I’m a little sideways.

Which is dumb, because lot’s of good things area happening. I just came off of a great weekend. I’ve got a reunion and facetime with Audra and Delb and Darci and many others on Friday night. I got brand new windows yesterday.

All good things.

But my sinus is funky. One side of my head is clogged and I’ve got tension about school. I’m falling behind this week. I’m not behind yet, officially…and I should be able to rally and be ready and caught up by Monday.

But I’m treading water.

And I’m tired.

I don’t know how those water polo players do it.

My plan to get all caught up on homework today was a silly silly silly one.

The contractors arrived at 8:30 am and began replacing my windows.

I’ve been moving from room to room, trying to stay out of their way, trying to get stuff done.

The windows, they are gorgeous. All are replaced, and now the “finishing them out” part of the process, where the caulking and trim and finishing bits happen. The windows are gorgeous. I wish I had new curtains. I hate the ones in my living room. Blergh. I want something different. I need new ones for the guest room, too. See what happens? I get one thing done and it makes me want more more more.

I got an estimate to paint the outside.

It’s more than I thought.

I’m going to have to see about insurance and finances. I’ve got to get an invoice to them, get the rest of my funds and see where I am.

Hopefully these guys will be finished up soon. Then I can put my house back together, run my errands, come home to a newly sealed structure and get all my reading done.

Right now, I’ve pretty much given up on anything other than cruising the internet and doing some preliminary research for a group project.

 

It’s always interesting, the let down after an weekend full of friends and plans and socializing and fully enjoying a three day weekend.

I’ve been napping most all the day long. In between episodes of Game of Thrones, that is. I’ve looked at homework, pulled the next novel for class and put it right here close by me so that at any moment, I might pick it up and begin. I’ve checked into my group project web email to see that none of my group for my 19th-C class has checked in. And I folded a load of towels and put them away.

That’s pretty much it.

I think it’s ok, I’ll get some reading finished tonight, and besides, this weekend was already full of accomplishments.

I cut off Cindy’s hair.

She’d been growing it to donate, as part of her Life List, for about two years now. It was perhaps, one of the most interesting experiences, most emotional experiences, I’ve been a part of in the salon.

We cut the giant pony. In order to get the majority of the length, some bits came out uber short, but I knew where I was going with this cut and knew it would work out. I also know how fast her hair grows, and where it’s going to be in a blink of an eye.

The pony itself wasn’t the emotional part.

As I cut, flicking the weight of the hair onto the floor, section by section, I could feel the change.  We both began to see the girl emerge…this girl that had been gone awhile. Not in exile,  she was on a journey. . . and with each flick of my shears, with each snip and cut. . . she began to return.

Layers of emotions, of thoughts flooded my heart.

This is what she looked like before…before. 

There was a lot of weight that was attached to that pony tail.

And…

Here she is.

It was a rising.

Joy rising.

Strength rising.

Life rising.

We laughed. We cried. We got massages and ate Burn Your Face Off Salsa. In between that we hosted a bevy of friends in the back yard and amidst the tiki torches and under the full moon, we laughed some more. We understood the fleeting promise of time and we all just stopped for a bit, and soaked each other up.

It was full. It was perfect.

Today was quiet.

It’s always a little sad…because it’s is altogether too short.

Have you read this? The Good Soldier?

It was written by Ford Maddox Ford. The title is included in many of the  “Top 100 Books of all time in the history of ever happily ever after” lists.

I liked it.

It was easier than James Joyce. I liked that. It also used the “unreliable narrator” device and I do enjoy that as well. I was talking on one of the threads about liking this device and many were agreeable, if not indifferent to it, with one post voting on the negative side of it.

I decided to throw out some examples of this device used in film.

The Ususal Suspects. 

Primal Fear. 

American Psycho. 

I think it’s maybe easier to grasp the concept of the device if it’s seen, and maybe after that it’s easier to adjust to in a novel.

Maybe?

What do you think? Do you have any other examples of the “Unreliable Narrator”? Throw ’em out here!

 

 

I’m ready for a long weekend. And by long weekend, I really mean weekend. I’m booked back to back all day at the salon today, and I think tomorrow is busy, too. Saturday however, is a pleasure.

Cindy arrives tomorrow night. I’ll be bartending (my last gig till the end of Sept) when she arrives but she’s got a key to Brokedown Palace and can make her way accordingly. Saturday I get up and go to the salon for a titch of hair banging, then I’m finished. I took the afternoon off.

She and I have groupon massages booked. Thirty five bucks for ninety minutes of massage? Yes please. We both need one. We’ll then gather the necessary provisions and return back to the house and get things ready for our friends to arrive. I’m going to grill some burgers and hot dogs and lay out the tables and fill the ice chests and light the tiki torches and play some music and we shall all just sit and relax. (I won’t sit and relax. There’s going to be 20 people at my house. But most everyone will sit and relax. That’s the goal)

I’ve been looking forward to this weekend for days. Knowing we get a break from class, (but not from assigned homework or reading) knowing I get to see Cindy and our friends, it’s been a beacon on the calendar. Just one day closer to the weekend. One day closer to the weekend.

I have completely forgotten that football begins Saturday! Woot! Finally football season! College season is usually lost on me because of the working, but I like to watch and get excited anyway. I wonder if this time next year I’ll have another school to cheer for? I wonder…

Have a great day. Enjoy your weekend. I’ve got an hour to get ready and get to work. Peaceout, ya’ll!

Tuesday is my day.

No classes to attend.

No heads to bang.

Just me. Errands, and chores, homework and naps, all or nothing. (Who am I kidding, there’s always homework)

Last week I spent three hours running errands, I was frenetic and worried and yes it was the first week of school and I was figuring it all out but a phone call from my sister put things into perspective.

“Maybe Tuesday needs to be YOUR day. Maybe you just lay on the couch and read, maybe you take that time to study for the GRE, maybe you just sleep late and buy groceries or throw in a load of laundry. But you need a day.”

This coming from a woman who has her shit together, scheduled, meals lined out for the month posted on the fridge, kids and husband cared for as well as our parental units. Dude. If SHE’s telling me to take a day, I’m taking a day.

When I got home from night class last night, after a usual 8 hour day of nonstop classes/reading/researching/juggling deadlines I climbed into bed with the thought “I can sleep in. And I won’t feel guilty about it.”

I did just that.

I crawled out of bed after 9am, made coffee, returned emails, fed the livestock, watched some television. I read half of my Brit Novel, “The Good Soldier” and posted a handfull of homework posts. I napped. I got two more books in the mail, and ordered three more. It seems that this semester my classes have all synced up. THESE are the classes I’ve been waiting for! So…I’m ordering everything my professors suggest. I did pick my paper topics for Literary Criticism and can now begin to research. I printed out two articles for 19th-C women.

So, I feel good about this “lazy” day.

Tonight, I’m going to do a load of laundry, put up the clean clothes on the guest bed, and finish work for tomorrow’s class.

And just like that…it’s Wednesday.

I just finished my homework for class tomorrow. It is a huge relief.

Now it’s time to start another novel for Brit Novel, read my Lit Crit pages and find time to read my homework for my thesis meeting.

I finished the novel Hope Leslie, and tagged it accordingly today. It was a lot for one day. I’m going to have to reorganize my weekend hours better. Next week is my final bartending shift for awhile, I’ve got two in September and then I’m finished. Next week is also Labor Day weekend, so there will be social gatherings. It also means Monday off, so that will help make up for time spent enjoying life.

Tonight, for a minute or 90, I’m taking a break. Enjoying my Sunday night tv. Pizza and chocolate cake with Michael and Breaking Bad.

Tomorrow I have some calls to make in regards to house repairs, and I may have to go get a new backpack. ANOTHER new backpack.

Damned Kikimama peed on mine this morning.

The one I bought LAST WEEK.

We’ll see if I got to it in time with the cleaning stuffs.

damnit.

For the first book of our British Novel course, this was certainly a hefty one. This text comes with a giant reputation.

Difficult. Dense. Classic.

“I’ve tried to get through Joyce but never could.”

That’s what I heard more often than not.

The thing is, I feel anxious when faced with these titles, these foundations of our cannon of literature. I feel like I’m not going to understand it, not going to get it, not going to be able to talk about it or process it. I feel like it comes with such a HUGE reputation…It’s  the Claire Standish of the literary world and I’m Allison Reynolds*, forever in the corner eating pixie stix sandwiches while the cool kids absorb and explicate all of the worlds best words.

I am happy to report that this particular work…

I got it.

I read it.

I was determined.

I still really believe that a titch of Jameson and a romp with a randy redhead would help the process…but whatever.

There are moments of brilliance. Beautifully woven words and images, it’s the perfect tiramisu. Layered with delicate flavors and scenes and delicious illusions and ohmygod-I-understand-what-he’s-talking-about!!! It’s that Oprah moment when she sing talks her point home.

IundERSTAAAAAAAAAND!!!!!!!

I don’t love it.

I don’t really even like it.

The work, as a whole.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m even an English major. What the hell???

But it just is what it is. I read it. I like parts of it. The Catholic church, the Ireland of it all, the weakness of the character’s spirit and the evolution of said spirit…all depicted with vivid, clear words. So beautiful. So clear. So perfect. Still not my favorite.

I’m not a reader that seeks the Happily Ever After. I don’t need the happy ending. *dirty* (come on. we all –– that’s a different post) This story just had SO little joy. SO little hope. Even as the protagonist grew up, survived the wars of family, God, country…the scar tissue was still so raw and red and tender…it was painful to ingest.

So. That’s where I am with the class. Book One: down. All required postings: Done. James Joyce:My Bitch. . . not really my bitch. But finishing was something I do feel like I deserve a pat on the back for. People who are far smarter than I have professed to throwing this story to the dogs.

I am intrigued by the man. I’m intrigued by the fact that we as students of literature, scholars of the humanities, still profess that THIS is a work to be studied. When does it become A WORK TO BE STUDIED? And when does it become something that doesn’t translate anymore? What happens with an iconic work when it fails to reach the masses? These are questions I have. I’m sure I’m not the only one to ask them. I’m sure a revisiting is in order. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get moist at the thought. I’d like to know more about Joyce…I think a trip to Dublin is just what I need.

Who’s with me?

*google it.

 

In reading this critical article for my 19th Centure Woman Writers course, I’ve discovered a few things.

If you replace the word “Religion” with any variation of the words “Money” or  “Orgasm”  it reads with more truth, as well as…more truth.

“Religion is just what a woman needs. Without it she is ever restless or unhappy.”

“Joseph M’D Matthews…believed that ‘female education should be preeminently religious.”

“woman never looks lovelier than in her reverence for religion.”

 

Speaking of religion, Thank GOD I wasn’t born then. I’d have been burnt at the stake the first time I opened my mouth.

I swear, I can feel my brain throbbing.

It’s swolled up.

Too much thinking. Too much reading. Too much staring at the computer.

I have two novels to read. One by Sunday night, and I’ve already started it. One by Monday. I’ve got a story to read for my thesis by Monday. As well as another chapter in my lit crit book.

Tonight, however, I’ve put on my soft clothes. I’ve eaten my crockpot green chile slurry. I’ve got Newsroom playing in the background. I’m going to lie on the couch until the knots in my neck start to dissolve, and then I’m going to bed.

I have a feeling that this semester is going to be a lot of lather-rinse-repeat of this blog post.