n. infantile pattern of suckle-swallow movement in which the tongue is placed between incisor teeth or between alveolar ridges during initial stage of swallowing (if persistent can lead to various dental abnormalities) v. [content removed due to Bush campaign to clean up the internet] n. act of nyah-nyah v. pursuing with relentless abandon the need to masticate and thrust the world into every bodily incarnation in order to transform it, via the act of salivation, into nutritive agency

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

don't be a big baby. be a big loud baby.

Mother's DaySo, after a good solid week and a half of brooding and getting angrier and angrier about the creative writing class, I decided to write a polite email to the department head (I don't know her official title, since they seem to change that every year) asking for a meeting to discuss the options she mentioned, and also why I wasn't given a creative writing class for next year. After taking a few days (pins and needles) to get back to me because of the flu, she wrote back and we set up a time.

I had to coach myself quite a bit about what to say, and what not to say... i.e. the best manner of asking WTF?! I told myself I just needed information for future reference, and I was primarily going to listen and hear what she had to say. Also, she was a friend of mine and hopefully would lay it down straight, so as I go on to apply for other jobs, I would know what my weaknesses are, so's to improve on them.

Apparently sticking up for myself is one of the weaknesses, considering how hard it was to drag myself into her office.

And then we had a very nice conversation. She said the committee's decision had nothing to do with my qualifications or proposal - which were excellent. And that their decision had to do with an old policy that is starting to come under some scrutiny... that of spreading the candy around to make everyone happy. Giving everyone an opportunity regardless. She said that my qualifications had actually caused a bit of controversy surrounding the issue, considering that I was the only applicant with an additional MFA.

And she offered me a class... for this summer. An intensive 5-week course, which I'll likely have to advertise for to fill, but would perhaps act like an intensive summer workshop.

It was clear she was anxious to make me feel valued, and to toss me a bone. I'll probably accept the bone and go bury it somewhere in my backyard. A full July of teaching sounds like a dubious honor, considering how burnt out I am on teaching at this time of year, but I was going to have to look for a job anyway, so I suppose I might as well let it be in July instead of August.

I feel better. I still feel weird though, like... if I take this class, does it mean I shouldn't look elsewhere? MH told me that's not the way the world works... that though she doesn't want me to go, it would be fair game to take the class and look for work elsewhere. I would be more inclined to give them Fall Quarter though, since that's when they'd be in a bind. Anyhow, food for thought. I still feel better.

And chagrined. And a little proud of myself, that I went in and talked.


Jess, you were right about Bluets "comforting something in me." I think you must be a genius, to realize that I'm exactly this obsessive. And for the record, I take it back: it's not poetry. More like an essay, surprisingly. Maybe even a fictional essay, I can't always tell, but I don't really care whether it's fiction or not, it's pretty awesome.
80. What I have heard: when the mines of Sar-e-Sang run dry (locals say the repressive rule of the Taliban, who, in 2000, blew up the two giant statues of Buddha at the mines' entrance--Buddhas whose blue auras were the oldest-known application of lapis on earth--caused a particularly long dry spell; God only knows what the American bombing has done since), the miners use dynamite to bleed a vein, in hopes of starting a "blue rush."

81. What I know: when I met you, a blue rush began. I want you to know, I no longer hold you responsible.
I still sort of do. Dynamite carries a choice in the form of its fuse. 'Course, I suppose one could get more generous with her interpretation of metaphors.


Speaking of which, NM went to a reading that she knew would have EC in it. She told me ahead of time, and I limited my comments to "be nice to her," but I got drunk the night before and had to stop myself from sending her a text message accusing her of fucking with me. It feels disloyal, to tell the truth. But anyhow. I didn't send the text, as I never have said anything to prevent my friends from making their own choices.

When NM "reported back," I wanted to tell her I don't want to hear a thing about it, that I want that part of my life behind me, that's its that time's refusal to leave me which causes so much rutted tornado crossings in my brain as is, and that I want her to stop talking about those people, all of them. Just stop. Actually, I have told her this, but I don't think it fully registers with her. Why wouldn't I want to hear about EC or DP or CG or etc.? Why not?

Perhaps it's a bigger problem that I also want to hear. I like poking my eyeballs, smashing at my eyes "to reproduce lost color sensations" (Bluets #74). The whole thing seems so devious.


I potted all of my porch flowers yesterday. Ah, colors. This weekend I am going to clean off the porch and set up the tables and umbrellas and pretty things.

I got mom some flowers for Mother's Day, too. Though mostly I worked. Getting close to the end of the quarter. Okay, it's the middle of the quarter. But the middle is closer to the end than the beginning, that's for sure. It's a nice feature of the middle.

And I went for a walk with MH on Friday that was a new walk... along the Nooksack River, and it was in-cre-dible. Herald loved every second of it, as did I. Ah, MH... would that she were single, and would that she were into the ladies. Heh.

And I went on Artwalk... time to start using my studio more for the pursuit of good, rather than evil (grading and prepping). I should aim to open for next Artwalk, I think. Okay... I must be off. Herald is baying at the windows for a walk.
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