I turn in my tenure file this week. I'm trying not to let it overwhelm me: I've done good work, I think, and the university seems positive about it. Nonetheless, it's proving a fair-to-middling-surreal, soggy June.
Here's what it looks like: two days ago, I made Stinging Nettle and Green Onion Pancakes, watched terror-frozen bunnies out the window with Grind Their Bones to Bake My Bread*, and worked on my tenure file.
I can't help but feel all three activities are bound by a single dream-logic.
*Have I mentioned our two new(ish) cats, Grind Their Bones to Bake my Bread (a calico) and Yet (pictured below)? More on them post-tenure-file, I hope.
Today, testing out my computer's ability to take dictated notes is proving to be an exercise in Dada. Consider this passage from Baudelaire, elaborately embroidered by Mountain Lion:
"For the perfect plan, for the percussionist spectator, it is menstruate to set up house in the heart of the multitude, I need the end and flow of movement, in the midst of the fugitive and the Internet."
"For the perfect flâneur, for the passionate spectator, it is an immense joy to set up house in the heart of the multitude, amid the ebb and flow of movement, in the midst of the fugitive and the infinite."
After that, the dictation program point-blank refused to go on. Perhaps because it was experiencing an epiphanic spiritual crisis, having replaced the infinite with the Internet.
Some days, I know how it feels.