Friday, September 6, 2002
The end of the second week of classes. This morning, on the way to work, I walked through a giant spider web, completely entangling myself in sticky silk that I’ve been peeling out of my hair and away from my clothes for the last half hour. This seems an apt metaphor for life right now. I’m utterly enmeshed in adhesive strands of my life. Four preps this semester is frighteningly time consuming. I’ve no concept on how I’ll manage this plus grading of papers, exams, and journals when those start coming in. And each night I arrive home to a house that, on the surface is remarkably stylish and comfortable, but lurking beneath that polished facade or numerous fractures that still need attending to. Plus the damn grass just keeps growing.
I’ve played two games of indoor soccer. A win and a draw. Scored once in the win. Played adequately in the draw. The game moves so fast that I never have time to do much more than trap and pass—skills I’m not particularly adept at. Still, nobody’s complained about my play as of yet.
Nearly every night on the way home from work, I pass by Frosty’s Christmas Tree Farm and see a young woman riding her horse through the military rows of pine trees. On some days I feel like she’s mocking me from the hill top, but most days, I’m glad to see her. I rarely saw cowgirls in Chicago.