I'm afraid I haven't dealt with the traditional end of term pile-up as gracefully as I could have. If anything, I've let my anxiety get the better of me so that my normally neat brain (and desk) are in a state of utter disorder. It's gotten so bad that I've started to hide from it, which is a sure sign that something has gone horribly, horribly awry.

Well, that's a sign and so is the ungodly high blood pressure reading from earlier today. Nothing like that to make your doctor freak out a little, even to the point of checking your blood pressure twice more before letting you leave the building.

I'm trying to clear my desk and my mind, but all I really want to do right now is retreat.

First doctoral application is now away.

Back to the paper that time forgot.

But apparently I still have the skills and the know-how to pull together a Christmas gift from our canning cupboard and from a small stash of knitted items that I keep on hand for just such an occasion and then to wrap and present the gift with less than fifteen minutes of warning.

The ladies of the Relief Society would be so proud.

I've just wrapped the first draft of my statement of purpose and have shipped it out to my readers for review. I'm still trying to figure out how I feel about it. I think I'm okay with it, but it's one of those high-stakes pieces of writing upon which a great deal hinges.

It's also 3:18 in the morning, which isn't doing a lot for my perspective on the situation. Maybe things will look less alarming by daylight.

As for other high-stakes writing.....I've got readings to review. Read or sleep? It's quite the question.

Well, I'm hoping that the dust will finally settle. I went in for a blood pressure check this morning and I'm guessing that it's a good thing I did it when I did as I ended up with one hacked e-mail account. I've been able to fix and resecure the account, but it's still a pain in the face.

On the upside, I finished out an account today and learned that one of my clients has a gorgeous operatic tenor voice. How did I learn that little detail? When I heard his daughter playing the piano and recognized Musetta's Waltz. We ended up talking for an hour while I wrapped up his site and got to the point where I ended up with the name and contact information for his vocal coach and a suggestion that we stay in touch. It was a nice close to an account that was not always the most amenable.

It's safe to say that Oratorio the Carpet Guy turned out to be easier to work with than Missy and Master Moose, the couple who couldn't agree on what needed to happen with their site and, what was more, couldn't communicate that to me. Master Moose also seemed to take the alpha male schtick to an extreme, ready to hose down the nearest flat surface with testosterone with a minimum of urging. He also seemed to have a hate-on for the womenfolk, which immediately meant that we were not to get along, ever.

The rest of the client list seems fairly benign. Tattoo Guy and the Auto Twins are next up on my list, as is The Guy Who Thinks He's Chuck Norris, who is full of ideas but unwilling to share them with me, which makes design kind of a chore. I've got a few other clients who haven't shown enough of a personality (or annoyed me enough) to earn a name yet. We'll see how the week plays out.

Hi all-

My thanks to a couple of quick-thinking individuals who realised that I have a better grasp of English than what was coming across in a message sent earlier today. Thanks to the alarm being sounded, I learned that my e-mail account was hacked and you were all spammed. Please accept my apologies for the matter. Those who are responsible should be sacked.

Take care-
Your Host

It is as if every stress that I've had in the past several semesters of school, some of them bills related, some of them health-related, decided to spontaneously gain up on me all at once during the last three days. Between my professor who refuses to understand that there is a difference between back pain and recovering from back surgery and dealing with the consequences of a pay cut and reduced hours for work, everything came to a head that resulted in a skyrocketed blood pressure and enough tension to render physical therapy good for little more than trying to regain any sense of zen. I'm grateful that it's the weekend - not that I have any illusions about being able to relax, mind you. Unfortunately I have far too much on my plate be able to relax, really, but at least I'm home and can work on things on my own schedule. The trick here is to keep going no matter what, to make certain that there is always something being accomplished. Today is the statement of purpose day, application day, polishing my writing sample day. Tomorrow is read and grade day. Living is somewhere in between.

I would like to say a quick word about the people who make life just a little easier. While Michael and the kids do a great job here at home, the people with whom I associate at the university are, for the most part, also good people. I might even go so far as to extend that to my students. I realize I have a lot to be thankful for right now, but sometimes I lose sight of that when things get difficult. And it's worth a reminder.

The statement of purpose is coming right along and I'm wondering where all this confidence is coming from. I haven't felt this good about something in quite some time.

Is this normal at this stage?

I'm facing down a 20-25 page paper for my theory class and it is not without huge amounts of trepidation. This paper (and this class as a whole) feel as unfocused as I have ever felt about a project. I literally don't know what I'm doing and that in and of itself is terrifying. While I understand a need to be conversant on theory, I have no idea how to connect with it. I'm sure that part of it is a matter of my previous training: history simply is its own theoretical approach and within that framework there are various schools. For the record, I fall in the New Social History category. But as for this theory class, initially advertised as Culture and Mass Media with all the helpful implication of application of said theory, well, this class has managed to be all Marxism, all the time. No application. Just theory. And it's left me feeling significantly adrift.

This monster paper is due on 16 December at 5 pm and the prof has it in his head that there will be some sort of party to celebrate the end of class at that time. Oh, I could have a celebration, all right. At least, I could if I didn't have rehearsals that evening anyway.

Whatever pain this class might cause, it is both the last class for my MA and possibly the first class for my PhD - at least it's the first if I stay here for the doctoral program. Everything changes in the spring as things settle down again and I rediscover what it is to write my brains out on something I love. I know full well that I won't love every paper I write, but I am hopeful that those opportunities for loathing will become increasingly few and far between.

We spent Thanksgiving and the day after Thanksgiving with members of my department family. It was fairly low-key.....at least it was until the sangria flowed a little too liberally at the Thanksgiving Day dinner and the host lost a little of his social filter. He regained it by the time we left, but I was left all the more convinced that alcohol just isn't for me.

We also found that the evening's choice of entertainment wasn't really for us, either. Thing Two was distressed enough that he left the room for the duration of the movie and it took Michael gently prying it out of him before we really understood what had upset him. The movie in question was National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation and the scene that put him off was Clark Griswold drooling over a lingerie clerk. I can't say that I blame him - I was put off by that, too.

So I suppose it's a live and learn experience. One person's standards and another's might not always match up.

The following day was good - tiring, but good. The food was delicious, the company excellent, and Thing Two found a lot more contentment in helping to reason with a three year old than watching Chevy Chase make a fool of himself. I also found that Thing One is good with rambunctious little kids. The Kat occupied herself more with her friend than anything else and our guests rolled up their sleeves and helped us wrap up whatever wasn't ready when they arrived.

It should be said that I would hang out with either group of people gladly - so long as National Lampoon is not considered to be family viewing. I'm glad to count both families (nuclear and "extended") as part of my clan, but I find myself being reminded that families, bound by blood or not, can be equally weird.