there's more to life than books, you know

Miracle of miracles, I finally got the over-extended head of the women's studies department to return a book she borrowed from me two years ago. Some of you may remember my kvetching about Sheila Jeffreys; well, now I'll have her lovely little polemic back in my paws. It's not just for my own masochistic enjoyment any more-- I'm teaching a queer theory class next week cos the professor's going to be out of town, and he assigned some selections from the Jeffreys, as well as Nussbaum's slam on Butler (the one where she calls Judy the pied piper). I suppose this is the day dedicated to "reactionary critiques of Butlerian queer theory," but I figure I've gotten most of my virtiol out by now so I can present the arguments reasonably generously before digging in.

Thirsty and sleep is the order of the day. "I can't seem to make it through [Mondays]..." Inevitably I fall briefly asleep on the train ride back and, for the rest of the day, feel deprived of my rightful nap. Faced with a sudden list of work I either forgot (short response on an Arendt passage) or still need to do (thesis schematization, resume, Descartes abstract), I say, why do Monday night what you can put off til tomorrow?