Then, I fell asleep and started dreaming about a statue named Celeste that had been stolen from a museum. It was quite an upset.

Then, the alarm went off.

I knew it was a burglary alarm, alerting us to Celeste’s disappearance. What I couldn’t figure out was why it was happening now, when we already knew she was long gone.

That’s when Jesse sat up in bed.

Then, I realized it was his alarm. I could go back to sleep.

But he just looked at me.

I looked at him.

Then, I knew. It was my alarm. My alarm, set for 5:30 in the morning. When it is still dark. And I have to get up anyway.

“No!” I said. “There’s been a mistake!”

The alarm kept going. No mistake. I got up.

Farewell, Spring Break. You are sorely, sorely missed.

First weekend: We went out of town. Weekends: 1. Rest: 0.
Second weekend: Jesse went out of town. Weekends: 2. Rest: 0.
Third weekend: My sister and my niece and my niece’s friend came to town, and Jesse and I took senior photos of my niece. Weekends: 3. Rest: 0.

This past weekend (weekend #3), we spent most of Saturday and Sunday trooping through town, stopping at every interesting wall and tree, contorting into crazy positions to get the shot just right. We cleaned house and played host and ate ice cream. It was all very fun, but very tiring. And then, we got up at 5:30 Monday morning and started all over.

We’re both running on empty, but I’m looking at the calendar and–gasp–what do I see? Two blank spaces at the end of the week. A weekend with no plans. A thing of beauty.

There is hope.

I love that man.

I was a bit of a weepy mess before he left, though. We don’t spend a lot of time apart, and when we do it’s almost always I who leaves. In fact, this was the first time I’ve ever spent more than one night alone in our house. I wasn’t sure how I’d react to so many days alone, just me and the cats.

Thursday night, as Jesse was packing, I realized I was out of coffee. Jesse suggested that we get up a little early the next day to spend our last little bit of time together at Port City Java. So we did. Got up at 5:00 a.m. and packed the rental car full of his music gear and then met up at the PCJ for coffee and twenty minutes of my pouting over his imminent departure. I cried as we drove away, he toward sunny Florida, and I toward school in the gray, damp North Carolina winter weather.

That afternoon, I stayed at work late to meet with some students and finish some things. When I got home, I put on a CD and turned it up and cleaned house. I mean, cleaned house. Because of our weekend excursion last week, I hadn’t done my normal weekend cleaning, and the house was pretty gross. So, I got out the mop and broom and cleaning rags and got to work. I think I used at least seven different cleaning products! I even broke out the Murphy’s Oil soap for the wood in our front entryway.

The house smelled strongly of cleaner and laundry detergent, but I didn’t mind. I know I’m supposed to dislike the smell of chemicals, and on one level I do, but this is what my childhood smelled like. Every childhood memory I have smells like freshly washed sheets or bleach water or Pine Sol. My mom was one of those women who kept a very, very clean house.

My friend Jessica came by that evening, after the place was thoroughly disinfected and sparkly, and we talked and talked and laughed and then we started yawning and, convinced it was extremely late, got ready to say goodbye.

Jessica said, “Watch, it’ll be 10:45.”

We laughed.

It was 10:45. We laughed some more. Ah, adulthood. Getting so tired at 10:45 you can’t keep your eyelids open a second longer. I suppose that’s what you get when you’re up at 5:00 in the morning.

Saturday morning, I had to get up early—but not 5:00-early—to take my car in for an alignment and to have two tires replaced. I graded essays in the waiting room for nearly four hours. A woman sat next to me and argued on the phone with someone I assumed she was in a romantic relationship with, someone who may or may not have been running around on her. She really gave it to him, and I could hear his disembodied voice straining against the phone’s tiny speaker, trying to defend himself. Finally, she ended the conversation and said, “Have a blessed day,” in a tone of voice that added, “You son of a…” I wanted to chuckle, but didn’t.

The rest of the day was spent on work for classes, and then Sandy and Rachael came over. We ate nachos (not just chips and cheese, but the works–beans, and beef, and everything else), and I turned the heat up to 70 degrees, and I put on an old Reggaeton CD I got right after we moved from Florida. I needed a little warmth, a little something tropical. I am sick of winter.

Sunday I spent on more work and then long conversations with Simona and then—finally, at last—a little writing. It was a quiet weekend, a weekend spent at home, a weekend spent catching up, getting ahead. It was just what I needed.

But no matter how rested I felt, no matter how nice it was to have a clean house and to be caught up on school work, I couldn’t wait for Monday evening to arrive. Valentine’s Day, and the best present of all: Jesse, home, with me.

Here's a picture of us on our honeymoon in Key West. We were babies. And very thin. And very much in love. Well, at least some things stay the same...

2. 5:30 a.m. does not feel all that much earlier than 5:45 a.m.

3. 5:45 a.m. does not feel all that much earlier than 6:00 a.m.

4. Regardless of lessons 2 and 3, the human animal was not designed to be awake before the sun.

5. And even then, sunrise is not ideal.

6. I’m thinking 8:00 a.m. is just about right.

7. Of course, 9:00 a.m. is even better, but let’s not be ridiculous. What do you think this is, France?

8. You know you’re officially old when you think 8:00 a.m. is “sleeping in.”

9. You’re either a “morning person” or you’re not. If you’re not, there’s no hope.

10. For my dad, “sleeping in” is 7:00 a.m. This tells me two things. First, he must be really old (see: lesson 8). And second, I may have been adopted.

Jesse and I have started driving to work together two days a week. We get up in the dark, and I make us coffee, and we stumble around, trying to wake up. And then we don coats and scarves and gloves and brave the cold, cold winter mornings. Together. So, it’s nicer. But it’s still awfully cold up here.

I’m trying for a work/life balance I haven’t quite figured out. Monday evening, I had planned to get caught up and caught ahead on some things, but I was just spent. For every problem I solved, I created two more. I realized that I wasn’t getting any work done–but I also wasn’t enjoying my evening. Finally, I gave myself the rest of the evening off. I hopped into the tub with the latest Bon Appétit and after I had read the magazine cover to cover, I curled up in bed with Oliver and a Joyce Carol Oates’ book. After a single chapter, I was ready for sleep, and sleep I did–hard.

The next day, the grading was still undone and the grammar test still unwritten. Having a full night of sleep behind me, though, I was more efficient and motivated. So I suppose I’m getting closer to balance–remembering that sometimes, a night off is necessary and more useful in intangible and tangible ways than an evening of tired work.

7:00 am: Wake Jesse up.

7:15 am: Wake Jesse up again.

8:00 am: Eat breakfast with Jesse. Say, “I wonder if Daylight Savings Time will make 6:30 am any less dark.” Ponder starting a coffee habit.

8:15 am: Shower, brush teeth, dress (try not to wear the same outfit two classes in a row–a challenge with a limited professional wardrobe).

9:00 am: Check e-mails, get ready for upcoming classes, pack school bag (bemoan how heavy literature anthologies are).

10:00 am: Arrive at campus, grade journal entries online, send more e-mails, prep for classes later in the week and next week.

11:00 am: First class. Fifty minutes of goodness.

12:00 pm: Get your soup out of the fridge and microwave it. Behind you are two professors; one, who is nearing retirement, taught a class you took your first semester of grad school. The class had about six students. You did well. He does not remember you, though your offices are now near one another. Granted, your hair was shorter then. Feel awkward and wish the soup would hurry up.

12:01 pm: Get the soup out of the microwave and, against your better judgment, fail to stir it and check if the soup is heated all the way through, in an attempt to escape to the confines of your office as quickly as possible.

12:02 pm: Realize the soup is cold. Try to eat it anyway. Gross.

12:03 pm: Return to the break room to microwave your soup. Again. The professor who does not recognize you is still there. Smile, and pretend everyone microwaves their soup twice.

1:00 pm: Second class.

2:00 pm: Third class.

3:20 pm: More grading. More e-mail answering.

3:45 pm: Meet with colleague to discuss a class you’re teaching for the first time next semester.

4:10 pm: Drive home. Think about how lucky you are to have a job you love. Marvel that you actually get paid to do this job that you love. (Even though you have to get up early.)

4:45 pm: Watch a YouTube video of tigers and other big cats playing with pumpkins. Wish you had a pet tiger. Consider giving Oliver a little baby pumpkin. Decide against it.

Rain is nice when you're indoors...

Well, we’re all in various stages of underwater here today. What’s worse than waking up at 6:30 on a Monday morning? Waking up at 6:30 on a rainy Monday morning—which everyone knows was designed BY GOD for sleeping in and for nothing else.

Ah, but I am a good worker bee and dragged myself out of bed in the sleepy dark to get ready for classes. By the time I left, it was pouring. When I stopped by Wal-Mart to buy dry-erase markers and hacky sacks, it was still pouring; the parking lot was a shallow lake. My shoes and socks got wet.

On my way to work, an oversize-load truck was broken down on a bridge, causing delays. The rain was coming down in sheets, rather than drops. And then there was campus: the same campus that floods in a heavy drizzle. If my shoes and socks weren’t completely soaked, they were by the time I got to my office. I don’t know about you, but there are few things I like less than having to spend a day with wet socks.

Inside my building, someone had slipped and fallen, throwing his knee out. I felt less sorry for myself and my wet socks. (But I really hate wet socks.) I walked slowly everywhere, trying not to slip.

It poured all day. Literally. I mean, it’s still pouring. Our yard is flooding. Streets are closed all across town. One of my students had his engine flood on his way to campus—he left the car and ran to class to turn in the paper that was due. Now, that’s dedication.

Now I’m home, in sweatpants and happy to finally have dry feet. I’m about to get myself a big mug of hot tea and dive into these essays that need grading. Thunder is rumbling outside, and it’s still pouring. But now I’m comfy and warm and the responsibilities of the day are done—and the rain seems wonderful to me.

The backyard hasn't flooded in years...

I was good. I was in bed by 10:00, alarm set for 6:00. I was finally going to walk with Sharon at 6:30 this morning, had texted her to confirm, even though I’d been a delinquent and had begged off for at least a week or two. This was the morning I would finally exercise. After that, I had a long day of teaching ahead of me, but I was all prepped for that and ready to go.

At 9:00, I was exhausted and ready for bed. But we were still at small group, and people were parked behind us. But by 10:00, my contacts were out, my face washed, my teeth brushed, and I was nice and comfy, snuggled in bed, ready for my eight hours of blissful sleep.

Well. First, I was too cold. I got another blanket. Then I was too hot. Like, feverish hot. I kicked off the other blanket, then the regular blanket, then the sheet. I cooled down and eventually returned the sheet and regular blanket to their normal places. And then I turned over. And then I turned over again. I thought about happy things. I thought about nothing. I counted and counted and counted and counted. I got up to use the bathroom. I got a glass of milk. I chomped down a TUMS. And still could not fall asleep.

I came close, several times. Eventually, I’m pretty sure my despair over not being asleep is what kept me up.

Finally, sometime after midnight I think, I fell asleep. Then woke up before my 6:00 alarm went off. Once it finally rang, I texted Sharon to bow out of walking—again. And Jesse re-set it for 7:00 so I could squeeze in a bit more sleep.

Which, of course, didn’t happen.

I counted to somewhere in the 400s before the alarm rang again, at which I gave up and got out of bed, grumpy and feeling kind of sick.

Not cool, last night, not cool.

Love,
Erin

Though I am recovering from the cold, yesterday I had an eye disaster. Dis-as-ter. I left the house with my left eye kind of irritated. I’d thrown away my old pair of contacts and had a fresh pair in. As I locked the door, I thought, maybe I should grab some eye drops just in case, but then I decided against it because the clock it was a-ticking and the contacts were new, so I was sure they’d settle down.

Ha. Well, the first class went fabulous, and then I ate lunch in my office (turkey sandwich—a departure from the typical peanut butter and honey, woohoo), and then I went to my second class, and by the end of that class my eye was trying to claw its way out of my skull. I had ten minutes before my last class, and I spent them in my office, trying to get my eye to stop this nonsense. Didn’t work. I showed up to my last class looking like I’d been crying, and I apologized for the appearance, made some joke about contacts, and then spent the next hour and fifteen minutes alternately weeping and itching. Oh, torture.

After class, I went home (with a quick stop on the way to surprise Jesse at work!) and took out my contacts immediately. Relief, I was sure, was on its way.

Not so! I had already given myself the rest of the evening “off” because I’d gotten so much work done in the wee hours of the morning. And how did I spend the time? Pouring about a half bottle of Visine in my left eye, rinsing it, putting a cold wet washrag on it, ordering it to Stop This Right Now, and generally sitting on the couch looking and feeling miserable.

Nice. Well, the eye seems to be better today, thank goodness. Now, I’m going to input all the quiz grades so far into the handy-dandy Excel file Jesse made me that does all the math for me. Brilliant!

Ta-ta!