Day in the Life, October 9

Turning the keys before 7 AM. The apartment is quiet, Bisque still sleeping. Wake up, wake up. Walk to the train in breaking light, One-D my soundtrack. Wake up, wake up. No seat on the el, so I stand with feet far apart and strong squatted thighs holding Ghosts by Chuck P. The train gets fuller and fuller, downtown emptier and emptier. It's just me and three other ladies by the time I'm at the end of the line.

First meeting at my new teaching residency. Google the neighborhood. Police officer shot and killed 17 hours before I arrive. I have a new hot pink Mace, and I tuck it into my seafoam scarf. Packed bus, everyone sighs when the wheelchaired person has to get off. Bless wheelchaired folk on buses. Bless them.

My new boss is a happy man who keeps his wrist limp. He brings six donuts to this kickoff meeting. Me and this happy sweetie and this fresh-faced creative writing ginger. The box is opened. "I got three of my favorite kind to make sure even if you both wanted that kind I would get one." I like this style. I have the favorite old fashioned. It is thick with hardened sour glaze. We walk to the train and men yell at me. We ignore them, but it isn't easy. "What is that smell?" my boss politely asks. "Oh, weed." I say. "Ah," he adds.

And then we're back to the rest of the world with skyscrapers. I stop in the Claire's and debate buying corn dog earrings. I don't because I don't have money for corn dog earrings. This shouldn't even be a consideration. People who don't have money for corn dog earrings should not even hold corn dog earrings to their faces. In my office adjuncts come and go. Sometimes the conversation is like grad school and real and potentially useful and sometimes its like, "Ohmygod how many times do people have to discuss music videos being terrible to women?" I guess they still are, so.

The students got into partners, and the students from the country south and the student from the country east were paired. They made up analogies. Some work too hard on these classroom exercises, and that is good. Grading papers, grading papers, grading papers. Scheduling classes, making plans, Next semester, money, lesson plans.

I collapse at home. "I'm sorry," I tell my man. "I need two minutes. What I ate today: a donut." I fall asleep sideways on the couch, and he wakes me up with a tiny pot of beans. I feel gooped. Brain whack. Like a confused baby being fed. Go to the theatre, have an audition for some little show. It's exercise like anything else. Audition, audition, write, write, write. I'm home grading papers again, always, forever and ever, in my grave, underground, so many student emails, "Can you tell me everything I missed today?"