This week was a (blank) kind of week.

A. Obsess-about-my-body
B. Not-get-a-lot-of-sleep
C. Stress-over-my-future
D. Eat-a-lot-of-chocolate
E. All of the Above (my choice)

What kind of week did you have?

Work on the article is progressing very very slowly. I hope to get the entire thing finalized tomorrow and just send the bastard off in whatever shape. I promised something by the very ambiguous "end of April" and dont' want to seem like a flake. Fortunately, there is time for revisions--I think.

Unfortunately, I'm subbing for another instructor after my morning class. I just have to proctor an exam, so no big whoop. And I get a $25 bonus next month!! Woo-hoo!! Party time!!

Filo is darn cute these days. I'll post new photos tomorrow to provide the proof.

The Good and the Bad

About two weeks ago, I received an email from professor D. at UNM. I was D.'s TA one semester for the History of New Mexico course (oddly enough, I TA'd for this specific class almost the entire time I was in the graduate program. I know more about New Mexico than I do about El Paso or Texas even. Go ahead, ask me anything.) D. is also the editor of a history journal and his email requested that I rework my master's thesis for an article in an upcoming issue. Great opportunity, right?! OF COURSE, I responded. Publishing would be a nice bonus to my cv. And it would be really cool to see my work in a journal for the first time ever. Wow. That's the good part.

So I'm supposed to have a version ready by the middle of this week. Although "revise thesis" was #1 on my To-Do list since that email, I don't have anything ready, which brings up something that I've worried about for awhile now. (Yeah, here is the bad.)

The problem isn't necessarily procrastination or laziness. I mean, those two are the definite culprits behind not cleaning my humidifier (on hold for a month), fixing a broken curtain rod (on hold since last year), or filing away old bill statements (on hold since December). It doesn't quite explain how I managed to complete everything else on my To-Do list except "revise thesis." Sadly, "revise thesis" turned into one of those items that float from one week's To-Do list to the next. "Revise thesis" resides right above "investigate graduate schools" (on hold, I'm ashamed to say, two years).

So what is the problem? I think it boils down to fear and lack of self-confidence.

1. I'm scared that my article will need too much revision and won't go into the next journal issue (essentially, I will fail at producing a publishable article).
2. I'm scared that I don't have the skills to write anything that works.
3. I'm scared of misrepresenting my thesis subject and mishandling the research.
4. I'm super scared that I will get so bored and frustrated with the revisions that I won't want to research, write, or revise anything ever again, even though that's exactly the type of work I'll be expected to do when I go back to grad school, which has been the big career plan all along since I left UNM. And if that plan doesn't work out, THEN WHAT THE HELL WILL I END UP DOING????

I've worked out all of these fears in my head, but, again, there's a difference between knowing self-defeating behavior and knowing I need to change that behavior right away. I'm frozen in inactivity--seeking comfort in AMC's weekend marathon of Godfather movies and frozen Snickers. Those two methods of legal self-medicating have not worked (no big suprise).

It doesn't help that the apartment is hot and stuff and the AC isn't cooling properly.

Writing about my fears has helped. Talking with G. helps, too. Unfortunately, the uneasiness is still here.

Maybe I don't know

G. and I have a lot of work to do this weekend. He's working on a research paper and I'm trying to get my lectures organized for the last two weeks of class. It's getting close to "crunch time" (I really don't like that phrase). I'm trying to "pick up the slack" (another dumb phrase) by going grocery shopping without him and cooking dinner every night. It's only a temporary arrangement--our usual arrangement is that we alternate the cooking and washing dishes every other night. It's horrible to admit that I have this little gnawing feeling of resentment for doing so much extra stuff. I know this is not a permanent arrangement. I know that feeling this way is silly. I know I'm just overreacting.

There's a difference between knowing and really knowing...ya know?

Escuela de futbol Cuauhtemoc Blanco

Anybody who is even slightly familiar with the Mexican soccer player Cuauhtemoc Blanco will really enjoy this video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o3r0rCqGp9o

Who knew soccer players could be such drama queens? America is playing a really important game right now against Atlante. Losing would end any chances of making the playoffs. Alright, altogether now VAMOS, VAMOS AMERICA!!!! ESTA NOCHE, TENEMOS QUE GANAR!!!!!!!

(I wrote this entry Thursday night and now I'm not sure how to change the date...)

Mella of The Empty Sky recently wrote quite eloquently about how vivid memories of specific moments run through her head at certain times. You know the type of memories: quick snatches from the past, charged with emotions and visuals that transport you directly back in an instant. Some make sense, other moments seem inconsequential and silly.

I've been thinking about memories lately, too. Last week, my mom, sister, Filomena, and I visited the cemetary in Juarez where my abuelo and abuela are buried. We cleaned up a bit and put new flowers, then just sat around to think a bit. I remembered sitting around their kitchen table on a hot day, drinking coke out of glass bottles (always tastes differently than the coke sold in the US). I'd be slurping up mango pieces while my mom nibbled on the mango pitt--my abuela always had mangos in her house--I like to think they were just for me. I was usually quiet around the table--my Spanish is not great, but I did understand all the family chisme passing back and forth between my mom, her sisters, and the abuelos. Cousins usually dropped in on their way home or to work. I felt like I was really part of the family, like my abuelos loved me as much as the other grandkids, even though I spent most of my childhood far away from them.

There are other memories that plague me, memories that abruptly insert themselves into my daily life. These moments are not quite so nice as the abuelos kitchen table, nor do they come about at appropriate places like cemetaries. Instead, they pop up and pop away, lasting just long enough to leave a bitter taste. Little, unpleasant reminders of my own past embarrassments or instances where I hurt loved ones.

Easter = Candy

G., Filomena, and I spent the afternoon at my parent's house. My sister and her husband were there, too. For some reason, we don't often get together the bunch of us, so today was special. We ate steak, baked potato, pasta salad, and (yum) sausage.

After dinner, we watched Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Good movie...rather intense and a little confusing. The movie was also a little long, it seemed like three hours long. It could have just been the fact that we were sitting in a stuffy room with no clocks (my parent's house has a scarcity of clocks).

G. and I cleaned up on Easter candy--marshmellow Peeps, chocolate covered Cadbury mini-eggs and M&M's, Snicker eggs, Cadbury eggs (you know the ones, with the gooey, too-sweet-center) and jellybeans. Oh, boy. I think all the candy + figuring out the movie's plot + stuffy room + steak dinner made my head fuzzy. I should just shower and head straight to bed.

I'm such a lapsed Catholic that to me, Easter is primarily equated with awesome candy. I do think that's a little sad. But at the same time, Easter means seeing my family; wouldn't Jesus be happy about that? I have tried to get into the whole Church-mass deal again. Hasn't worked out; I just don't like what I hear in there. Maybe I need to investigate other faiths, although my mother would just die at the very mention of changing faiths. I was very interested in converting to Judaism while in high school. Not sure exactly why. I'm very embarrassed to say it might have been related to my interest in Woody Allen movies. Oh, wait, I know. While in mock trial (another embarrassing tidbit), our team had a lawyer-advisor who was Jewish. He even invited me and two friends to his parent's house on the pretense of learning more about the faith or to celebrate Passover (I think). Funny thing is, we didn't do anything connected to Passover. We did meet his mother and sister. I bet his sister (in her 30's) had no idea why her brother (in his late 30's) would invite three 17 years olds to his parent's house I'm wondering the same thing now! Anyway, we were enthralled with him as a confident, wealthy (his parent's lived in the very, very nice part of EP) grown-up--and a Jew, I suppose. We asked him all sorts of questions about his life and work. He was a good sport in answering most of them. He tried his hardest to come off as suave, which we thought was sooo funny that he would try to impress us. Best of all, though, he thought us mock trial-ers were hilarious and smart. Made us feel important and not like 17 years olds at all.

Oh, dear, I've digressed. I blame the sugar.

I'm feeling blah today. Part of my sandal broke. I'm a little bloat-y. I had to stay an extra hour on campus (I don't have an office, either) to meet a student and then he didn't show up. I should be on the sofa, napping and moping. Instead, I'm defending undocumented workers and immigration reform on Asi Es. Jesus, that discussion reminded me why I don't write posts about politics or read political blogs. I can't handle it, man, from living in a Jon Stewart/Daily Show-All Things Considered/NPR haze to reading something I disagree with so much I can't stop thinking about it.

Back to puppy dogs and naps.

Filomena, like her beloved dog mom (me), likes to nap. Here she is yawning after a particularly enjoyable stretch on the sofa.

I deserve this, bitches

Woke up with a headache.

Maintenance man came by to unclog our kitchen sink drain and clean out the garbage disposal. I don't know how the garbage disposal became clogged because I don't use it. It's a mystery to me and G. exactly what's supposed to go into a garbage disposal--neither of us had one in our childhood homes (or,just to be accurate, G.'s family never used theirs, or something like that.) Could someone be kind enough to explain the purpose of the garbage disposal? Is it better for the environment?

Had a semi-productive conversation with one of my classes about handling the responsibility of being a college student. The drop date is coming up, so it's time for those who are failing and/or struggling and/or totally not paying attention to the class to decide if they want to drop the class and receive a "W." The other option is to stick it out and, hmmm, actually study, attend class, and read the textbook. I explained how to estimate the minimum grades they need to earn for the last assignments to bring their grade up or stay where they are. And I tried to find a nice way to say that some grades were so low, there was no hope.

Came home, ate quick lunch, then tried to get my car emissions inspection. Went to the quick oil change place down the street, but they were working on a truck and I'd have to wait 45 minutes. So I came home and then went back. About five minutes into the inspection, the guy tells me that the tint on my windows were too dark. Absolutely ridiculous and absolutely frustrating because I bought the car with that tint already on. But it's even more ridiculous because my old car, a classic (I use that term loosely) '96 Ford Escort hatchback, had super dark tinted windows (again, I was not the original owner and therefore not responsible for the tint) and I got through those inspections just fine. Well, I did have to take it to a small garage place in central El Paso, BUT STILL. This car does not have dark tint. Period. State regulations be damned.

So I took the car back home without the inspection. On the way home, I passed by a car with much darker window tint than me. Humph.

When I got back home, Filomena's eyes were really red and kind of gooey--at least one was. I checked the semi-informative dog book for a hint as to what might be the problem. It's semi-informative because under the heading "Eye Discharge" it basically says, "If there is eye discharge, see your vet." No hint if this eye discharge is a major problem or not. So, rather than take any chances, Filo and I left for the the vet in the late afternoon, just so happens to be their busiest time.

The office was hoppin'. Big dogs, little dogs everywhere. Some gimpy, others ant-sy. Filomena took it all in stride. Big relief because she usually turns into that annoying, yippy, small dog everybody hates (you know the type). Filo was a little shaky, though, as we waited and waited and waited. We were delayed by a dog that was hit by a car, so I'm not going to complain. Some lady next to me was visiting her sick pooch. She told me the vet thought it was poisoned, horrible, right? Who would poison a little puppy toy poodle? Well, it turns out that the lady herself might have made the dog sick by feeding it Girl Scout cookies. I wondered if she confessed to the vet?

Turns out that Filomena's eye gunk was the result of allergies. She got some drops and allergy pills and her vaccinations to boot. The vet gave her a dog treat at the end. Usually, Filo doesn't eat it, but this time she was eager-like, "I deserve this, bitches." (Sometimes I imagine Filo's response to different situations. Usually it involves curse words. It's just funny that a little fluffy darling dog would refer to me and the vet as bitches, don't you think?)

After the vet excitement, returned home. G. made a yummy dinner (salad and little pita pizzas), but I got a tummy ache. Speaking of tummy ache, have you heard about the new yogurt that's supposed to make you regular? Key ingredient is bifidus regularis. Sounds made up, huh? Well, it is! At least the name is. Go ahead, google it, you know you want to. What else do you have to do? You're reading my blog after all, so you can't be that busy!

Was that combative? I'm sorry. Today has gotten to me. It's time for bed.

Daylight Savings Sucks Big Time

One thing I most value is sleep. I'm a gal who likes eight hours a night, plus naps (at least 30 minutes) sometime during the day. Without adequete sleep, my mind is muddled and headachy, my eyes are bleary and sting. I'm cranky and sluggish. It's not pretty.

The time change this year snuck up on me (I was preoccupied trying to figure out what that map was all about on Lost). The past two days have been hell. As if to make up for the difference, G. keeps saying, "It's 10:30 on the clock, but it's really 9:30." Works in the beginning, but soon we'll have to face the change and adjust somehow.

It's just so hard.