Time was that I would update this blog two, three times a day, instead of once every three months. And it’s not that life was more interesting then, unless you consider the fact that Josh Groban was coming out with CDs more frequently. But since I decided I had better step up this whole “graduate student” thing and give “motherhood” the ol’ college try, typing for the Internet has lagged woefully behind.
And it doesn’t help that the only thing Groban has come out with lately is YET ANOTHER collection of previously released songs with maybe one new track, released ONLY IN THE UK. What? I mean, come ON. This is almost enough to make me stray from his side.
Almost.
I have committed to actually writing my dissertation, a process that I wouldn’t recommend. I thought qualifying exams would break me, but it turned out that you can fool some of the people all of the time, and I made it through those. And I thought that the dissertation wouldn’t be too bad--I mean, hey, I can write 10, 20-page papers! But then I sat down to write but one page of 20 and was instantly daunted. As it turns out, I don’t know anything about theology worth writing. How did that happen? I sat through all those classes. (Someone somewhere is going to be annoyed they funded my education when this gets out.)
Oh, and then the baby came.
Whereas before most of my stories ended with, “but then I fell over and the Nobel laureate laughed at me,” now it’s more like, “I know she put her pacifier in herself because it was upside down! HA! Isn’t that the most remarkable thing you’ve ever heard?” You really miss your brain once it’s gone.
My saving grace is that I am relying on literary theory for the bulk of my project, a subject I find best explicated on three hours of sleep. A friend pointed out that if you are starting to make sense using literary criticism, you probably aren’t doing it correctly. Not unlike talking with an infant, really. The baby and I thus have many productive academic hours.
“Little lady, would you say deconstruction methodology applies to religious narratives produced in this brave new millenia, or would you argue that I should try a feminist or even post-colonial structure?”
“Mamamamamamamamamamamamamamamama”
“What, I should also incorporate Marx?”
“Ba. Am ma.”
“Good point.”
I just worry she’ll figure out what’s going on and demand payment as my ghostwriter.
Otherwise, time marches on all residence and life-y. Alas I can’t blog about that, lest I incur a lawsuit that would cost me my very pants. Suffice it to say that it would make extremely juicy reading. And cause me to end most of my sentences instead with, “Apparently the fight escalated when they all grabbed forks and hammers.”
Oh that I were only making that up.
So, good times being had here. Good times that I have resolved to, once again, chronicle for my loyal 6 readers. (Hi Shannon! Shouldn’t you be doing work, Peter?) Though I will probably talk about the baby a lot. Because, did I tell you? She puts her own pacifier back in her mouth! Upside down! Truly the world has never seen a child so intelligent and intrepid.
