Fragments From Floyd

And so my life has returned to a long-ago-normal week of daily packing up, driving off, giving at the office and returning drained. Not one to treat responsibility lightly--especially when to fail to attend it will result in a public display of my procrastination or casual dalliance with my obligation--the first-time-around class and lab preparation has pretty well insinuated itself into the core of who I am of late.

This past Thursday, I especially dreaded. It was my first day of labs; I would have one before and one after lunch. I felt ill-prepared but things went surprisingly well in the morning lab. Afterward, I grabbed my paper sack lunch and headed for the nearest door--my first day on campus through a meal time.

Just outside Curie Hall I discovered a comfortable round iron table and bench in the shade of a massive sycamore behind the peaked triangle of glass that is the campus greenhouse. I began eating my sandwich absentmindedly while I thumbed through the Orion that had come in the mail the day before.

Peace. It occurred to me after a few minutes that something was different about that simple ritual of eating and reading, feeling the cool of the shade on my arms and neck, having reached and survived my first full week on campus. Calm. Freedom from the uncertain dread and insipid fear of the unknown. It lifted from me and with it gone, I realized how out of balance my waking hours had become. I resolved to take control by keeping some time and passion set aside for the me that is not a teacher, employee or traveler. Time for fragments from Goose Creek.

But I have 70 lab reports to grade. I have 25 more questions to generate for the first test coming up. The second lab in the week coming up may be complicated by the rain bands of Frances; what will we do if we can't go do the field work? Am I really prepared for lecture on Monday?

The tension between responsibility and whimsy is especially strong on this beautiful early September weekend. I hope I will succumb to a few moments of rebellion, give in to the rage against the machine, and post a picture or two; have a quiet conversation with myself; take the time to journal to the weblog. Stop and smell the goldenrod.

In the words of a long time friend of mine whose life has been dominated by obligation for too long, "I miss me." I think I'll go try to find the missing person today. At first light, I'll head off with a profound lack of purpose to do something totally unnecessary.