My semester is over, and so school work happens at a much slower pace. During the couple of hours everyday that Julia naps, I totally embrace the summer like I’m a 20-year-old coed, which means a lot of string cheese snacks and naps on the couch. I think the last semester was extra trying on my rusty 29-year-old brain. Seriously, can you believe that? I’m 29 – TWENTY NINE YEARS OLD. I’m officially at the age that I thought was, like, superly totally OLD when I was 15. And maybe it’s the superly total oldness, or maybe the full-time parenting with two insanely energetic kids, combined with the brain aerobics I was working all semester, but I’m just fried. I can barely make a sentence right now. Type hard it be.
But if I’m going to make the next 50 years of my oldness less dusty and worth living, a girl’s gotta have goals. So I’ve been working on a paper on the Daphne du Maurier novel Rebecca (1938) and the Hitchcock adaptation of the same title (1940), and early this morning at about 1 AM I submitted the final draft to an academic journal that focuses on work with a feminist perspective. I’m so nervous and excited – I’ve finally started that long, damning slide into rejection after rejection that is academic publishing!
So all I’ve really done since my break is rewrite that paper, chop about 800 words from it, write a biography (it felt very pretentious – have you ever had to boild yourself down into about 100 words, in 3rd person? tres weirdo), and discover Spotify. You can just look up anything you’ve ever heard and play it. It’s kind of amazing, and I’ve been in a Tears for Fears and Lisa Loeb 90’s coma all day. I have an unironic, deep-seated love of the Tears for Fears jam “Head Over Heels,” and now Hazel does too. Raising kids is all about nurturing those seeds, y’all.
So I’ll be back regularly now, although honestly we’re being very boring. Hazel requested full-time preschool, so she’s gone everyday, and Julia sleeps almost more than her Uncle Nick, which is just barely possible. It’s amazing and strange. Mostly, then, I do work when I’m not staring at the wall in a post-graduate haze, and who really wants to hear me drone on about Hamlet and Donne and Moby Dick?
Of course you do.