bugsii

Today, I woke up early to do yoga.  Then I read and read until my tech group meeting on campus, followed by my cultural studies class (which I love).  Then, I came home, made soup and read some more.  I feel a little less stressed in general, partly because Dan cleaned the bathrooms and did the laundry.  Now, I’m not saying he’s doing it just “for me” since, you know, he lives here too, but just seeing a clean bathroom and an empty laundry basket makes me feel like I have less to do.  And I am grateful for a husband that tries to relieve my stress.  Ain’t he the greatest?

Yesterday was a blah day of reading and working.  Really, that’s ALL I did.  And today, I read all morning, then went to my class on Foucault.  I was nervous for this class because my professor had posted everyone’s “scholarly notes” and let’s just say that mine were a stand out.  They were different in style and form and formalism from everyone else’s.  I’m not trying to say that they were bad.  I think I did a pretty good job, but they were different and when you are in school, generally different is not well received.  I wrote a narrative, I wrote incoherent questions, I called one section crap, etc.  I didn’t know everyone else was going to write a pretty standard looking paper or a coherent outline of notes.  But, then I thought, “What would Foucault say about my ’scholarly notes?’” He would say that the knowledge that is considered valid in the university is a standard looking paper, but he would also say that that’s not because a standard paper is the best way to do things, it’s just because that is what is considered valid.  So, my crazy incoherent notes are actually, no crazier than a standard paper.  The paper just happens to be more accepted.  So, in the spirit of Foucault, I decided not to be embarrassed, but to embrace the space that might be opening up for my crazy notes to become valid and acceptable (It could happen).

When class began, the professor started by saying that the notes were looking pretty good, but that some of us might want to consider the difference between the notes we take for ourselves and the version we turn in (glances at me).  Sigh.  Dude, I do not have time to write two versions of anything.  And besides, Foucault likes my notes.  He thinks they embody the possibility for a new episteme.  So there.

This morning, we got up early and headed to Cleveland at around 7:30am.  Guido likes to get there early to get a good spot for tailgating and to start cooking.  He had a ton of food and everything packed the night before.  He’s very meticulous about his tailgating.  Once we were parked and set up, we were welcomed by this message printed on a cornhole board:

The guys who owned it had spied our Bengals gear (just Dan and I) and moved this so that we could see it.  We spent the next few hours eating lots of food, playing cornhole off and on and sitting around chatting.  It was great fun and a nice break from my reading sprees as of late.

Here’s my mom and I chatting with Guido:

And Guido making one of his classic faces and wearing one of his classic hats:

The game started at 1, so we headed over at around 12:30.  The weather was perfect football weather and so much better than last year… and the game got really good.  The Bengals were up 14-0 for awhile, but managed to let the Browns take the lead at 14-20 by close to the end of the game.  Then, we left and headed home, but listened the rest in the car and it turns out that the Bengals scored a touchdown after we left, but missed the extra point.  So, they went into overtime and the Bengals finally scored with only 7 seconds left.  Exciting game.  I’m tired.

Oh, there are more pictures under the piictures tab.  Enjoy.

Dan and I headed up to Canton for the night.  We got to see Katie play volleyball (they beat St. Paul’s!) and then I spent most of the rest of the night trying to get my Foucault reading done.  I only have about 11 pages left for class on Tuesday and I am psyched! Why did I not finish those measly 11 pages tonight?  Well, because I read Foucault at a rate of about 10 pages/hour.  So, yeah.

Tomorrow, we are going to the Browns/Bengals game with my mom and Guido and I am just so excited that it’s not going to be -13 like last year, that I could pee!  Guido has made a TON of food and I’m looking forward to playing some cornhole and tailgating before the game.  The Browns have been doing so terribly that I brought my Bengals sweatshirt to wear.  I know, I’m a bad Northeastern Ohioan.

Yesterday morning, I had to work a conference for my ODE job and facilitate a few of the sessions (i.e. announce the presenters).  I was kind of excited because the conference was at the Convention Center, which is only half the distance to work.  So, I thought I might where these cute new shoes I got a Wal-mart and look all professional.  I normally where these Nike mary-janes for work that only appear to be professional if you don’t look directly at them.  So, I left for the convention and started walking and as soon as I got to the end of my block, I thought, “These shoes feel a little uncomfortable.”  But, no worries, because I had brought bandaids just in case I needed them.  About halfway to the conference, I’m in a little more pain, and by the time I walk through the doors, I am hobbled by the pain.  I stop to sit down on a bench to put my bandaids on and my right heel is BLEEDING all over my new shoe.  Then, I get nauseous, clean it up, go to see the opening speaker for the day, but can’t stand the pain.  Finally, I sneak out, call Dan all teary, and he brings me my good old Nikes, socks, and more bandaids.  When I put those things on, they felt like slippers!  I should have known better.  Why are women forced to where these pretty, but horrible devices of torture?  From now on, I’m going to Easy Spirit to get my dress shoes and I don’t care if I look like an old lady!  Or maybe I’ll just wear my running shoes everywhere.

As you might have gathered from my posts lately, I am COMPLETELY OVERWHELMED by the amount of reading that I have so far this quarter.  The main culprit is Michel Foucault who writes complicated sentences, focuses on the most obscure detail, and never quite seems to say anything outright.  It doesn’t help that his writing has been translated from French either.  Translations are always more difficult to read.  Oy.

There was so much stacked up on my list and I kept not being able to finish things, that last night, I finally broke down and gave up (for the night at least).  I felt like one of my little sixth graders who got overwhelmed so easily that we would break down assignments into smaller pieces for them.  I felt like I needed someone to say, “Okay, tonight I only want you to read ONE article, alright?  Can you handle that?” in a really patronizing and teacherly voice.  No one did that though, so I totally gave up and instead of doing any work, watched two Oprahs, America’s Next Top Model and Intervention instead.  This consequently only made me feel much worse, but at least I got a break from reading.  After being at the library ALL DAY on Tuesday, my eyes had been looking down at a book for so long that when I finally looked up and went outside, I was seeing spots and my eyelids were sore.  MY EYELIDS WERE SORE.  Ridiculous.

Today, I made a lot of progress though and my only class was canceled (I still had to teach though)!  It was a gift from God and I took advantage of it.  I’m feeling a little less overwhelmed today (knock on wood).