They're baaaaa-ack

On every corner. On every street. In every store. In every restaurant. In every pub. In every nook, cranny, path, and queue. The students. They have arrived, en masse and ready to conquer my peace. Do not get me wrong, my students. I do not hate you. It would be a little silly of me to be in this profession if I did. I am just not ready for you to take over my world yet.

This is probably why I--after returning from my visit to Mama Bear, taking a look around, and seeing what was what in Good Old City--went to bed and stayed there. That's right. On Sunday, I just never got out of bed. Well, not exactly true. I--pajama-clad, bespectacled, with Medusa hair flying in at least 5000 directions--did make it as far as the front stoop to fetch the paper at about noon. (Of course the Fuckwits had read it and defiantly put it back in the wrong order. Fuckwits. Did I mention they are spawning? Due date is a Day That Will Live in Infamy. Literally.) Otherwise I camped out in my bed, watched five movies on television (Pillow Talk, St. Elmo's Fire, Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles, and Two Weeks Notice), caught Katrina coverage on The Weather Channel during commercials, ate two entire sleeves of Townhouse crackers, read The D. Case (and the NYT in the afternoon), and napped. It was pathetic and beautiful.

Am I ready for the semester? No. Is it about to begin? Yes. Have I written my syllabi? HA! Have I ordered their books? Why yes I have. Miraculously. Have I completed the paperwork-intensive project due to my chair in two weeks? Puh-lease. Haven't even started. Is my brain mush? Pretty much. But am I smiling right now? Yes.

Quick hello from the ancestral homeland

Good god, how I have missed internet access. I didn't really notice until I found free wireless and booted up the laptop. It felt like finding air. Scary.

Anyway, I am away (far far away) for a visit with Mama Bear. I had to travel a bit to find access and only have a minute to post and browse. Will return to the garret in a few days. Until then, a few shots from home.

What the hell is going on?

Madonna has fallen off a horse (which, according to my television station, is "Breaking News"), I am not thinking about cigarettes, I actually felt a happy twinge or two today involving looking forward to the semester, and I am dating a man who does not have a neurotic bone in his entire body.

Is Mercury finally out of retrograde or some shit? If so, what does that actually mean? Ms. Fox? Are you there?

Musings from the roof

One of the greatest things about my little garret is that I can climb out of my study window onto the roof. There's a large flat area where I can sit, drink coffee or wine, lounge in the sun, watch the sunset, direct air traffic (this is a long story, one I will perhaps someday explain), or just enjoy the really grand view. I have only recently started bringing my beloved laptop out, as visions of it slipping from my lap into the street four stories below have not been pleasant ones. The roof (or "the porch" as I call it) was once my prime smoking spot, so now in lieu of the cigarettes I am allowing myself to bring the laptop out.

It's just dark out, hot and rather humid. The dragonflies (my dear friends, as they eat my sworn natural enemy, the dreaded mosquito, whose existence--beyond providing a tasty treat for my beloved dragonflies--will always be inexplicable to me) are swarming. I am having my post-run glass of wine. I ran for forty-five minutes (no idea how far--maybe 4 miles or so), which felt phenomenal.

I have been very irritated and irritable and irritating (to myself and I am sure others) for the past few days. I am upset that the quitting is still so difficult. I am still thinking about smoking quite a bit and having strong cravings. The cravings are becoming more abstract, if that makes any sense. I still have a few "real" physical-feeling cravings every day though. It is much better when I am out or with others (especially The Boy, my anti-smoking charm). I am just so sick of thinking about it and experiencing it. It's been almost a month (28 days on Sunday) for fuck's sake!!! When does it end?

Are there any doctors (er . . . of the medical sort) out there who can tell me what the fuck is going on? Am I just being a huge baby? In other words, am I somehow giving it more power than it should have? Oops . . . raindrops. A sign to stop this whiney post. More--hopefully from a me in better spirits--later.

I am?

Via Dr. Crazy.

You're Watership Down!

by Richard Adams

Though many think of you as a bit young, even childish, you're
actually incredibly deep and complex. You show people the need to rethink their
assumptions, and confront them on everything from how they think to where they
build their houses. You might be one of the greatest people of all time. You'd
be recognized as such if you weren't always talking about talking rabbits.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Meme & Self-Portrait

Tagged for Clare's meme. Decided to include my newest self-portrait, taken in a truck sideview mirror. (Just got fancy new digital camera so expect many photos in near future.)

1. What is your full name?
Medusa, Ph.D., Gorgon

2. What color pants are you wearing?
Brown silk skirt

3. What are you listening to right now?
"Mr. Writer" by the Stereophonics

4. What's the last thing you ate?
Syrian bread

5. Do you wish on stars?
Absolutely

6. If you were a crayon, what color would you be?
Red violet

7. How is the weather right now?
Sunny, hot, a little humid

8. Last person you talked to on the phone?
Coco, best friend from grad school

9. Do you like the person who sent you this?
Yes--cool chick, cool blog, cool work

10. How old are you today?
Thirtysomething

11. Favorite drink?
Jameson's on the rocks

12. Favorite sport?
To do? Rock climbing, running
To watch? The Derek Jeter Show (stop throwing things at the computer screen, Red Sox fans)

13. What color are your eyes?
Blue

14. Do you wear contacts?
Yes

15. Siblings?
Yes

16. Favorite month?
October

17. Favorite food?
Any kind of fish

18. Last movie you watched?
Deep Impact (I couldn't resist.)

19. Favorite day of the year?
Hmmmm . . . .that one day of the year that I do not feel guilty about not doing work. I also love Halloween.

20. What do you do to vent anger?
Bitch, bitch, bitch, and bitch.

21. Summer or winter?
Used to be winter but is now summer . . .definitely summer.

22. Hugs or kisses?
I have to choose? No fucking way.

23. Chocolate or vanilla?
Vanilla.

[apparently replacing the next three e-mail related questions with better ones seen elsewhere]
24. Do you like your handwriting?
I do not think I have an opinion about my handwriting. It's fine, I suppose.

25. Red or pink?
Red.

26. What's the furthest you've been from home?
I don't know. Thousands of miles.

27. What did you do last night?
I love this part of Clare's answer: "slept in the face of adversity." I went to dinner with The Boy, went to the pub with The Boy, went home with The Boy . . . .

28. Living arrangement?
Alone, blissfully so.

29. When was the last time you cried?
Mmmm . . .about six weeks ago.

30. What is under your bed?
Shoes, spare blankets, runes.

31. Who is the friend you've had the longest?
Miranda (21 years)

32. Favorite smell?
I have many favorite smells (and the nose of a bloodhound), but I'll share some of the weirder ones: pipe smoke (tobacco or marijuana), bus exhaust, gasoline.

33. What are you afraid of?
Boredom, loss, large concrete objects in large bodies of water

34. Popcorn - plain, buttered, or salted?
Buttered and salted

35. Favorite car?
1965 Mustang, ragtop, candy-apple red, white interior, and this one

36. Favorite flower?
White iris

37. Number of keys on your key ring?
Eleven. I have no idea what some of them open.

38. Can you juggle?
Not at all. Tasks, objects, men--nothing.

39. Favorite day of the week?
Like Clare, I am very fond of Mondays. But during the school year, Fridays cannot be beat.

40. What did you do on your last birthday?
Dinner, pub, late-night get together at home

41. How many states have you lived in?
Eight

42. How many cities have you lived in?
Hmmm . . . in the city? Two.

43. How many countries have you lived in?
One

44. What was the first car you had?
Datsun 240SX. It talked. I totaled it.

45. Where were you born?
Where all great American malcontents were born--New Jersey.

Tagging Dr. Crazy, Profgrrrrl, and Lucyrain.

Random thoughts from a honky tonk about 50 miles from home*

*Originally written on a bar napkin on 8/5/05

Have I really been dating musicians for close to 15 years?

I love smoking cigarettes. I miss smoking cigarettes. [Note: No, I did not smoke a cigarette that night. In one hour it will be 22 days!]

People who smoke cigarettes really smell like cigarettes.

Is there a special hippie-dancer school that I do not know about where all the hippie dancers go to learn to dance in one of those three (bad) ways that the hippie dancers invariably dance? Or does the body just automatically move that way after one ingests a certain amount of pot?

"Buena" is an excellent song. I miss Mark Sandman.

Why does that one hippie chick always hug The Boy (and only The Boy, not anyone else in the band) for like 5 minutes (and I am not kidding) straight then say something that I cannot make out but that makes him laugh? Why does she, independent of the inappropriate hugging, creep me out? More importantly, why doesn't she creep him out? By the way, she hippie dances like that one kid on The Peanuts TV special that just kind of moves his shoulders up and down and shuffles his feet. I call this Hippie Dance #3, the worst of all hippie dances.

I seem to be too insecure to deal with groupies. So why exactly have I been dating musicians for almost 15 years?

I love whiskey.

Why . . .

. . .have I eaten close to my own body weight in sunflower seeds in the past two hours?

. . .have I started watching the most insane and inane of all insane and inane soap operas, Passions, on a semi-regular basis?

. . .am I still after nearly 19 days without one thinking about cigarettes on a very regular basis?

. . .am I becoming increasingly worried about this?

Run Medusa Run

I have not blogged much about The Boy. He is not really a boy--close to my age, actually--but he is The Boy in My Life At the Moment.

We have been seeing each other for a little over a month and things have been quite fantastic most of the time. Now my "run-for-your-dear-life-you-stupid-fool" impulse is kicking in and I do not know if it's a) standard (for me) commitment phobia; b) neurosis/insecurity; or c) a really solid idea based on good sense and past experience.

The problem with The Boy is that he had been involved with his very close longtime friend for some months before we started seeing each other. He had decided that this arrangement (with her) was not what he wanted, i.e. his feelings for her did not go beyond friendship. She originally agreed that their new more-than-friends arrangement was strange and was not quite right but has since become very upset (especially since finding out about me) and has decided that she may or may not be in love with him.

Do I need this bullshit in my life? Absolutely not. Run, right?? Run as fast as I possibly can?

How to make Medusa's life complete

Take an Annie Proulx short story, make it into a film, add a Gyllenhaal, and make sure it's about gay cowboys in love. Who needs cigarettes when we have Brokeback Mountain?

There is a god. And he is a gay cowboy. Or a horny straight woman who likes watching gay cowboys make out. Whatever.


(Notice that this is the first post that's not entirely about quitting smoking, possibly signifying that cigarettes are not my one and only waking thought. It's getting better. Seriously better. And check it out--2 weeks and 3 days. I still can't believe it.)