But I'm still writing 1974 on my checks!
Seriously, there's always one day a year when I write the year of my birth instead of the current year. If I write a one and then a seventeen, 1974 just seems more natural. So I try not to write checks on my birthday.
That was a not-so subtle hint, I realize. Happy almost birthday to me. I'd like an electric bass, one of those really fancy corkscrews, a plane ticket to Bermuda on March 17th, or some new glasses. Or just best wishes. Thirty-one means nothing. It's a crappy, unspecial age. It's a prime number, I suppose, but I was just a prime number last year. Now thirty-two will be two to the fifth power. That's an age to look forward to.
I was going to write a lengthy, reflective, looking-back-on-2004 entry, but I decided not to. Screw it. I have memories, I have a journal I can reread, I have a blog archive, I have that Peruvian nun still locked in my closet. Oh shit...um...forget I said that.
I'm still setting daily adult-life records for not being in a relationship, and I'm really happy about that. This year, agonizing as it has often been, has finally given me the opportunity to bounce back into a nice neutral emotional shape. Next time I have a relationship, it won't be out of duty or fear or loneliness or anything like that. That's a good feeling. I like being single. I like being me. That said, I have recently begun paying my suitorly attentions to a fascinating young woman in a nearby metropole, and she has been entertaining said attentions. Falling back on the archaic vocabulary of nineteenth-century courtship is amusing and healthy, I think.
Academia is a pernicious kind of profession for scheduling one's work. There's never a moment in my life when I couldn't be working on something. Even when I don't have to be. It's a struggle even on Christmas day not to think "I have an hour or so before dinner; I could get that abstract done." Rrrrg. So today I really do have to get this abstract done, write up my syllabi, and work on a chapter excerpt that's becoming both an article and a conference paper.
Oooh. And the new Vanity Fair with the Star Wars Episode III spectacular came! Discipline is so hard.
That was a not-so subtle hint, I realize. Happy almost birthday to me. I'd like an electric bass, one of those really fancy corkscrews, a plane ticket to Bermuda on March 17th, or some new glasses. Or just best wishes. Thirty-one means nothing. It's a crappy, unspecial age. It's a prime number, I suppose, but I was just a prime number last year. Now thirty-two will be two to the fifth power. That's an age to look forward to.
I was going to write a lengthy, reflective, looking-back-on-2004 entry, but I decided not to. Screw it. I have memories, I have a journal I can reread, I have a blog archive, I have that Peruvian nun still locked in my closet. Oh shit...um...forget I said that.
I'm still setting daily adult-life records for not being in a relationship, and I'm really happy about that. This year, agonizing as it has often been, has finally given me the opportunity to bounce back into a nice neutral emotional shape. Next time I have a relationship, it won't be out of duty or fear or loneliness or anything like that. That's a good feeling. I like being single. I like being me. That said, I have recently begun paying my suitorly attentions to a fascinating young woman in a nearby metropole, and she has been entertaining said attentions. Falling back on the archaic vocabulary of nineteenth-century courtship is amusing and healthy, I think.
Academia is a pernicious kind of profession for scheduling one's work. There's never a moment in my life when I couldn't be working on something. Even when I don't have to be. It's a struggle even on Christmas day not to think "I have an hour or so before dinner; I could get that abstract done." Rrrrg. So today I really do have to get this abstract done, write up my syllabi, and work on a chapter excerpt that's becoming both an article and a conference paper.
Oooh. And the new Vanity Fair with the Star Wars Episode III spectacular came! Discipline is so hard.
posted by James at 8:34 AM
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