That's A Wrap!

What a whirlwind semester.

I am still burning the midnight oil to get everything done that I have been delinquent on delivering.

As my final semester of coursework for my Master's degree, I think I couldn't have asked for a more dramatic, climactic exodus.

I've learned far more about myself--what I can achieve, what my limits are--than about literature and compositon this semester.

I've learned that you can't do it all. Something has to give sometimes. I have always had success anxieties to some extent. I know that I have to temper these anxieties with a good healthy dose of reality, a reality in which no one is superman/woman, no one can shoulder all responsibilities, no one can be clever and articulate all the time, no one can be inspired all the time.

Sometimes a bitter pill to swallow, but a necessary medicine nonetheless.

The Boy Who Cried Wolf

Like sand through the hourglass, these are the days....

of tortuous hell. Aka, the last weeks of the semester.

I'd like to say that, due to the new baby, I have put everything off until the last minute, that the work has piled up in an unusual way, that this just isn't like me to be so overwhelmed. The truth is:
The baby certainly doesn't help; but, no matter what the circumstances, I find myself in a similar predicament at the end of every semester. The work is just piled up and I am typing like a woman with a gun to her head, intermittently crying, sweating, hysterically laughing, absently staring, and then (of course) more typing, typing, typing.
I always have good intensions at the beginning of the semester. "I'll make a plan", "I'll read ahead every weekend", "I'll never procrastinate this semester".

Yeah
Yeah
yeah

I've told myself this so many times that now that I actually have a solid, legitimate instance of chaos induced procrastination, I can't help but be sick of my own stress-filled sentiment.
I am the girl who cried stress.

Spring in my Step

What is it about the changing of the season that stimulates a corresponding change within me?

When things either warm up or cool down, I can feel my whole psyche alter. I get excited. I feel as though I've been given the proverbial clean slate by the weather gods.

I wonder if others share this experience.

If so, I think there should be a national changing-of-the-seasons holiday. It would be difficult, because it would be different every year. Because, I am not suggesting that we have a day off on the official first day of spring according to the almanac. Rather, I am referring to that day when everybody knows that different weather is on the way. That first day that you either need to bust out the tank tops or the jeans jacket. You know it when you walk out the door and feel it. And, I think it is an absolute travesty that everyone is not off work on these days. These days are refreshing to the mind and spirit, and it should be an inalienable right that all people have these days to frolic and enjoy the feelings that come in such temperate bliss.

The Fleshy Ball of Want and Need

I had my baby on March 15th, right in time for a bitchin' spring break. And, when I say "bitchin'", I mean sleepless, pain med-hazed, euphoric wonderment extravaganza.

My little Ella Merle, though a good baby--calm, easily-pacified, good-eater, regular pooper, etc.--is still an amazement of time deletion. That is, with a newborn, time at once stands still and speeds ahead. The last two weeks have been the longest and the shortest of my life. Every moment is a conflict between 1) opportunity to sleep 2) opportunity to stare at or accommodate my new baby. Notice there is no do school work option listed.

I naively thought that I would bounce right back after a week. I thought spring break would be enough recovery time. Nope. That was foolish.

I have been in pain for the past two weeks as my nether region recovers and as my hormones resituate themselves. The only thing that can overcome the pain stimuli is the desires/necessities of my infant.

Luckily, I have a dreamy husband who is very good with babies and is very willing to help/accommodate with anything. He has been running a marathon between me and baby Ella on one end of the house and our nine year-old on the other. She is adapting well, happy to have a little sister, but also dealing with her own anxieties. She's been the main attraction for nine years and it is certainly a change to share the lime light. But, I am proud of her resilience and excitement. She is also a big help.

I am feeling better every day and enjoying every moment of the quick/slow time with my baby.
Hopefully, I can keep up with my school work.

Note to self-- Have next baby in June.

For those of you who are continuing on to Advanced Comp. from Blogs: An Independent Media, this is old hat by now. We're all old friends who know each other's business.

For those of you who are joining the fray, welcome to my blog.

I urge you to rifle through my past posts to get to know me. If there is no time for rifling, please look at my very first post at least. Here, you will learn about the precariousness of this semester for me.

So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, good night.

This is the last post I will make for the Blogging course.

Though I will continue with this blog for the remainder of the semester since Doc Hoc's Advanced Comp class also requires the maintenance of a blog, I won't be surprised if I continue on after this as well.

As a young girl through my teenage years, I was a devout diarist. It made me feel important and wise to collect my thoughts in a small, pretty journal. But, in my early twenties, I stopped keeping a diary. Life got too busy, my attention too divided. Ironically, it was at this very time that I truly started experiencing noteworthy milestones emotionally and event-wise. I lament that I do not have any epistolary time capsule of this segment of my life. I am now almost thrity and I find myself resurging into the sphere of the diarist, thanks to this blog assignment.

There are certainly things that I want to record that I would prefer not share with the blogosphere, but there are also things that are only thrilling when you know someone out there might read it. To share life in this open and pratically anonymous venue is enriching. I look forward to maintaining this blog in the future, if not weekly, then quarterly. But, I will definately be taking things a little 'old school' and bring back my journaling.

Semester Stamina--On.

Middle of the semester blues are a regularity for me.

I have been in college for nine years now and every semester, I lose my interest at this half way point. Happily, my interest always rebounds and I reassert myself with the kind of academic rigor that most find commendable, if not a little freaky and nerdy.

This semester, of course, is different as I wrangle with the added stress of "Am I going to have a baby today?". It is hard to get too involved in anything when one is in this state of mind. Brushing one's teeth seems too lengthy of a distraction, much less focusing on a research project.

I know that when baby Ella arrives, my tiredness will soar to new levels. But, somehow, I feel that my life will return to some type of normalcy when she gets here. That is, the waiting, the not-knowing, the anticipation, is way more time-consuming and distracting than caring for an infant.

I like to know what to expect everyday, and the last month has been hell in this regard.

Perhaps, though, we'll all have a good, hearty laugh at this sentiment in a few weeks when I am literally getting no sleep, trying to type away on papers with a wee babe wedged between my breast and the keyboard.
The grass is always greener, right?