I guess summer is officially over. I returned home yesterday to a note from my department chair saying I had three classes as opposed to the one I had been planning on. That’s actually great news; however, it just drives home the idea that the lazy days of summer are quickly turning back to the busy days of fall.
Harper Lee begins second grade next week, and Isaac will have his first official day of preschool. I’m excited for them and looking forward to all the fun that goes with a new school year– excitement, cross-country, fresh books and crayons, cross-country, new students for me, and cross-country. Still, I’m not looking forward to the beep of the alarm clock and the “Hurry, hurry, we’re going to be late” cries that echo through my house every morning.
And my book? Well, we’ll see what happens there. I had actually been entertaining the idea of making my first book attempt this fall even though it sounds so cliche’ when I say it out loud. Between grading essays, hauling kids around and trying to fit in some personal time, it should be an interesting endeavor. But I didn’t use my time any more wisely last semester when enrollment was down so I really can’t use work as an excuse. James Dickey once said he would crawl through miles of broken glass in order to write. The question I’m asking myself is, “Would I?” It’s a question worth asking because sometimes we only want things in theory. I know I would crawl through miles of broken glass to be with my kids, to teach and to run. What about writing? I think I would, but only time will tell. (*I just had the weirdest sense of deja vu’. Have I written this before?) Anyway, I guess this post is mostly about forcing myself to write even, and maybe especially, when I’m crunched for time. I hope the two or three of you actually reading this don’t suffer too much.