Too much, too much, too much. I'm settling in at the job-space, and there's so much to do it's hard to figure out which direction to run screaming in first. I run between daily tasks--open and sort mail, or get the intern to do it (and what else to have the interns do? and who's signing up for hours? and what's the email need to look like that I send to the grad students? and don't I have a presentation tomorrow to prep for? and can I move these shelves? where can I get dusting supplies?)--to the far away (need to set up the ads and receptions for AWP--in January--, can't forget plane tix for everyone, start list of stories, poems, essays for spring 08 issue, budget finalizations, ads for next year, next year's subscription to other journals, set up for book prize. . . ). That's pretty much my daily to-do list. I sigh. I'm thinking that at some point I'll get a sense of which pant leg to put on first in the morning, but right now I'm trying to put both legs through both pant legs. Wait, I'll say to myself, how did I get four legs? And what's the burning smell? Right. That pot was on the back burner too long.
There is no learning curve, here. It pretty much shoots up at escape velocity. When you see me next and all my hair and skin is pulled back from my face, you'll at least know why I look that way.
But I keep ordering recycled paper goods and repurposing stuff from the supply room. I have the internet radio playing Americana--it's peppier than the "all-guitar jazz" station and not quite as eyebrow-raising as the "all black metal" station. Hey, I even have a window. I get to watch weather happen. And I've moved a coffee maker into the office. So now I have something bitter to share. First, though, let me catch my breath.
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