22 June 2007

These are my confessions

You know what's amazing? When you read a poem by one of your students and realize that you are JEALOUS and wish that you had written the poem yourself. I am going to have to confess this to Sara tomorrow afternoon when we have lunch and talk poetry. Jealous, of all things!

What else can I confess today?

I felt really shady taking this photo of a dismantled something in the building where I teach, but I took it anyway. I'm not sure why I felt so devious, but I did.

I have my office door closed, but my window is open, open, open!

I'm not making dinner tonight. And I am not going to go view and pet adoptable dogs after we go out for dinner tonight. I'm not! No dogs. No. Nary a sniff nor a woof.

I confess that I am never caught up. Are you ever really caught up? I'm not.

I confess that sometimes I must remind myself that having to read poems for the next three hours is not work.

Here I go.


Sara said...

can you see me blushing from there?
can you believe I have internet access in the middle of the work day?!

Penultimatina said...

Can you see the green jealousy from here in Olin Hall?

Now you have to guess which poem it is. ;)

Sara said...

I think...predictions?

John Gallaher said...

Sometimes I try to buy lines from people. No one's ever taken me up on it, though I've gone as high as a dollar.

Jealousy is the cornerstone of my aesthetic.

Sandra said...

Since you are in the business of confessing, I will confess: When I'm behind on work, I hold my bedtime ritual hostage. I can only go to sleep on top of the covers, fully clothed.

Sometimes a whole month will go by of sleeping this way before I actually cross the darned to-do off my list.

Penultimatina said...

Sandra, when I was a grad student I wouldn't allow myself to eat until I read X number of pages. It worked! Maybe I should market this as a new academic weight loss plan...

I like your strategy!

Jeff said...

I am jealous whenever I read a good poem. Whenever I read a good anything, really. It reminds me of my own limits and aspirations. A good thing, I guess.

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