Gone By The Wayside

It’s the last night of summer vacation.

Correction: it’s the last 3 hours and 45 minutes of days without school.

And the thing is, it doesn’t feel like it.

Maybe it’s because I spent the summer on campus. Spent more time there than I did during the last school year. Working three jobs that require you to be physically present in particular on-campus spaces will do that to you, I guess.

Also: three jobs at a time? Too many. Even if each was part-time.

I did ok most days, remembering where I was supposed to be, and when. It was only in the last two weeks that I forgot where I parked three times in one day, showed up two hours early for a shift, and managed to earn a parking ticket.

What fell by the wayside, particularly in the last six weeks of summer, was my own work. My exam prep and essay revising and pre-prospectus generating. This–this was not awesome. But neither was it unexpected.

I have to be in a particular me-head space when I’m canoodling with Academic Thoughts. I have to be ok with tuning all the way into my thinking, and that’s not a comfortable place for me to be a lot of time. Sometimes, I just don’t want to hear it, what’s happening inside my brain.

I don’t know if that makes any sense.


So this working three jobs thing, the biggest upshot was that it gave me a great set of excuses, why I couldn’t do that kind of listening to myself:

I was busy.


I found time to write fanfic, to tool through TV series, to take long naps with my cats.

To cook. To drink too much wine. To see a few decent movies.

To be lonely. To beat myself up. To wallow in low self-esteem.

School starts tomorrow, and I’ve been saying for weeks that I look forward to it, that I can’t wait for the semester to begin so I can get some work done.

I’m teaching this term, for which I’m grateful. I didn’t realize how much I missed it, how much I enjoy being in the classroom, until for the last year, I wasn’t.

I’m working in our university’s Writing Center a few hours week. That, too, will be good.

I’ve completed my coursework, so I won’t be taking classes, for which I’m profoundly grateful.

School starts tomorrow, and in theory, if I can manage not to fuck it up, it’s the penultimate year for me.

2 hours and 59 minutes.

Yeah, still. I feel nothing. No butterflies of excitement or fear, no dread, no mooning over lost time.


Maybe that’s why it doesn’t seem real, because school’s always made me feel something.

Right now, though, it’s all a big blank.

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