My small world

Today I had an email on my university account from my cousin Phyllis. I haven't seen her in years. We were somewhat close as children, but she was a couple of years older than I was, so when I went off to college, and she married her first husband and stayed in LaSalle Parish, we had little in common. Of course, I responded to her, and then she did what I was afraid she was going to do: she started forwarding crap to me. I didn't pay too much attention to it before I deleted it, but I think it was something about how we should write "In God We Trust" on all our mail. It's bad enough when I get that stuff on my personal email account, but I won't tolerate it on my university account. So now I've set myself up for more grief by inviting her to correspond with me on my personal email. This is the same woman who has a photograph of me as a baby that I want to see and that she won't send. The photo is of me after I was burned when I was little, a situation that I've always been curious about.

I'm including a video clip today of my sister's dog and cat playing with each other. Well, to the dog, it's playing. To the cat, it's harassment.


My husband and I have been so tired this weekend that we've done more napping than anything else. And I have a long week ahead of me. On Monday I need to be in my school office all day. On Tuesday evening, I have a dinner/get-together with other nontenured tenure-track folk. On Friday I'm chairing my WIC Committee.

I haven't mentioned the bizarre thing that happened this week at Betty's. I got dressed and pulled out a pair of shoes that I hadn't worn in a few weeks. (I keep extras of all sorts of clothing there, just in case.) Out of habit, I shook my shoes before I put them on. Out rolled six or seven nuggets of dog food kibble. Betty blames the mouse, or mice, or rat or rats. Whatever. I personally wonder whether Betty's son didn't do it as some kind of training technique for his dog. I'm growing more eager to move into my little studio apartment. I don't like not being able to go and come as I please. I want my own kitchen facilities. I don't want to share a shower with other people. I don't want to feel that other people are entering my room whenever they want to, without my knowledge or permission. Still, I really like Betty and will miss our conversations.

I'm going to miss Ruth and Genevieve, who are both leaving for greener (i.e., more Southern) pastures. I distrust the new department-chair hire already, even though I've never met him. His resume is seriously padded. He's included as a separate item each student he's ever directed in an independent study. Maybe I should enter all those students who come by my office just to chat, long after I've been their teacher. How about each letter of reference I've written? Surely those are worthy of their own entry on my cv. Well, it's best not to pre-judge this man. I'm sure he'll be nervous and fearful of his acceptance when he arrives, so I'll do my best to make him feel comfortable. Anyway. There's nothing I can do about it, one way or another.