catching up

I’m not sure where the last month has gone.

I can’t find my brown striped knee socks, the ones that I’ve been wearing for the last three years. I can’t find my moisturizer. The good stuff that comes in the little glass pod. I can’t find my panic, that shadowy ghost that’s haunted me for the last couple years. It seems to have fled as soon as I had an actual reason to be nervous.

I can’t find my rhythm either. It was a rush to get to Michigan, to be with family, to shepherd Dad through the diagnostic process, to take notes on complications, on risks and benefits, and to enjoy some time together. Like, you know, on skis and snowshoes, in front of fires and gobbling down popovers. Then it was a rush to get to L.A., to get through two days of a post-doc meetings, to write and give a paper at MLA, to interview for next year, to see J’s family--and to cuddle sweet Jonas--, to have quick visits with other friends, and oh, to develop a cold turned cough turned stomach virus. Oh and to get bangs.

I decided that I needed to mark this period of rapid change with a change of my own. Most people seem not to have noticed. I take this as a sign that I've always seemed to have bangs, even when I didn't. And I haven't, at least not since I was 16 and deemed them hopeless uncool, midwestern, dowdy. But now I do again. Maybe no one has noticed because I blend into the background. Or maybe people know that I have bigger fish to fry and they best not bother about my coiffure. But sometimes you need to fry some small fish alongside that big one.

My bangs weren't what I was going to write about this morning. I was going to tell you--in strictly veiled terms--about my tenure on a Philadelphia jury this week. I've taken so long to clear my throat, though, that you'll have to wait another day.