Laborious

There's only so much energy to go around.

I don't know if I'm spending my free time optimally. Is that even a thing? If it is a thing, then I'm likely failing at it. I'm not one to oppose the various self-contained patterns of activity that I've generally used to fill empty space, but I've found myself wishing I had something... more compelling to do. I do chores. Voluntarily, of my own free will, I've been doing laundry. Dishes.

Maybe I should commit to doing a little bit more in the way of variety in terms of my free time. Maybe I'll pick up writing again. I could be good about that.

Praci Pracovaneho

One can only do so much.

Of late I have, for whatever reason, felt... stuck. Frozen. Not so much balanced at a point of potential as half-sunk in a mire on a journey more aimless than aimed. The point of mentioning it is largely to abjure and dispel - I have, in point of actual fact, made substantial progress in 2016. In my personal life, I became engaged, planned a wedding (in cooperation with others, of course), and will soon be married. At work, I have graduated from being a GRE and SAT instructor to a Master Tutor teaching SAT, ACT, GRE, GMAT, PSAT, and, soon, MCAT CARS. As an admin, I've mastered all of the various systems and policies involved in customer service, processing, and operations. My freelance work continues to be both varied and well-received - a book to edit here, a translation job there, some articles to write, maybe a marketing piece or an ad. Recently my merit review came in - a ten percent raise across the board as our office's top teacher. I've joined a gym, and even gone relatively often. 

Perhaps it's simply a matter of expectations. My fiction writing has been moving slowly, as has (it seems) my extracurricular skill-building. Quant analysis isn't a skill that I have previously sunk much time into, so finding my footing therein ought not be expected to be easy or instantaneous. Perhaps I should simply accept that I don't have to work all the time, and that I'm doing pretty well. 

A peculiar wave of television has swept our tidy household - inspired mostly, I think, by the arrival of our newest resident. Brittany is pro-television in a way that I generally am not. Occasionally I enjoy a show or two, but on most days at most times I find it insufficient to hold my interest for a sustained period. But with Brittany in the gegend, showtime can be a social engagement even in my absence. A kitty-lapped and heater-warmed engagement full of food and conviviality and snide remarks at the expense of the show of the day.

The languor induced by overwork has mostly faded, and I have now returned to the wheel, nosing with vigor. Though at present the specific complexion of said wheel is somewhat uncertain. Domestically, cleaning and laundry. A return to writing. Organization! Industry! Seize the day. One after the other!

Expectations and Expectorations

The final rejection for the 2014-2015 academic year has come in, leading to the distinct sensation of having been spewed from the mouth of academia, for I was neither hot nor cold. In the process, I seem to have accumulated a number of ways to apply the skills I have so laboriously acquired in the paper mines. It remains a constant source of wonder to me that, in the soi disant 'real world', one can actually exchange labor for sweet filthy lucre.

The extent to which one can, in fact, do so is, though, hotly debated. One certainly accumulates skill sets in the process of graduate education. Writing, editing, organization, presentation, management of a sort, particular kinds of research and research methods. Though academia may or may not value such talents, the world at large seems quite enamored of them. The immediate problem that I have encountered is that the application of such talents in a business context tend to be gated by particular specialized competencies as well as substantial expectations for experience. Three to five years of experience is always to be desired, I'm sure, but at the entry level it seems malicious. With time, that most precious of commodities, such barriers may be overcome. Mote it be.

Marching as to Sloth

Our cat Sushia, AKA Kittypants, AKA Schmoofins, AKA Schmadoofles, AKA Snausages, AKA Meowfles, is so excited about the open window that I've almost come to believe that she had forgotten over the course of the winter that the outside world was a thing. The ribald honking of the flock of geese frolicking in the fountains bring her furry widdle ears to furry widdle points and, I think, induce some degree of either cabin fever or anxiety.

I am not now nor have I ever been a furry widdle kitty. The honking reminds me of olden days in a Colorado carpeted with black and grey and white. I nonetheless feel restless. I feel I ought be working. And indeed, I ought be working, on something. The wheels are spinning. But without a concrete goal I don't really make any progress. Really I should be creating my own concrete goals now, it's not as if I'm not aware of how one ought respond to these situations. I just... don't. The struggle against the self is a constant and mighty one.

On the Shoulders of Giants

   The post-graduate life has consisted for me of two diametrically opposed experiences. The initial phase was characterized primarily by a marked absence of time. I defended my dissertation the day before classes began for the Fall Semester, and thus my defense celebration was notably low-key. Not only did I have to wake up the next day and teach, but I had to go home that evening and prepare for my first day of teaching. I had two preps, which in the grand scheme of things is not an excessive load, but working a part-time job in addition added considerable stress while low-level depression, anxiety, and sleeplessness contributed a perennial exhaustion. The money was good, the stress was bad.

   This semester, though, I continue to think in terms of semesters. This is despite no longer having any formal connection with a university. My work with the National Humanities Center keeps me coming to campus most days, but I'm no longer a student or a professor, and since the entirety of my adult life has been defined in those terms the transition has a psychological component as well. It has been nice to take some time essentially off - to have days where I did an hour or two of real work and ten hours of recreational reading, indie gaming, Netflix watching, or similar. The tidal wave of money which washed over my life last semester (for four months, I earned the median US income!) left enough on the beach to ameliorate financial pressures for quite some time, but the time on my hands has slowly become a problem to be managed rather than a pleasant vacation.

   My immediate aim is this: to shake off the infantilization of a graduate education and self-consciously, intentionally, and with malice aforethought to create a new kind of life for myself.

Chytrá Zebra Dobře Ví

   March is approaching its abrupt and final terminus. Halfway gone is a glass half full. As, in a curious coincidence, my glass is right now. Life differs in the particulars but it seems to me that the central tendency thereof remains unchanged.

   I might have amounted to something if it hadn't been for banjo picking. Or so I may be able to claim at some hypothetical future point. At which point I will still have accomplished nothing but may have acquired some proficiency with the bluegrass banjo. The callouses on my fretting hand have started to harden and I've gotten a couple roll patterns down. My banjo may even be in tune. Defeating entropy one string at a time.

   After all these years I've retaken up running. It's like the mob. Years after you think you're out, one morning you get up and there's a pair of running shoes next to the door. I may at some point actually run a race again. I feel frequently frustrated at my dragging pace, which is completely unreasonable. Nevermore shall I see eighteen, and no cruel taskmaster has dragged me up the side of a mountain in almost a decade. It'll probably take at least three months to PR. Of course, by then the average temperature in the shade will probably be 115 or so. Extreme dehydration therapy.

   I have sought professional training in the mystical art of how to be funny. This ain't 'nam, Smokey. There are rules. And I have been learning them. 201 is almost over, really. Another two more weeks and then another comedy show. I don't know if it could stack up to our big debut last month, but I hope that the drop-off in our youthful enthusiasm will be more than compensated for by an increase in technical proficiency.

   Somehow in all the commotion the regular demands of life continue to proceed. Stuff to read. Books to find. More stuff to read. Stuff to grade. Some stuff to write. Oddly spelled words in somewhat less typical alphabets. Birthdays and drinks and boots and breads. Some considerable amount of time spent saving a lushly rendered fantasy kingdom from (spoiler alert) certain doom. One must have one's little diversions.

   En sevdiğim daha çok yazıyorum.

Co Udělaš s Opilným Plavcem

    Christmas is immanent and imminent. My departure for colder climes is only a matter of time, indeed of hours. The semester has concluded almost completely, with only one minor bit of secretary work to go, but the pleasure and thrill of ABDdom is that vacations are not in fact vacations, and a full draft of chapter one (as yet untitled) will occupy a significant chunk of the next three weeks. The way is mostly clear to a satisfactory conclusion, but it ain't over 'till it's over.

    The conclusion of my peripheral activity made no particular difference in the general course of my life, but nevertheless I was gratified to receive high marks for my performance. It's frequently said that the kinds of people who end up in graduate school are those who have learned to base their self-esteem on their end of semester report card, and certainly said interpretation explains the burst of satisfaction I got from those A's. Meanwhile, in the more central world of dissertating, my committee regards my linguistic diversions with one skeptical, exquisitely raised, and somewhat furrowed eyebrow. Learning for the sake of learning is somewhat less valued than I had hoped, but as long as I continue to make satisfactory progress towards becoming Dr. Robertson my advisor will tolerate my foibles.

     Speaking of which, Dr. Popelka informed me this week that the latest edition of Historica has hit the streets, and thus I have thus with little pomp and ceremony become a published scholar. It only took five years. Hopefully I'll manage to repeat this feat, but even if not I've made an impression, an indentation, however small, in the sum total of human knowledge. That's kind of nice.

    As far as the rest of the matter, I'm underwhelmed by my recent commitment to physical exertion and will have to clear up more time for the acquisition of washboard abs in the coming semester. Nutrition, sleep, and other basic indicators of optimal functioning are floating at or near optimal levels. I'm continuing my emphasis on cultivating individual human relationships instead of the largely impersonal and inchoate expressions of sodden interpersonality which have diverted me in the past and I feel the richer for it. In particular, I would like to thank Brittany, Sarah, Julie, and Meredith for putting up with my crap and being amused by my antics.

     Also, I'm in Colorado for the next eleven days, so if you're around we should hang out. You know who you are. 

Je To Komplikované.

   It's remarkably uplifting to have students tell me that recitation is making a difference in their understanding of the material. Though I tend to play the cynic in conversation, I do try to inform my students in the course of our recitations, especially since the course I'm teaching, The World Since 1945, is a very broad survey and covers a very wide combination of issues and events. Lecture is a hundred minutes a week, but to cover (for instance) the evolution of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict from 1948 to the 2^nd Intifada in 2000 in the first lecture and the course of the Chinese Cultural Revolution in the second lecture leaves the students completely lost. In a way, it's amazing to me how little they know about the world. Further, though, when one thinks about just how many discrete data one needs to have a reasonable grasp of the major events of the last sixty years, I suppose it's not unreasonable. In any case, all I think I can really do is provide an interpretive framework that hangs on a few key points, a way to think about the world that doesn't rely on an in depth grasp of the details. Frequently I feel like it's a hopeless task, but occasionally a student will come in to office hours and tell me that the readings always make a lot more sense after recitation than beforehand and that sounds like adding value to me.

   Beyond the vagaries of the instructional schedule, life lurches along. Turkish and Polish have more or less ceased to produce new material to learn and shifted over to a review focus aimed at preparation for the final. Some stress is missing in the process as I have no real idea what my grade is and it doesn't really matter in any conceivable capacity, but I nevertheless would like to do well and so it's back in some ways to the mindset of high-stakes testing. Despite the low stakes. I somehow managed to talk Jenya into joining me for ballroom, and so far we have completed the American Tango rotation. As it turns out, a more or less five year hiatus does no favors for one's competence, but it did (largely) come back. In pursuance of true fidelity to my material I moved to mutton chops for Halloween, and due to the extension of the Halloween season I've only started growing back the chin this last weekend. I guesstimate another week or so before normality in facial hair is restored. Responses have varied from one friend who physically recoiled in shock and disgust to several people who have importuned me to turn it into my regular look.

   The semester is, it seems, lurching to an end. It's getting about time to start organizing my 18 month review and planning for Thanksgiving and Christmas. For which I am excited. After missing Christmas last year I'm really looking forward to decorated trees and Christmas cookies and pies and presents and snow and such. The desiderata of the season.

Başlıyorum yaşamak.  

Hatır İçin Yapılan İş

   I and my domicile are in a very similar state. Worn down, slightly empty, a fair bit of cleaning and arrangement remaining to be done. The weekend has been less productive than I had hoped in some ways, and slightly more so in others. I have restored the arms of the Habsburg Emperors to their rightful place on my wall. I've acquired a pea coat, against which the chill shall struggle in vain. My bike is fresh and new, the shattered axle a mere figment of discarded time. Autumn chill creeps further on a daily basis, pumpkin beverages have become widespread, and deadlines are creating spontaneous stress-induced deformities.

   The Fall Formal was, to my understanding, a great success, to the extent that a complaint was levied against our merriment. The sheer quantity of liquors consumed is, in the sharp light of the morning, near overwhelming. The recycling bins have already been well-fed, and more is yet to come. But I was quite impressed at the sheer style and quality of this department's fancy duds (as well as those attendees who were not actually historians, whom I ought not (and cannot!) overlook). Not one, but two tuxedos. Little black dresses. There were even, memory reliably informs me, shawls. And a special guest appearance. The week has peaked and it's all downhill until Thursday at 5:50 PM.

Co on bys chtěl řict?