On My Own

Last class is tomorrow night. I am feeling both exhilarated and terrified. I like structure. I like tight deadlines. But as of Wednesday morning, I am on my own with this whole thesis thing and it makes me want to crawl into the fetal position and suck my thumb until September. The two months between tomorrow and September, when my first 80 pages are due, seems like an impassable chasm, an endless stretch of rocky time as far as the eye can see. Without Sheila to hold my hand, weekly deadlines to beat me into action, and fellow students to try and impress, how will I find motivation?

True, I do have Rand and Voix, and that bitter little voice inside my head that keeps whispering about all the money I’ve already spent. But after all this time in school, I still feel decidedly uneducated. Wasn’t I supposed to know it all by now? Isn’t that why I signed on the dotted line- to perfect my craft, work out the kinks? I swear I know nothing.

Barrie Borich was right. My grammar is crap, my sentences waaaaaaaay too long, and I wouldn’t know a dangling modifier from a squinting modifier if both bit me right on the ass.

Have I complained enough? Ok, more coffee please. Gotta finish my final portfolio for class, come up with a lovely snack to share, and crack open Burroway.

To Do:

Paint new upstairs walls

Paint old patio furniture

Find cushions for old patio furniture

Find cushions for new porch furniture

Watch at least 4 hours a day of HGTV

Remove horrid wallpaper in kitchen

Paint kitchen after repairing wall damage caused by crazy dog

Paint kitchen cabinets

Change kitchen cabinets’ 1987 knobs

Change 1987 doors to several rooms (would it have killed them to put in REAL wood doors?)

Watch at least 4 hours a day of Food Network

Learn to cook

Paint furniture for new upstairs

Spray paint new closet doors

Replace bathroom vanity

Replace bathroom lights, which currently blind unsuspecting guests

Stain new railing and banister

Nah, watch husband stain new railing and banister

Continue to go through crap in garage

Sell crap at garage sale

Learn to mix stronger cocktails

Write entire thesis by September

Freelance work

Lose 9 more pounds

Feed the dog

Interact with family and friends


...In that order.

When did this happen to me? I used to be cool…seriously. I used to go out, I used to dance, I used to think creatively. Then I bought a house.

There are days when I miss my apartment on Scott Terrace, tucked up in the woods like my own little tree house. If it wasn’t for the creepy, porn-watching, laundry-stealing, prone-to-inappropriate-outbursts-of-anger neighbor, it would have been a slice of heaven. Peeling paint and all.

I love my house, I love my family. But on some days, not every day, but some days, I miss being young and stupid and mortgage free. KWIM? Ok, back to thesis.

I’m on it Rand, sheesh!

Thesis Woes Part I

So I’ve been in the MFA program at Hamline for approximately 100 years. Fellow students who started in the program with me have long since gone on to publish great works of fiction, teach at the Loft and elsewhere, and participate in brilliantly written radio shows. Me? I am just now getting around to my thesis.

I don’t think I’ve been doing this right. I partially blame my former advisor, who didn’t do much advising and generally didn’t seem to give a shit. “Sure, take poetry, why not?” he’d say, my file sitting unopened on his desk. “What was your name again?”

But mostly, it’s my own damn fault, as Jimmy Buffett would say. My path through this MFA program has been a bit erratic. I’ve taken semesters off because life got in the way. I’ve chosen classes that were a complete waste of time. And I didn’t find my focus until about half way through the program. That’s a lot of money wasted, and time, and energy.

But I don’t believe in regret. Except I kind of regret quoting Jimmy Buffett just now.

So ready or not, the thesis must be written. Eighty pages must be turned into Susan Power by September. Deep breath…here we go.

Good News

Our friend is back at home after a couple of days of being poked and prodded. Turns out, they believe she suffered from a neurological migraine. She doesn’t remember having a headache, but evidently, these migraines can mimic signs of a stroke. Scary.

It is amazing what the body can do, and put us through. We are just so glad to have her home. Another friend and I are headed over there, armed with Sex in the City videos, chocolate malts, and Shannon Olson’s novels Welcome to My Planet and Children of God Go Bowling.

Thanks for all the good thoughts…and bathtubs full of Whiskey.

Our good friend is in the hospital. She had numb hands and her speech is slurred. She is in her early 30's. They have ran a million tests on her tiny body and have ruled out major things like stroke. I am scared out of my mind and completely freaked out. Maybe by the time I even publish this everything would have resolved itself? Right?

If you pray, please pray. If you hope, wish, or have any magical powers or positive thoughts, please send those too.

When Charlotte Comes Home

I am reading When Charlotte Comes Home by Maureen Millea Smith and it is beautiful and so devastating that I need time to process it before I can tell you about it.

All I can tell you is that I am not a big reader, not like the rest of you. I have a hard time reading so I don't do it as often as I should. Plus, I rarely find that book. You know, that book that sits on your shoulder like a little buzzing bird as you go about your day, that story that keeps calling to you until you can pick the book back up in the evening. This is such a book for me, so if you want to, pick it up. Be moved, be haunted, and support local authors all in one swift move.

More later...

Keep on Rockin' in the Free World

A recent, and rather disturbing revelation by Blogagaard, has got me thinking. What are you all listening to these days?

We got XM radio for Christmas from my in-laws, who unfortunately live in Iowa. It makes the three plus hours drive much more tolerable when you can flip easily between a station dedicated to Frank Sinatra, salsa mui caliente, European top 80’s, and CNN. Now we’ve moved it indoors, and it’s a lovely way to spend an afternoon.

David, you know I kid. Now go put on some Beatles or Lyle Lovett or Elvis, or at least Nora Jones or something. Sheesh.