Mike’s Musings

So the nephew taught me how to play Guitar Hero this evening.  The only song I played well was “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” by Pat Benatar, which was pretty neat to play.  It’s a song that I remember from childhood, one I had a 45 to and would play on the turntable and lip synch to.  I’m sure I even threw a kitchen towel over my head, tucking the long ends behind my ears to mimic having long hair.  It didn’t dawn on me Pat Benatar’s hair was short and I didn’t need the dish towel, but in my mind, she was a girl and girls had long hair.  Simple as that.

At any rate, I had a 72% success rate at hitting the notes at the right time and in the right order.  Not bad for my first try.  Other songs didn’t do quite so well; I managed to get booed off the stage twice on “Talk Dirty to Me” and “Slow Ride”.  I was robbed on “Slow Ride”, though!  I didn’t fall apart until the end of the song.  Drat!

I think I’ll play Guitar Hero some more.

Namaste… MS

So today officially starts my non-teaching status until August.  Already, I’m out of the sorts and rudderless; I’ve even answered two email and proof-read an essay draft for a former student.  I am not good at disengaging, that’s for sure.

I’m going to feel badly for Dan and Josh the next week or so as I transition from having a very clear, direct focus to having one that’s more “choose my own adventure” in nature.  Last spring, I was a rip-roaring b*tch until I got settled into the more natural rhythm of summer living; my workaholic nature really resisted not having structure at first.  Luckily, I have some activities in the works that will help alleviate that.

I probably should shower.

Namaste… MS

So today I officially finished my duties for the semester.  Final projects have been graded, final grades have been submitted, and I can walk away from life in the trenches for awhile.  This term has been so taxing and so exhausting, mentally and emotionally and intellectually, and I, for one, am glad it’s over. 

Maybe now I can sit back and examine what’s happened to me in these fifteen weeks.  I can think about what my grandmother’s life meant, and what her death means for us left behind.  I can think about what changes being a “parent” have made in my life and my hardwiring.  I can think about what it means to not have gotten the tenure-track job, and what my available options might be.  (Loyalty is fickle when it gets slapped around once or twice.)  I can think about what it means to have Daniel living here now. 

Mostly, I can think about the fact that I’m now one of those people who seem to “have it all”, as I’ve been told more than once in the past weeks.  Having it all…and I know just how slippery those sand grains feels as they slip through my fingers.  Nothing is permanent.  We attach at our own risk.  But the risk has been very much worth taking.  The way I’ve loved — and been loved — since January by the people who matter the most has carried me through.  It’s humbled me.

Namaste… MS

So it’s raining outside.  Phineas is napping on a pillow on the couch.  Josh is playing a racing game on his PS2.  I don’t have any lights on.  The local evening news is on the TV, but the volume is mute.  I am writing what’s in front of me.  

Writing what’s in front of me also involves this laptop, still shiny and new.  It has that unmistakable “new computer” smell, in particular that “new Mac” smell.  It’s like part new-car smell and part eau de computer geek.  Hard to describe it.

It’s been hard to describe many things lately.  I’ve been trying to experience things and just let them be, to detach when possible.  My give-a-damn isn’t busted, but it’s more selective.  Unnecessary cares and concerns melt away, the way rain washes oil film down the driveway to the gutter.

That’s all I have for now.  It isn’t much, but it’s something.

Namaste… MS

So to console myself from the bad news of this morning, I made some pudding.  Not just any ol’ full-sugar, full-fat, full-dairy pudding.  Ohnono.  Not for Mike.  I drowned my sorrows in sugar-free, fat-free chocolate pudding made with soy milk.  Hey, just because I’m bummed doesn’t mean I want to go too crazy in consoling myself.

American Idol is on in the background, and tonight’s episode features Dolly Parton as the contestants’ mentor.  I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for Dolly, and I think she’s amazing as a songwriter and performer.  To last as long as she has in the business and still have that creative energy and ability — and to sound better and better each time — says everything you need to know about her.  I only hope I’m that vital, vibrant, and creative when I’m her age.

I’m typing this on my new MacBook.  I love this laptop, as much as a person can love a machine.  Mac has always been my preference over PCs, which is probably a throwback to computer classes in middle and high school that were taught with Macs.  (Apple back then, but Mac now, it seems.)  I only started using PCs when I attended U of M, and then again at Albion.  I have no desire to get into the Mac vs. PC debate, since I use them both and I like them both.  I just like the Mac better.

Tonight I’m wondering why I haven’t written about my feelings about today.  I’m writing about it now, and wrote about it earlier, of course, but I mean writing about it in the sense that I take a pen, open a notebook, set the timer for ten minutes, and just go, let the words flow.  Perhaps I’m scared of what I’ll say.  Of what I really feel.  I’m sad, naturally.  I wanted the tenure-track job quite badly.  But I think I need to intellectualize it right now, not feel it so much.  I’m just glad that I was feeling ill today so that no one could really tell what was wrong with me; all anyone knew is that I wasn’t myself.

And I’m still not.

Well, I must still be myself because I made sugar-free, fat-free chocolate pudding with soy milk.  That’s about as Mike as I can get.  Even when I really want to just let myself go, I can only unravel so far before I pull it back.  A messy Mike just won’t do.

Will it? 

Namaste… MS 

The search committee went with outside candidates.  I still have a job for next year, and even the year beyond that, so it’s not like I don’t have a level of immediate security.

It’s just not the level of security I had hoped for.

And I want to cry, but I refuse to right now.  I’m in my office and I refuse to do that here.

Namaste… MS