It’s morning, so I’m (almost) late again.

A daydream of the future –

I’ve crafted a routine. If I set my alarm four times starting 2 and half hours before my class, I am usually on time for that one 8 am the English Department stuck with me because I’m the newbie. Luckily, after three and half years in New York City, I think I finally managed the routine from Brooklyn fairly effectively. It’s my first year at NYU, so I’m the total New Kid on the Block (pardon the bad 90’s reference). It took me 5 phone calls, three coffee dates, and one rather poignantly essay crafted with the help of 3 am espresso for me to land a visiting professorship with NYU.

It’s different than my last few years at smaller liberal arts schools in the Midwest. But, New York’s been the dream, and now it’s here, and I’m kind of freaking out?

The train rattles beneath my feet while my eyes remedy the late work night I had with Felicia. I’ve been honing in my nonstop New York woman sensibilities by working with a modern artist on a hybrid writing and film piece she will be displaying at MoMA in between classes. I’ve always had a love of art museums since I found quiet intellect embedded in the modern wing of Chicago’s Art Institute. My first venture into collaborating with other forms of art besides an understandable collection of letters and punctuation. This morning is modern fiction, and I’ve given my kids a tough reading load. Pushing them, though, I find myself being thrust back into my younger mindset complete with less worries and smaller fears. Even though I’m technically behind the podium, my heart is still on the other side.

Maybe that’s why I usually don’t stand stationary behind that thing. Energy cannot be destroyed, but it can be repressed. But who ever got anywhere standing still?



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