A Return to Regularly Scheduled Programming

So, what has been going on these last two weeks while Dr. Disenchanted was waxing lyrical about her adventures in Peru? Icky, ordinary life, my friends — icky, ordinary life. I’ve had to put out fires, grade midterms, and write lectures. I went to our University’s Honor’s Day Colloquium because my good student won our department’s top award. This meant I had to dig my academic robe out of the bowels of the upstairs closet. [Sidebar: The robes are now in my office at school where they will probably stay until graduation. I didn't want to fight the cats to get the robe back into the closet.] I’ve had to battle Peruvian poo syndrome — maybe that papaya juice was a bad idea? — and I still have a nasty infected chigger sore on my arm. Oh, and I shaved over three chigger bites on the back of my leg, which left me with oozing sores that The Coach had to patch up.

Yeah, I’m a freaking mess.

Only, I’m just not that worried about any of it anymore. In fact, I am feeling downright zen about almost everything, except last night’s failed attempt at making split pea soup. That annoyed me because my whole house smelled like burned baby vomit, but I got distracted by Grey’s Anatomy, something I haven’t watched since Izzy’s dead boyfriend made a reappearance. I guess it’s been a while because I tuned in to find McDreamy cutting into her brain. OMG. I’ve obviously been working way too much.

Is it possible that I have Spring Fever? I mean, cherry tree is blooming outside the house. The two little cats have made their mad dashes between my legs and out into the muddy backyard. Hell, one of them even made it under the fence and down the street before The Coach caught him. The fountain is turned on at school. I put the top down on Sally for the first time since November. My Persian cat has had her annual haircut (don’t ask). Hell, I’ve even been to Pub Quiz, which is something I haven’t done in a good, long while.

My cheery attitude annoyed one of my Humanities Colleagues yesterday. She’s convinced that I have “tenuritis.” I guess it’s possible. I did, after all, cancel out on not one, but two, yes, two, conference papers this spring. I didn’t need them to bulk up my CV, I wasn’t interested in writing yet another teaching-oriented paper, and I wanted to save my hard earned development money to pay for a research trip this summer. Of course, the last part of the previous sentence probably negated the idea of “tenuritis” seeing how I am actually doing research. [My evil plan is to write the five articles I need to go up for full professor as soon as possible, before I lose my mojo.]

I haven’t completely packed it in for the semester. I’ll be spending my Saturday in the office, grading papers, editing articles for the journal (still!!!), and working on the Big Ass Project for the City. I promised my other good student that I would come to her presentation at the undergraduate conference. I did stipulate that I was showing up in my Saturday clothes — greasy braided hair, a t-shirt, and hiking pants. Really, what are they going to do? Fire me? {Bwah, Ha, Ha, Ha!!!}