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A ramble on blogging

In a strangely meta-way, I've taken to a blog for a ramble about blogging. Blogging, in the sort of mostly-anonymous slice of life sort of way I've been doing off and on (more off than on lately) for a number of years isn't a thing anymore.

Alternatives that are a thing:

* Private websites for friends and family to share pictures and updates (I recommend Shutterfly mostly)

* Blogs with a carefully selected target audience, that have advertisers and product placement

* Pastoral blogs, where clergy share their sermons and opinions on current events

*Author blogs that try to engage an audience or promote a book

*Academic blogs which are a strategy for self-promotion and social networking

* Sick person blogs where patients  share their journeys through illness in search of advice or providing support to others


I think what I need right now is a lot more complicated than any of those options.

At this point in life...I'm a promising young academic, heading into my first tenur…
I wrote an entirely too long post on Facebook, and then edited it more than once. Which might be a sign it's time to start blogging again. For now, here's that post:

A friend shared this, and I said I felt like I could have written it. https://longreads.com/2017/07/03/home-is-a-cup-of-tea 

 And it would just be a little different... I know where I'd start- with Peru, and tea parties with my mother using a tiny doll-sized tea set, and chocolate chips on the side, with the way a hot cup of manzanilla (chamomile) could cure everything. I'd probably tell you about visits to my grandparents, where both coffee hour and afternoon tea meant heating water in their old coffeepot to pour over teabags, and about trips to the Celestial Seasonings tea factory in Boulder.

 I might tell you about college, the day my car broke down and while it was at the shop I spent the day with the mother of one of my best friends and a constantly whistling kettle. Or how some evenings I'd brin…

On the final months of graduate school

When I was 22, I had three major life goals: To live and work abroad, to teach at the college level, and to get a graduate degree. By the time I was 30, I had accomplished all those things (in ways that were much different and less impressive than I'd envisioned). It's humbling to realize that at 30, you've been given everything you ever wanted out of life and then some. And that getting to that place was harder than I could have imagined. There's a dissertation defense scheduled.
I'm....more terrified than excited right now. Writing, frantically. Crying hysterically over committee comments that don't make sense. Trying to remember the importance of prayer and meditation to center myself, to remember who I am, and why I do this. Nothing about this dissertation- that once felt divinely inspired, providential, perfect- seems to reflect who I am and what I want from life anymore. Everything feels disconnected. It feels like I am the bread scattered on the waters (…

Spoons

Even before I knew I was sick, I tried to be strategic in using my spoons. Sometimes this meant things like eating frozen pizza instead of cooking dinner, or limiting the number of errands I ran in a day, or trying to plan for at least one full day off a week.

Writing a dissertation takes a lot of spoons. As does living in the frozen tundra, in the winter particularly. These are things that are expected, and I don't feel bad for. But I am constantly embarrassed by the number of spoons managing my medical care takes. My GI retired in December of 2013, and I haven't seen a GI (or had any labwork done since). The thought of making a new patient appointment and shuffling  medical records halfway across the country makes me want to cry. I think I could *almost* handle it, if I didn't have to call and refill my prescription once a month.
Once a month I call my specialty pharmacy's automated line. The autorecording mispronounces my name. I say my birthday for the automated vo…

So basically....

I am a complete failure in life and have done everything wrong. If my spouse dies or leaves me I will find myself starving under a bridge, since I'm completely unemployable.
How did that happen?

1) I got married.
2) I chose my doctoral program in part based on my desire to live with my spouse the first year we were married.
3) I developed an expensive and debilitating chronic illness, and spent time and money recovering (instead of dying, which really would have been the far more reasonable choice).
4) The faculty member who was my initial adviser left the university, forcing me to choose a committee chair with limited experience with my dissertation topic and methods, and who doesn't have contacts in the areas I work in.
5) My spouse got a job halfway across the country, and I decided that 12 months of long-distance marriage was enough, and I would live with him while during the writing stages of dissertation work.

And there you have it. The death-knell of a promising career in p…

When you start too many new things at once....

Old things get dropped. You go a little crazy. You wonder if everything's going to fall apart.
"My" new town has welcomed me here with the worst winter in 20 years. I mostly sit in my home office and make gloomy, movie-inspired observations about the weather.
"The Day After Tomorrow was actually a movie about polar vortexes. Just wait, the lake and river are going to freeze over completely, and giant wolves are going to invade the city and we're going to be evacuated to Mexico."
"Remember in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers when it didn't stop snowing until June?"

There's a document on my computer (and backed up to Dropbox) titled "dissertation proposal". Right now, it's 9 pages long. The intro section has been emailed off  to my adviser.

I have a serious crush on our neighborhood Episcopal church, and I'm waiting to see if it turns into something more serious. This is kind of crazy, since I haven't had a church I'd…