They're baaaaa-ack

On every corner. On every street. In every store. In every restaurant. In every pub. In every nook, cranny, path, and queue. The students. They have arrived, en masse and ready to conquer my peace. Do not get me wrong, my students. I do not hate you. It would be a little silly of me to be in this profession if I did. I am just not ready for you to take over my world yet.

This is probably why I--after returning from my visit to Mama Bear, taking a look around, and seeing what was what in Good Old City--went to bed and stayed there. That's right. On Sunday, I just never got out of bed. Well, not exactly true. I--pajama-clad, bespectacled, with Medusa hair flying in at least 5000 directions--did make it as far as the front stoop to fetch the paper at about noon. (Of course the Fuckwits had read it and defiantly put it back in the wrong order. Fuckwits. Did I mention they are spawning? Due date is a Day That Will Live in Infamy. Literally.) Otherwise I camped out in my bed, watched five movies on television (Pillow Talk, St. Elmo's Fire, Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles, and Two Weeks Notice), caught Katrina coverage on The Weather Channel during commercials, ate two entire sleeves of Townhouse crackers, read The D. Case (and the NYT in the afternoon), and napped. It was pathetic and beautiful.

Am I ready for the semester? No. Is it about to begin? Yes. Have I written my syllabi? HA! Have I ordered their books? Why yes I have. Miraculously. Have I completed the paperwork-intensive project due to my chair in two weeks? Puh-lease. Haven't even started. Is my brain mush? Pretty much. But am I smiling right now? Yes.