a thousand words

Why does this always happen? Reading piles up, work gets frantic, and the first thing that goes is this here little blog. The sad thing is that I have so little to show for my absence: a three-quarters finished sweater, another frogged project, a couple batches of bunny loaf (mmm, bunny loaf), two articles sent out (and the attendant horror of soon-to-arrive rejections), a post-doc meeting on the west coast, wedding invitations selected, and a lot of missing, missing J. My oh my, I guess I should make lists more often of the things I’m apparently not doing.

Perhaps I should be taking more pictures of these things. If I had taken pictures of these things they would look like this: a mound of linden wool looking like the perfect little cardigan for a one-armed lady (damn those double-pointed needles), a delicately winded—and winded again—skein of variegated goodness that is patiently awaiting take three of the baby surprise sweater (damn those directions), a heap—a veritable hill—of grated carrots baked to cheesy goodness with enough thyme and basil for good measure (thank goodness for Moosewood), a combined 15,582 words sent out to two journals that will likely be unimpressed, but will have to wade through my sentences nonetheless (damned editorial board, damned academics, damned words); three long—really long—days of talking about digital humanities, failing budgets, print-on-demand vs. traditional publishing, three long days listening and listening some more (damned life); perfectly tasteful and delightfully botanical cards that may not be letter-pressed, but they look nearly as nice (thanks goodness for friends who come to town and insist on action); and then, well, just moping. Sad moping, nothing very picturesque about that one (damned life, damned academics).

But there’s one good thing, one really good thing: clean sheets. It’s all about the small pleasures these days, and actually, this here bed is a bit more than a small pleasure. It’s a queen-sized pleasure.