In a Knee Jerk

I believe the female body is a complex sort of being that takes the mysterious ways of humanity and amps it up with hormones and emotional waves that ebb and flow depending. Come on ladies--I know you feel me.

With sore breasts and a weepy demeanor, I've been having the kind of week that turns my generally pretty rational form upside down. The smallest thing pushes me over the edge, and I hate myself for crying--can stand outside my form and see myself crying--but can't stop nonetheless. I'm scared. I'm anxious. I'm afraid of failure. I want sweet tofu for dinner. I want salty tofu for dinner. If I'm sitting, I need to be walking. How the fuck does the Bunny deal with this mess?

I went to the meeting at LU to find a room full of professors waiting to greet my arrival. They sat in a semi-circle with me at the full point helm. I got a bunch of "my, you've become a lady" and "oh, I wouldn't have recognized you." Then again, as I stated to them, I am an adult now. I put on my confident I-know-what-the-hell-I'm-talking-about face/voice/hand gestures, and proceeded to woo them into believing that I had all the answers. They have recruited me to head up their new writing lab, and though composition is neither my speciality or interest, I am the weak sort of being that is very much moved by unabashed flattery.

Before the meeting was done, they had taunted me with visions of "grants to bring you here tenure-track" and "freedom to choose what you do and how you do it." Oh, those feisty professors! I spent the weekend imaging an alternative plan where we don't move at all, thank you very much, and I retreat into the semi-quiet life of teaching writing at a tiny entity in my town. That is, I spent a few days contemplating this notion until, under the influence on Monday evening around midnight, it hit me: I don't want to stay here. I don't want to self-stunt myself by taking the easy way out. Crisis averted!

This isn't a woe is me blog, oh no, dear readers, as I'm a little jerky today but happy all the same. Tomorrow is our in-service meeting at Job #1, and I'll be presenting to another class of new, hopeful instructors with, I can only imagine, notions of changing the world one expository paper at a time. I'll put on my best impression of "adult Bette," and pull out the same old I-know-what-the-hell-I'm-talking-about face/voice/hand gestures because I know human nature never changes, and we all want to feel like someone has the answers.