This morning I got an email from an old friend in Germany: "What happened? Are you alive? You're no longer on Facebook and you haven't updated your blog in days..."
I'm alive! My love-hate relationship with Facebook teetered way over to the hate side and stayed there, so we broke up. I might go back someday. And the rest of my semester, in addition to work, consumed every waking minute, so I had to ignore HB for a bit, too. Sorry. I'm back, briefly today.
I'm at a writers' residency at Bennington College in Vermont, as part of my master's program, and I'm staying in a college dorm. I can't show you my whole room -- I can't show you my mud-soaked running shoes from the hike around the nearby lake; the sweatpants draped over the end of my bed, still wet from a run in the rain yesterday; the unmade bed with its scratchy bedcovers, pink and forest green. It's too gross, and it's not exactly harmonious. I'm living like an animal. A damp animal who's been pounded by a few consecutive days of rain.
I will show you a few things. Above, clockwise from the top: The only light in the room, a desk lamp with a whopping 52-watt bulb; a golf ball found on the hike around the lake; Amtrak ticket home; moisturizer with sunscreen (I always wear it); workshop material to read one more time; an awesome railroad tie, also found on the hike; short films by Baillie; computer; cords and such; a Bennington College cup filled with cold tea, once hot; a phone with the loudest. Ring. Ever.
Below, my bookshelves. I just bought books by Amy Hempel and Major Jackson, both profs in this program, and I can't wait to read them. My camera. I travel with Lavazza espresso. I brought my hard drive, thinking I'd have time to reorganize its contents. So soothing. The stack of papers is from my workshopped material -- lots of contradictory notes I need to reread and decipher. Looking forward. I brought the bear rug to school because it no longer has a place in my apartment. And finally, the view out my window into the courtyard. The buildings here are lovely, even for us animals.