The end of the semester is nigh. I’m proctoring my last exam tomorrow. I’ve got a stack of finals from last week sitting in a neat pile on the dining room table. I’ve got a ton of meetings this week, and I’m really not sure where I am supposed to be and when. The bookstore is demanding book order forms. A last minute recommendation. A book review. The end of the semester is nigh, but not nigh enough.
Despite these looming deadlines, I’m already busy thinking about my plans for the summer. I want to write a couple of articles and several opinion pieces. I’ve got things mapped out on scraps of paper and in my head. I really need to type things up.
On Saturday, I drove to the Gap to pick up some summery pants to hide the whiteness of my legs. On the way, I was thinking about one of my articles. Arranging paragraphs as I drove. Suddenly, I realized that instead of driving to the Gap, I was nearly at work. Ugh. I’m getting old.
I pulled off the first exit and managed to get totally lost in a development of McMansions. I called up Steve on the cell phone and put it on speaker phone as I drove around. "Honey, I’m lost. I just passed a daycare center. Where am I?"
I’m at that lovely manic stage of hyper creativity. I’ve got a ton of ideas that all seem most excellent and I haven’t been beaten down yet by a proper review of the competition’s ideas or by the weight of footnotes or by the dullness of forming grammatical sentences. That will come soon enough.
Another part of the dreaming stage of paper writing is the jump to the finish line. There’s always the assumption that the paper will be widely acclaimed by all. The prizes and accolades that will follow.
An old friend of mine once said that everybody always has prepared the correct banter that they’ll exchange with Letterman on his show. They have pictured themselves giving an acceptance speech with the Oscar in hand.
The sad reality is that few us ever gets recognition like that. Our successes are rare and private. I know that whatever academic paper I write will be read by few. My student evaluations are sealed in an envelope with the office secretary.
The other successes in my life made me bacon and pancakes for breakfast this morning. The littlest one sang a song that he learned in school. "M-O-M. M-O-M. Mom is best friend. We play games. We go to the park. The fun just never ends." I’m very proud of them.
Apt. 11d 