one small corner of the universe

In the interest of keeping up with what would seem to be an abundance of posts on my part over the past few days, and in an effort to avoid another withering look from the secretary, who apparently thinks my recent late arrival to and early departure from work are unacceptable, I am forcing myself to sit at this desk a little longer and write, even though I am not really married to any particular idea or line of thought at the moment.

I could talk about that secretary, who has been snippy and short today, I think because she believes I am trying to get away with working less and being a slacker, even though our new boss, The Dean, has given me complete license to set my own schedule and work when and where I wish to work. This declaration from The Dean has made me very Zen about my job, which is quite a change from the batshit crazy swirling pit of despair I was swimming in a few months ago, and so I don’t really feel the need to set the secretary straight. She is not the boss of me, after all, and although it probably makes me a bad feminist to admit this, I am sure if she were a guy she would not be all pissy about my glorious new hours. Sorry ladies, but we can be real bitches to each other, yes?

I could elaborate on the work situation and attempt to piece together the sequence of events from last spring that filled me with such despair that I could hardly function. I could discuss how I actually miss teaching, and how this strange truth, coupled with the aforementioned despair, actually made me want to flee this job and go back to the high school classroom. And then I could go on to recount the state and local budget crises that are cutting teaching jobs left and right, and how, thank God, The Dean came on board in June and in one week completely changed the culture and energy of this office and made me feel like I could stay here and try this for at least another semester.

I could talk about what I would rather be doing right now–going to T@rget to buy muffin pans, because when I moved someone insisted I throw my old ones away because they were pretty gross looking, and I have not replaced them yet but must do so immediately because I have committed to make a dessert for an event on Saturday, and cupcakes are involved.

I could talk about how discouraging it is to look at my blog stats and see that my daily average is three, except for June 29, a day that saw 138 hits even thought I didn’t even post anything on June 29. I know it is not a given that my sudden return to writing will guarantee a sudden flood of commenting readers, or even silent ones, and I have to remind myself that writing is really about me, the writer, and not you, the reader, except that it is a little lot about you, too, and I get a pretty big charge out of double and triple digit stats.

I could tell you how I almost closed my browser and walked away from this lame post, and about how I looked at the clock telling me it’s almost 5:00 and thought, “Oh, what the hell,” and decided to publish anyway, and how it is a testament to my humble attempt to find my muse that I got this far in the first place.