Listening to a conversation between Neil Young and Patti Smith on the background, watching Tennant-era Doctor Who. My kitten Arie (no, not like the guy from Entourage, whom I wasn't aware of prior to naming my cat the Hebrew word for lion) is trying to sleep on the warm surface of my laptop but settles for my chest instead. I do not feel like a good academic. I am worried that I am not going to do enough. I can't stand academic writing anymore, either the obfuscated pretensions of theory or the simplifications of much of "cultural studies" - maybe my brain is just overloaded and I need a break, but I certainly don't feel adequate right now. I spent my holidays doing what I love to do, right now, which is knit, bake, craft, and read (for pleasure) and now I'm witnessing the obligatory facebook updates from colleagues informing everyone that they have prepared __ manuscripts for publication and in short, seem to have their shit together. I just want to read William Gibson and Jeff Vandermeer and stuff and not have to write papers.
I think I'm just overworked. First world problems.
Last night was good, though. We played Carcassonne and drank champagne and watched Arrested Development. And I wouldn't have had it any other way.
Also, things like this happen on a frequent basis:
So, life's good. Just confused as usual.