June 27, 2004
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Balancing my status?/destiny?/chemical imbalance? as a tortured artist with a more-demanding-than-anticipated assistantship has resulted in rehab-warranting caffeine abuse (I had to fight the hand-to-credit-card reflex earlier this week while scoping out this lovely specimen), the desire to cast aside the NSF Funding Files and curl up anywhere with a bulky tome of modern theory, and the means to purchase a number of arcane critical works but no time to crack them open. So basically, I've spent the last few days caressing the cover of my new Yeats Companion as I edit my grant proposals for instances of excessive alliteration. I had high hopes that employment would mark the end of my frivolity and the dawn of a new, neuroses-free era, but early morning meetings and ever-present legal pads aside, few improvements have been made. When I'm not collapsing on the floor with a bowl of penne with prosciutto and shouting maniacally to my family "I should make business cards that read Sarah Catherine Taylor Thomas: Verbose Document Drawer-upper Extraordinaire!!!", I'm responding to my mother's good-natured retort of "You don't assume your husband's middle name, silly! Plus, JTT is too short for you..." with an ill-willed stab of my pasta and a shrill "THEN I'LL DIE A CARPAL TUNNEL-RIDDEN OLD SPIN-STAH!"
In order to prevent this from occuring, I spend about fifteen minutes each day compiling cryptic "Which One of These Doesn't Belong?"-like MultilingualFutureHusbandLinkMontages and e-mail them to two of my dearest friends who are parading around Paris with their respective families.
Think:
une
deux
trois/trois
quatre
cinqAnyone dare to attempt all five?
Speaking of prospective spouses, when one's most pressing problem is where to find a loverrrr who will allow her to name their firstborn Hartley, she ought to be counting her blessings. Of course it's not all that simple... there's the issue of how to fit Latin, Greek, French, and German into my undergraduate curriculum, the chronic case of My Father's Family Is Suffocating Me With Their Sudden Interest in My Life, and the incurable insomnia, but [insert appropriate passage from "Prufrock"--you know, to the effect of 'there comes a time for everything,' only stated much more life-alteringly and in terms of toast and tea], there does come a time for everything, Coleridge-inspired nomenclature dilemma notwithstanding.
Comments (6)
I just want to let you know that you¡¦re one of the luckiest person in the world. You have just received the love from an angel named Heaven. Hope this makes you happy. May God bless you always.
You need to get yourself over to Port (and no, I'm not referring to Canaveral) so we can resume The Best Summer Ever via chowder at Dogs and skating trips to Fay Park. Also, I'm suffering from extreme Hump withdraws.
I was studying in London for about 4 months. I probably saw the same artwork you mentioned that had been at Harvard? Is that possible? It's been so many years now, I don't know for sure what I saw! Maybe if I gave it some thought, it would all come back to me...
I think I found your site through links from amykayh, so I have no idea who you are . . . but I'm enjoying your creativity and missing all the lit and poetry I used to study (I'm immersed in biotech world right now). high five!
You're here!!!! I had so much fun riding around T-ville and searching for street signs named after Caribbean islands/gods/british peeps with you. The bike ride was certainly longer than 4.5 miles!
(CAUSE IT WAS!)
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