Hey, Mom. Remember That Shirt You Said You Got Me, But I Never Got? Well, I Found It In A Pile of Buried In My Bedroom. I'm Okay. You Nailed It.

Wednesdays are my late night, so Thursday mornings are my time to slowly wake up and address items I've put aside over the weekend. I finally wore the t-shirt my mother sent me for my birthday or Christmas or Groundhog's Day or St. Patrick's of a man buried underneath books (which I can relate to on a daily basis). More accuracy would involve emails, papers to grade, and journal revisions, too. It really is a perfect shirt. I'm here. I'm okay.

I think the oddest part about this semester is that people are back and in action, which is very strange for someone who spent the last couple of years in a hallway all by himself. New faculty have moved in and are social, and old faculty have come out of ZOOM hibernation to give in-person teaching a chance again. It sort of freaky to hear the doors opening and closing and chit-chat in the hallways once more. I'm so used to having full reign of the place  my with no distraction. 

Now, when I ritually come in every morning and say, "Hello, colleagues," there's actually a response. I got used to the echo of nothing and then my humor, "Hello, Crandall. Yes, so nice to see you today. What are you working on?" which I would say out loud when no one responded. There are people that answer now and it is totally freaky.

I've officially met all my students for this semester and now need to think ahead to grant reports and grant implementation. It will be Bridgeport today and New Haven on Friday, plus a special recording of The Write Time tonight. So excited.

But Thursday mornings are for catching my breath from a late class and back-to-back meetings for two days. Now, I just want to stay in space and move some of these books around. Trash is out. Karal is by my side. I know I need vegetables. The first week is almost at a wrap. And that is that.