About a week before this semester began I started a cheap, cheesy spy thriller. I finished it slowly in dribs and drabs, maybe a chapter a night before falling asleep. Weirdly, prolonging that dumb book was my way of hanging onto summer. I finished it the night before last, and yesterday I had to come to terms with the truth: the semester has me fully in its maw now.
My day is blizzards of emails, racing to meetings, trying to remember the 14 different deals I cut 14 different ways with 14 different students. And it won't stop until December. I shouldn't complain. Most people don't get a chunk of unstructured time in the middle of their year, but most people don't cram their entire job into 16 week cycles either.
And that's life: run like crazy, crappy novel, run like mad, crappy novel... Stop, start, stop, start...