20160229.0605

Today is Leap Day, the quadrennial occurrence of a calendar hiccup that tries to put the common-use count of days back in line with the solar year. I have not previously marked the occasion; I had not started blogging in earnest last time it occurred. There is no shortage of commentary on the importance of the day, such as it is; I read it as being another Monday, one extra day before certain bills are due (but they are already paid, payday having happened and the usual sequence of events having taking place therefore). It is another day in which to work, and work continues.

At the moment, work focuses primarily on the classroom. I have an assignment ready to go for one of my classes, and I need to draft a sample of the current assignment and grade stacks of papers for the other three. Another assignment is coming in from the one class on Wednesday, as well, so I will not lack for things to do this week. As far as the draft assignment goes--and I draft assignments of the sort I expect from my students, but I still somehow do not do enough for them--it is a matter of collecting information and sketching it out. I should not have much trouble with the former. The latter, since I am not much of an artist (save, somehow, for overland maps, owing to my RPG experiences), may be a bit more troublesome. Still, doing it should have salubrious effects in securing future work; it will show that I can handle another type of work yet, and that should make me more attractive a candidate for any number of jobs.

For I am looking for work, as I may have mentioned. My current primary position (and I write "primary" because I am working three) is a visiting appointment; at some point, my visit will end, and I need to have a place to go once it does. Because I am under contract, I cannot look for "regular" work for a while, yet; I cannot start before the middle or end of May, and "regular" employers need workers now or sooner. But after already having sent out scores of job applications this year, and noting that those that coordinate with my current contract are...not entirely desirable, given my location and their instability, I am in something of a lull as far as applying for new work goes. It is not a matter of laziness; in the last couple of years, I have sent out more application materials than most people do in their lives. I am wearied by the work, though (even if I may have another application or two to do; I am unsure), and I am waiting for word on a few things that have promised to get back to me but have not done so yet. (I have to doubt whether the answer in such cases is anything other than "no.") So I have a bit of time to focus on other things, perhaps, those areas where work continues even on a once-in-four-years day.

20160228.0841

I got a haircut
A beard trim
And I feel better for both
But I feel guilty
For spending the money
Even though I know
I am not equipped
To tend to the matters
Myself

It is not the only thing
For which I feel guilt
Staying in the shower too long
Enjoying the shower at all
Sleeping later than I normally do
Using nicer sheets
Having a finger or two of Scotch of an evening
Not working in every waking moment
Not doing more with working time

I do not do enough to deserve niceness
Even those small luxuries
Judged against the standards in which I am immured
I allow myself to have
And that circumstances facilitate
But I am too weak to divest myself of them
And that is where the shame begins

20160227.0757

I was asked
How I do it
With several things being the
It

I answered
There is no other way
Really
And it is true

It must be done
I must do it
Ergo
I do it

I should reflect on it
I should be able to find an answer
Find a way to bottle it
And sell it

That is the way
Is it not?

20160226.0614

Some thoughts:

As I was getting dressed this morning, I noticed again that my socks are branded. That is, they display the name of the company than makes them. Normally, I do not approve of such things; I resent the implication that I am paying to be a company's advertisement. My socks stay largely hidden, though, so it is not so much of a problem. Too, the company name is on the sole of the sock, ideally at the ball of the foot. Whether I am to read this as me grinding the company underfoot or as me relying on its uplift and support as I go about my day is not clear to me. Admittedly, much is unclear to me.

My tutee asked a few lessons ago to be given reading exercises. The one we began yesterday is taken from Geoff Nunberg's "Changes to French Spelling Make Us Wonder: Why Is English So Weird?" (Yes, the capitalization is correct; the "so" functions adverbially.) In the piece, Nunberg describes arguments surrounding the to-take-effect-soon changes to French orthography as "entertainingly Gallic," and the tutee asked me what "Gallic" is. I replied as honestly as I can. It is a callback to Latin, seen most prominently in Cæsar's De Bello Gallico and its opening statement that "Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres." That is, the area now called France was earlier called Gaul, its people the Gauls, which render in Latin as Gallia and Galli. Interestingly, Cassell's Latin Dictionary also notes that gallus, plural galli, also means "cock" in the sense of the rooster--a connection acknowledged in the figure of the French le coq gaulois, so that people seem in on the joke. And, then as now and there as here, "cock" also reads as a euphemistic reference to male genitals. (Admittedly, quite a bit can be read thus.) In essence, Nunberg can be read as calling the French dicks--something in which he is far from alone. The tutee laughed about it.

I completed a slate of contract work yesterday. In total, I spent less than a week of working time on the job; it was not forty hours spread over several weeks. The authorized payout is not insignificant, particularly given my personal finances. I would be happy to continue to do such work in the future; I would do so consistently if the work were available consistently. It is not, certainly not so much as my novel write-ups (of which I still have one to complete), so I still need to keep a day job. (Benefits are also a concern.) Still, it is a nice addition to the support of Sherwood Cottage, and it is to support the household that my work continues.

20160225.0637

This morning got off to a shaky start. As I was getting ready to take my shower, an earthquake made itself felt at Sherwood Cottage. I have not yet seen relevant data about it, but I do not need to to know that I was disturbed by the event. There is something eerie about hearing toilet water slosh around without having dropped something into it yet. (I do note, however, that a toilet is a wonderful place to be startled. If there is any place worth being when the crap is scared out...) But that part was not the most annoying; after all, with Oklahoma being the world leader in seismic activity, the ground shaking has become a common occurrence in the area of Sherwood Cottage. No, what was worse was that shortly after the shaking stopped, the circuit breaker governing the electrical circuit that feeds the bathroom (and bedrooms) flipped off. I got to put my pants back on (I was getting ready for my shower, remember) and go out to address the issue. It was easily enough done, but it disrupted the easy, accustomed flow of my morning, and I have to wonder what effects it will have on me for the rest of the day.

I make such a comment because work continues today. I am still working on the freelance project noted yesterday, having put together between a fifth and a quarter of the project. Additionally, I have at least one tutorial meeting; students are clamoring for my attention in advance of a project being due in its final version tomorrow. I have a conference call this afternoon, as well, which will pay me a fair bit for my time and attention, so I will be sitting for it. And I have a short stack of papers to assess, collected from a class taught at the local community college. There is no shortage of things for me to do today, as is true of most every day, so I need to be in good form so that I may address the lot. This morning did not help me get off to a good start; I will do what I can to plow through, because I must, but I have my suspicions about how things will go.

In the past, I have been told both that such thoughts make me oddly superstitious and that they tend to become self-fulfilling prophecies. (Admittedly, I was not told these things by the same people.) It seems to me, though, that the two are mutually exclusive, with superstition taking as irrational the belief that such forecasting or omen-reading as I might be thought to do is accurate and self-fulfilling prophecy necessarily noting that what is predicted happens because it is predicted. Neither offers a solution; ignoring the events of the day leads to discontinuity and a failure to learn, while self-fulfilling prophecy seems only to work in one direction: the unpleasant. (The Good Doctor addresses the issue directly in Prelude to Foundation. And I am reminded that I need to re-read the novel yet again--as well as the rest of the series it heads. Someday, when I have time and a bit more stable footing...)

20160224.0641

Work continues, of course. I read the novel I will be writing up next: Jeffrey Archer's Cometh the Hour. I found it enjoyable, in part because I read its predecessor for freelance work last year, so I had already had the opportunity to invest in the characters and organizations depicted in the text. Entering a series late always presents difficulties; one of the marks of good authorship is that the writer is able to continue the narrative in such a way as to allow understanding of current events without demanding recourse to the earlier works--although a good author will also invite the additional reading. At some point, time permitting, I may well go back and read the earlier volumes in Archer's series, as well as earlier volumes in some other series I have encountered through doing the freelance write-ups. Maybe it will happen again--because it has happened before--that I will be asked to do so for the freelance work; that seems an ideal option.

The thought has occurred to me, of course, that I might do the kinds of write-ups I do for freelance orders independently of them. I would not repeat orders I have already done, certainly, but there are many other texts to address, many more than I am likely to be asked to treat, and a market for such things is evidently available, given how many such offerings are out in the world. Certain genres and authors suggest themselves as wanting attention, and some of them are even on my bookshelves. Perhaps I will turn to such writing in and among my other, more scholarly projects, or as a thing to do once I get a few of them done; there are many that yet need me to complete them, to which I mean to turn relatively soon. I just have to get a few other things done first; what I do for pay has to come before what I do for other than pay, at least for now. Sherwood Cottage and its indwellers need the money, but I do need to get my projects out of my head and onto the page. I am not Yggdrasil, and they collectively are not Níðhöggr, but they do gnaw at my roots, and I will fall if they eat their way through them all.

For now, though, I have ordered work to attend to. It pays decently enough, allowing me to make money doing something I enjoy doing. I do get to read mass-market books that are likely to be understood and appreciated by the broad public, allowing me some chance to talk to people outside the discipline--and that is a thing that is foregrounded as problematic in many of the narratives traded in and about academia. It allows me to put to use the skill sets I developed in my childhood and youth, offering me some explicit benefit to having had my nose in a book for so much of the time as I did. For the most part, I enjoy the work; I like being able to read things and say, even if only briefly, intelligent things about them. And if I am "over-trained" or "over-qualified" for such work, then it makes doing it all the easier.

20160223.0652

As should be expected, work continues. I will be giving a tutorial tonight, which I expect to go well; the tutee is a good one, and the subject matter involved is agreeable to both of us. Also, a freelance order came in yesterday; I will need to purchase the book for it and begin to read so that I can do the write-up and hopefully pull in some money therefrom. I certainly need it; bills continue to filter in, and although I am getting them paid, their timing is not aligned well to my flow of income. I have less cushion than I would prefer, and it vexes me. I am trying to build up a bit more padding so that I can move ahead with a bit more confidence into the ultimately uncertain circumstances I face and that my family necessarily faces with me. Problematic as it is, the household finances depend upon my efforts almost entirely; the Mrs. works and earns, to be sure, but only one part to my three or four. It is not right, necessarily, but it is as it is, and so I am glad that work continues.

As far as the family goes: Things are returning to their slim semblance of normalcy after the weekend's birthday celebrations. Ms. 8 has been enjoying the gifts given to her by family and friends, exulting in having art supplies and another doll, and enjoying having a new setup for her bedroom. The Mrs. and I bought and set up a bin organizer for her, one that keeps many of her toys off of the ground yet still accessible to her; Ms. 8 gets to play easily, and she does reasonably well at putting things away when she is reminded to do so. At two, she does still need to be reminded, but that is hardly unexpected. (Nor are the occasional tantrums at being denied her wishes to go with her mother to work or at being rebuked for upending juice boxes and water bottles on floors just cleaned.) She remains a delight, and I hope to be able to help her remain so (while still helping her to have what she needs to be able to make her way and not be bound by oppressive gender norms).

I worry about such things, of course. I do not want Ms. 8 to have the same kinds of social problems I did; my mouth got me into quite a bit of trouble, and my inclination towards solitude and quiet has made some professional things more difficult for me than they would otherwise be. The latter does not seem to be a problem for the girl; she is quite outgoing. But the former may yet be. At the same time, I do not want her to feel forced into conformity; I do not want her to grow into the kind of person who cannot conceive of things outside the norm as valuable and desirable instead of shameful for the simple reason of otherness. (There are things outside the norm that should be shameful, of course, but they are shameful because shameful, not because other.) I am not well equipped to help her in such a way, however, and it worries me. It is part of why I work; perhaps by doing so, I can provide her with what she needs to be who she ultimately is.

20160222.0612

Work continues again, as it ever seemingly must. I spent most of the day yesterday grading, plowing through three classes' papers. That one class was scanty of submissions helped in that regard, but it was still not the most pleasant way to spend the day. The simple lack of attention to detail on display was not a happy thing to see--and most of the problems in the students' papers bespeak a lack of attention more than anything else. I suppose it is an issue of youth--I am teaching sections of second-semester composition--and the perception that my classes do not matter; I can hope, at least, that the students' in-major coursework receives more attention and thought than mine. This is not because I devalue my classes, as should be obvious, but because the thought of engineers and veterinarians treating structures and animals as I have seen writing assignments get treated is chilling. I have enjoyed the mild winter; I do not need such cold.

Today, I am in the classroom with four sections. Three will be reviewing a new assignment sheet. The fourth will be workshopping a paper that will come in Wednesday; it should be an easy day at my regular and secondary jobs. I have an outside project that requires more attention, as well--not because I screwed up, but because the system used to do it did. I will be paid for the time already spent and the time taken to re-do the work, though; although I am somewhat miffed that I have to re-do work already done, I am being compensated for my time and trouble, so I do not complain of the event. Maybe I will have time to put toward other projects yet, given what I know of how things go with the tasks already facing me; maybe another freelance order will come up, and maybe I will be able to put some time and effort towards other endeavors that need my attention and have not been getting it recently. I can hope so, in any event.

To turn: Ms. 8 had a fine birthday and weekend following. Her grandparents joined us at and around Sherwood Cottage, as did a couple of her cousins. They came to celebrate with us, and we had a good time of it, playing a fair bit and eating well. Leftovers have piled up, which I do not mind; I have less cooking to do in the next few days than might otherwise have been the case, and I am happy to have to do less work to gain the same results. The excitement seems to have prompted more development from Ms. 8; she has more new words now, and she has been playing with her presents interestingly already. She has also been enthusiastic, her face lighting up at being given things; I am filled with hope for her. If I am to help that hope be fulfilled, however, I will have much work to do--and it always seems to come back to that point, that work continues.

20160221.0652

A few hours of quiet
After many hours
Many
Many
Hours
Of delighted childish glee
And before
Another hour
Or so
Of the press
Of families holding close
One more time
Before parting once again
And I will have to get back to work.

20160220.0751

The teacher asked
If the student had been in class
The student said
I don't remember
Somehow
This is the teacher's fault
Of course
Because it always is
Never mind that the student was late
Never mind that the student reeked of
Some intoxicant or another
And sat with glassy eyes
Unblinking
Flat
Until the student looked down
At a crotch-held phone
Working a hand between the legs
And stroking back and forth