Is This MY Life?

I seem to only be able to blog when I need to bitch and moan, these past few months. The odd thing is, if a historian in 100 years were to read this, they would assume my life was just terrible. Aside from the whole PITA colleague episodes, my life has been pretty damn great. I just haven't been able to blog because the real life is busy in mostly good ways.

Also, the desire to write about all of the good things has put me into a multiple identity crisis. How do I keep Clio and not-Clio separate in the blogosphere, especially when all of not-Clio desperately wants to share these accomplishments with Clio's audience. I suppose as long as the two names are not directly connected, then that ever cliched and illusional public/private division can be maintained.

So, great things! Finished two book reviews. Wrote a long talk about Anna, which I delivered in two places, then turned half of it into an actual chapter. Presented the chapter at a workshop and got great feedback. Got a revise and resubmit on the sister article. Submitted a few paper proposals. Applied for a few grants and workshops; and, just this week, found out that I got the one that I wanted the most because it would allow me to do the most research. Thank you NEH! Your tax dollars at work this summer, everyone!

The bit of news that I am dying to tell I should not jinx because it isn't actually on paper just yet, but should be by the end of Friday -- weather permitting. If all works out, however, I shall get my wish of last fall and be able to spend more than a few days overseas. By "more than a few days" I mean a year. Not on my own steam, but in a way that will allow me to spend the entire time researching and writing.

If all works out, too, some of what I have been doing this past semester will have been a de facto interview, I will have to start scavenging the halls for boxes, and somewhere down the line an adjunct may finally have a full-time job.

Finally, if all works out, I will be permanently practicing heterosexuality (although I don't want to go so far as exerting legal privilege until it is a universal right).

I look on all of these riches and think, "Holy Shit! Is this MY life?" My aunt said that if, back when life was hell, I had known all this would happen, I might not have been so sad. If someone, at that time, had told me this would all happen, I wouldn't have believed them. Yet, here I am: employed and with a prospect, government-funded, and working on a book that is under contract with a great press. My aunt was right back in those hellish days, back when I was having a birthday crisis and feeling time was so short and feeling that I had made a colossally wrong turn and didn't think I could ever find the right turn. She said that women are at their prime between 40 and 65. That seems to be true for me because I seem to have been finding my purpose and place ever since. I hope it lasts long past 65.

I mean, holy shit! This is MY life!

One Draft Down!

I have now completed the first full, shitty draft of a chapter of the book! I'm a bit giddy. Since I was working on a deadline and the drafting got a little out of hand when the paper that I was simply cleaning up morphed into one full chapter and parts of several others, I ended up working for 12-14 hours solely on this revision this week. Grading didn't matter, household tidiness didn't matter, dishes didn't matter, workouts didn't matter, healthy eating didn't matter (heck, eating itself didn't matter), bathing didn't matter. I was a writing machine, lost in the vortex, up all night and unable to communicate about anything except the next thing on my screen. It was glorious!