When the Batteries are Dead, so are You.

I have just realized how much I have been through in the past seven days. Last Thursday’s Asad presentation, Qumran colloquium on Friday, rapid marking, entertaining new friends on Saturday, then SSHRC drafts, then preparing a lecture and teaching, then slave narrative blitz for Tuesday’s class, then the Brantford thing, then 100 more Asad pages to prepare for today (until 3am, right after getting home from my 80 minute lecture- that was fun). Plus, oversleeping on Tuesday and dashing in to be at class on time (I still haven’t gotten over that surge of anxiety).

Tomorrow, there is a lecture on the psychology of snake handling, and the passing in of my SSHRC and OGS applications, which have been (finally) given a clean bill of health by the profs. (Man, I better at least get a nice rejection from those people!)

Tonight I will gather my SSHRC stuff, make the minor adjustments that Catherine and others have suggested, and generally spruce the crap up, but THAT IS IT.

Next week I have a paper and a proposal due on Tuesday, and I have to prepare for my public screening of The Believer for the 7th of November, but today I choose not to think about it.

I am done. Like dinner. There is not a drop of juice left to be exacted from me… Not an ounce of surplus effort… Just today, after the stress of Islam class was over, did I realize the extent to which I am dead tired. I need a break. Sunday, I will write that paper and work on the proposal, and I will type the minutes for RCS and prepare The Believer notes. However, for the sake of the health of my client (me), I am calling a moratorium on all things brutal and unpleasant until at least Saturday night… I am officially “Gone Fishin’.” Do you hear me, world?

I don’t care what I do. I’m gonna update this blog with things other than whining moans. I’m gonna wash my dishes to the great sounds of bad 80s movie soundtracks. I’m gonna sit for hours and stare at my cat while he’s napping. I’m gonna walk to the park and watch the leaves fall. I’m gonna rent some ridiculous romantic comedy involving Hugh Grant, some chick-of-the-month, and absolutely no plot. I’m gonna darn my socks, and spend an hour trimming my nails. I’m gonna reply to all my emails with something other than “Ha-Ha. See you. H.” I’m gonna watch old Bela Lugosi horror-operas until my eyes fall out.

I might even spend an evening working on the seedling novel I started last July.

And sleep. Plenty of that.

The need to recharge can’t be ignored forever. Even for the sake of advancement.