Buried

After my loving and nostalgic tribute to prepackaged and frozen foods, I immediately came down with the stomach flu--or was it food poisoning?? Suddenly, those fish stick dinners--and the hot dogs in particular--don't sound nearly as tasty.

After spending three days incapacitated and watching all five Harry Potter films (the highlight of my weekend), now I'm desperately trying to play catch-up with midterm papers, projects, etc. So, I haven't had much time to blog as of late--I've been spending every available brain cell to churn out pages about developmental psychology and Judith Butler's theory of performative identity. And I don't mean using every available brain cell, I mean spending. I'm not sure I'm going to get those little guys back.

The really upsetting thing, though, is that I thought I had adjusted to my life as a hermit--I'm just used to not being able to do much of anything fun, it's the status quo. I shut myself up in the apartment, telling my friends somewhat hyperbolically that I'm "buried under a stack of books." (Really, the stacks of books are all shoved up against the wall so that they don't topple down on me.) Then I can read or write all day, and stop just to watch Bones or Supernatural on Hulu when I really need to give my brain a break. Or the MSNBC politics video feed if I want to get riled up. I'm in touch with the world--really! I talk to people all the time... although admittedly, on Facebook.

So, at least I feel like I'm in touch with other human beings, and I'm still able to get my work done without feeling too bad about missing out. But now, of course, on the weekend that I'm particularly convinced that its physically impossible to get all my work done, all my friends (wow... who knew I had so many here in DC?) have been asking me to do things. Really fun things. Renaissance Festival. Mexican Food. Pumpkin Patch. And meanwhile, Jeremy volunteered for the Obama campaign yesterday.

Suddenly, it's not so easy to focus. I don't feel so isolated from the world, holed up here in my apartment. Fall is my favorite time of year, and suddenly I'm thinking of Renaissance music and those giant turkey legs that they sell at the Festival, the elephant ride I had been wanting to take this year, the crisp smell of Autumn and the bright colors of changing leaves...

Jessy stopped by the apartment after she and the others had been to the pumpkin patch; she brought me two small pumpkins. After surveying the apartment, seeing the books I had scattered across the table for reference as I am writing my papers, she commented, "Wow, you really do look like you're buried under a pile of books."

I guess it's not always hyperbole.