It Must Be February. It Must Be the Day Before the 14th. It Must Be Four Days Before My Day. Because I'm Fried

There is a horizon. I know there is. There's also light. I'm sure that exists, too. I don't see either at the moment, but I have faith that the routines and rituals of my life will repeat themselves.

In the meantime, it is 14-16 hour days of non-stop productivity for meeting deadlines, staying on top of responsibilities, and maintaining a semblance of home normality (meaning, I have time to slice cheese for Triscuits and to walk the dog so she doesn't pee on my floor).

It's February. We ride the Cheetah from January and MLK Celebrations and dossiers to February, NWP grants and preparation for summer programs. I've completed two grants, and that third one is hovering on my mind (I am hoping I can put together all the collaboration that went into it).

I am thankful for President's Day. It's Monday. Tuesday, there's a candidate visit, a faculty committee meeting, two departmental meetings, and a 3 hour graduate course to teach. That will be a great way to spend the day, I'm sure.

In the mean time, I am writing. And I need to be grading. I have a pile that is beginning to haunt me and I'm getting nervous about getting work back to students. It will happen...I just want it to have typical Crandall sauce (to bring about additional flavor).

But today, this frigid day, I have an agenda to wake up and to write. I've issued myself a challenge. It's all or nothing and I need to get everything in order.

The dog hair dinosaurs and bunnies can accrue for another week making a fur coat for Chewbacca. The laundry piles can serve as Olympus for the Mt. Pleasant Gods, because Zeus can't be bothered with house chores until his work obligations are complete.

There must be bourbon somewhere in here, no?