Sorry I was away. I desperately need to reorder my life. You should see this place. You should see the dishes in the sink. I don't know what half those stains are. I didn't know I had that many dishes. Why are my A.S. Byatt books and Alien laserdiscs under so many goddamn socks? You know what time I've been getting up, most days? 1:30 p.m. That's not human. I need help.
I think the problem is eating. Eating is a pain in the ass for me. Cooking and cleaning take so much time, and the pleasure afforded by actually eating the meal is so minimal these days, that I just don't do it much. I want those Jetsons food pills. For years I resented having a body at all, and while I've partially come around on that, my corporeal form still requires much more upkeep than I feel like giving it most of the time. Anyway, I think my somewhat pathetic goal list for June is a) to start getting up in the actual morning, and b) to establish regular mealtimes. I'm aware that this lifestyle is a major reason why my head feels like it's falling off half the time.
Also, I taught my first class (undergrad fiction workshop) yesterday. To complete the weird looking-glass aura of being on the other side of the teacher/student divide, I'm in the same classroom where I took my last workshop. My chair is practically still warm from Chris Offutt. The job is much more low-key than I had expected, though. Of course I haven't really taught anyone anything yet.
The novel is dead, again. This dunderheaded article suggests that its place has been taken not by television or film, but by nonfiction. The novel no longer has anything new to tell us. You know what? Ino, I can't even start. I have to wash the damn dishes.