I received my contributor copies of Touchstone (which also features fellow MFAer Laura Dunn) yesterday. Also, a collaborative poem composed by the students of Michele Glazer's Spring 2007 collaborative writing class is featured in the current issue of 580 Split(#10), which also features fellow MFAer Catherine Moore.
In other news, the first of my good friends here has left town for a job in Colorado. How good a friend was he? We have a toothbrush just for him in our bathroom. Needless to say: tears, regrets. But he did give us a sweet rug and an EZ chair. And I bet we could swab the toothbrush for some DNA in order to clone him if we wanted to.
Last night was the penultimate thesis reading. I began to tear up but was able to get a hold of myself before my mascara started running. I think it finally hit me that, in a few short weeks, I won't be seeing these people on a daily basis any more.
I have one paper left to write. I've got 12 pages, which means I need 5 more. I'm writing on a topic about which other scholars could produce encyclopedias. It's due tomorrow. I feel that I've said all I have to say on the subject. While I could write 5 pages in my sleep normally, I really feel like I am completely incapable of doing so now. Perhaps it's my way of holding on to the program by my fingernails, but I doubt it. Every fiber of my being just wants to be done with this paper.
Doug went to get me a smoothie. Maybe that will help.
Beyond the paper, all I have to do (for school) is: turn in a hard copy of my thesis with appropriate forms, return my student portfolios, and go to a couple of extra class meetings this week. I should be ecstatic. Instead, I keep thinking about how I totally missed St. Patrick's Day somewhere in the past semester, and for some reason this really bothers me. I also missed Easter and my niece's birthday. And by missed, I mean forgot, totally failed to acknowledge. Also, the other day I tried to send my car insurance payment without postage. It got returned and now it is late. As is the rent.
It's all unravelling, which, from previous experience, is to be expected. As long as I can find my mojito, I'll be fine.