last days, with [editorials]

This semester is a blur, a tiny train. I don't know how it is that I'm sitting here on a Tuesday, looking at the window at snow, my feet freezing in slippers I need to replace.

[I have taken ten baths in the last two weeks. I hate baths. But there is no faster way to return the blood and feeling to my extremities. So I draw the bath, and I fill the tub with Aveeno, and I slide beneath the water and contemplate my genitals.]


Tomorrow I bid farewell to most of my students; the day after, the rest of them. I will truly miss this group. I know that I've said this before, but it's worth writing down so that I remember. Yesterday was probably the last Monday class I'll ever teach at this campus; tomorrow, the last Wednesday. I have Tuesdays and Thursdays stretching ahead of me, but I know that soon enough those will be over, too, and I will be packing up my office.

[My first major job-related panic hit me this weekend. In case that is not really, really obvious. I fear that next semester will be the last class for a while.]
[Sometimes I think that if I dedicated as much time to reading as I do cataloging and recalling my blog posts, I might be smart. Or well-read, anyway.]
[Dear 2011, be kind.]


My brother took the photo above over Thanksgiving, when we wandered the botanical gardens in hopes of thawing. I miss the Madison botanical garden, which sat on the lake and was free. Lots of winter Sundays I would drive over, donate a dollar, and wander among the orchids for an hour or two. On weeknights, I would go the garden center next to our apartment and look at the orchids.

[Dear winter, I don't know what I'm still doing here.]


We are headed west and north for the holidays--it is the B's family's turn this year. We're drawing a route that makes Minneapolis on the way to Duluth, however, and will be staying with the Jeano for the days before the holiday. We will meet the new dog, and I will sit in the green chair that I miss, and we will eat cookies and drink bourbon.

[I am pretty sure the dog is named half for a Simpsons character and half for Detective Briscoe.]


Hey, are you searching for holiday gift ideas? Why not try a book of poetry! Nothing says Merry Christmas, parentals like a book about gin, and dogs, and divorce.

[I am pretty sure your parents do not want a book of poetry for Christmas. Better go ahead with your original plan of a Trader Joe's gift card, or a case of Nordeast.]