills and mountains. However, the worst parts of the ride were around Chattanooga, coming down out of the mountains with semis all around me, around Atlanta because Atlanta’s always a nightmare, and the last hour and a half when I found myself dodging old people like Mohammed Ali dodged punches.

When I arrived at Merideth’s house my ass was sore beyond belief, my shoes and my clothes were sodden, and my life had changed. It wasn’t the sort of change like becoming a Christian, where I should feel differently, act differently, or treat my fellow humans with more compassion, but no experience up to this point has been as breathtakingly exhilarating nor as hair-raisingly frightening as riding by myself half-way across the country. I mean some experiences have been similar: willingly losing my virginity, buying a house, and committing to finish my PhD. None of those experiences is quite the same as another, and none compare to submitting myself to the constant jarring and wind-beating of a thousand miles on a two-wheeled piece of steel with a literal fire burning eight inches below my crotch with nothing keeping me from getting burnt by the engine but a four inch thick vinyl seat and a well-loved pair of Levi 501s.

I call my bike Minerva, after the Roman goddess of the hearth. I bought her before I ever even knew how to ride, mostly out of a rebellion and boredom I had felt since the age of 16 and possibly before then. I bought her for the same reason I have multiple tattoos and piercings and for the same reason I never have a “normal” hairdo. Since I had never ridden and didn’t know how to ride when I bought her, one of my students in my youth group rode her home for me, parked her in my driveway, and showed me the basics of riding, like where the clutch, shifter, brakes, and engine kill switch are located. I started riding her before I should have, and I am probably lucky I am still alive, so shortly after I bought Minerva, I took an ABATE motorcycle safety class and learned how little I knew about riding and how much I had to learn before going on those long rides on the wide open road that I had dreamed of for so many years. I was thirty that summer. That was four summers ago, and since then I had put 9,000 miles on her; now I can proudly say that she has successfully carried me over 10,000 miles. This ride, in particular, was exceptional because of the long distance and the rain.

It rained from just outside Indiana all the way to Atlanta on the first day and from about an hour inside of Florida until Sebring the second day. At one point in Florida, the rain was so thick, the downpour so torrential, even cars were pulling off the sides of the road to wait it out.