20150412.0843

Work continues, as should be no surprise. I spent the whole day yesterday grading, managing to clear out one set of papers across the breadth of the day (seriously, from a few minutes after yesterday's post to after ten that evening; I definitely quaffed from the wrong flagon). There is still grading left for me to do, although it will not take so long, as the assignments are far shorter than those I treated yesterday. And there is a 1,500-word freelance piece staring at me--with a much longer one to drop on Tuesday. Conference work still needs my attention, as well, both in dealing with a couple of panels and in drafting a paper. And I probably ought to put up another piece on the Tales after Tolkien Society blog; I've yet to do one this month, and we are almost two weeks into it. (Contributions are welcome; let me know.) So, yes, as ever, there is much to do.

Work is not the only thing that continues, either. Ms. 8 continues to grow and develop. Although she has not acquired any new words since last time I noted her vocabulary, or none that I have heard her voice or am able to recognize, she is walking a bit more than before, and a bit more steadily. She also interacts with her environment more, making changes to it that are not simply throwing things around; she is beginning to build things and rearrange them for her comfort and convenience. She is also mimicking her mother's actions and mine more nearly, acting as if reading books; she turns pages and moves her mouth as if to sound out the words printed thereupon. I have to wonder if the Mrs. and I are starting Ms. 8 on the same dark path we have walked, that which leads through academia to...somewhere, I guess. I'm not there yet, I think and hope.

If this is the end of the road, it is not exactly paved with yellow bricks. Then again, it also does not lead through a land where semi-sentient straw-bundles stand with sticks up where the sun doesn't shine, and Talus's descendants or Olivaw's forebears do not rust where they have attacked thinking trees. The large, floating, disembodied head that is itself a lie seems to factor into the surroundings, though, and in plenitude; I am still looking for the curtains, but whether to uncover what lies behind or join those who operate the machinery they seek to hide. It seems a better racket than what I am doing now, and not less temporary than my current position seems to be.