Metastasizing
Am fantasizing about having the time and energy to write an essay about Dollhouse. I'd call it, "The House Always Wins," and look at messages like "you are the company you keep" and "who knows what evil lurks in thickets of medicinal carrots."
Instead, am battling an annoying fever, dealing with increasingly frantic requests for feedback from students whose final projects are due this week, attending mandatory meetings about stuff going on this summer and next fall, being on seemingly every single honors thesis and master's project defense committee in existence, trying to meet my own ridiculous deadlines for book chapters and conferences, keeping my fingers crossed about a couple of irons in the fire, and wishing I could take a week off to paint my apartment, hang curtains, and nest like a domesticity demon.
Instead, am battling an annoying fever, dealing with increasingly frantic requests for feedback from students whose final projects are due this week, attending mandatory meetings about stuff going on this summer and next fall, being on seemingly every single honors thesis and master's project defense committee in existence, trying to meet my own ridiculous deadlines for book chapters and conferences, keeping my fingers crossed about a couple of irons in the fire, and wishing I could take a week off to paint my apartment, hang curtains, and nest like a domesticity demon.