Work Life/Writer Life

I don't even know how to express my joy that the snow is gone.  I don't even care that there was barely even in-between weather even though in-between weather is my very favorite kind.  (It is super hot and sticky and we have the air on already.  Boo).

I have been able to take walks again at work and spend hme reading and writing in pretty places.

The Terrace chairs are even back!  Finally!

I had to stay late the other week for my semesterly speech contest, and I went majorly old school with the snack: Oreos and milk.  And juice, since the person who requested Oreos is vegan.

I love this:

Also!  I love Joanna Gaines' cookie recipe-- it's as perfect as she is.

Seriously. Those cookies were so good I broke out Humpty.

In case you wondered what Beatrix has been up to lately, this is it:

Dorothy packed full luggage for a playdate last week.  Ha!

I am having a really hard time writing.  Bah.  I want to write a book.  It's almost there, and it's taken HOURS of my time and I even have an outline for the next one.  BUT IT'S NOT COMING.  GAH.  So, work life is good.  Writing life is...less good.

But!  I started doing yoga everyday, and that's been even better than good.  Who knew?

I am really depressed about my upcoming birthday, you guys.  I feel like I used to be an exceptional person with so much potential and I didn't use it.  I just sort of settled here, a middle-aged mom.

In some ways I blame grad school, a demoralizing process that convinced me I was never as smart as I thought I was.  I had a student come by my office to work on her student commencement address, and I realized that I had my own speech from a million years ago to show her.  I read it over again before I sent it to her, and you know something?  IT WAS REALLY GOOD.  At the time, though, I convinced myself that I only got picked to deliver the speech on a fluke (um, actually?  there were several rounds of try-outs).  A professor in my department went out of his way to tell me it was a good speech on graduation night, and I have a really vivid memory of his compliment embarrassing me because I was sure he only said something because he felt bad for me.  I mean WHAT THE HECK?

I have not written a single academic word since I defended my dissertation 9 years ago.  And all I have been writing lately are super sad poems about miscarriage and the stifling weight of motherhood.

Midlife crisis, right?