The Gideonse Bible   With the beard? Yeah, you!

Rob is spending January in Johnson, Vermont, writing (and collaging and digging cars out of the snow and playing Pass the Pigs and hanging out at the pub, as well, it seems) at the Vermont Studio Center. This means, of course, that I am alone in San Diego. All by myself.

Please note that I’ve never lived alone. Ever. Having a single in college doesn’t count; I still had the dining hall and the guys next door. And an RA, though we called them “proctors” and “tutors.”

It’s a bit spooky here without Rob. The sounds I hear: Just the clunks of the ice-maker and the whoosh of the laundry machines, the occasional light thud of the mail arriving and the whirs of cars passing on the street, the tap-tap-scurry-tap of Hermia’s paws on the wooded floors and the bonk-scurry-thud of Jack running around in spasmodic bursts of energy, while Betsy makes no sound unless it’s a whiney meow. And then there’s my Droid ringing (it says “Droid” when I get a text message and plays the disco version of the Star Wars theme when someone calls) and whatever I’m watching on TV or listening to on my computer. Actually, “spooky” isn’t the right word. I think if the cats weren’t here, it would be spooky. They’re good company. Which means that I’ve become the sort of person who can survive on cats alone.

But I can’t. I really need to get out of the house. But I’m not. Here I am: Blogging. Which, by the way, I could be doing at a cafe. But I’m not.

I have been getting things done. Oddly. I’ve been powering through my to-do list, while also futzing around with the Internet. And other stuff.

What I’ve done since becoming a residency widower:

• I wrote grad school recommendations for two students and for another student, I wrote a recommendation for an internship application. I don’t mind writing them; it’s flattering to be asked But I do mind that they need me to write these things. I am a grad student who taught their critical writing classes. They should have actual faculty writing these things. But they attend UCSD, a school with classes so large and faculty so divorced from the undergraduate experience that only a tiny minority of undergraduates ever interact with professors in  meaningful ways. Teaching undergraduates is not a priority at UCSD.
• I finally finished my application for a doctoral dissertation grant from the National Science Foundation. What a bizarre process. I have applied for grants before, but nothing seems to be like the applications for federal money. I’m sure half of the weirdness is politically motivated nonsense having to do with “tax-payer money,” but the other half of the weirdness seems to be just government inefficiency. The website you use to submit the application is about as advanced as a homework assignment in a high school computer science class. An assignment that would earn a C+. And then getting it through the brilliantly efficient UCSD bureaucracy is just as mind-bending. But I guess if the process was actually simple and efficient thousands of people who manage these applications at universities, labs, think tanks, and agencies in DC, Maryland, and Virginia would lose their jobs. That would be a shame.
• I’ve been cleaning up Hermia’s poop. And her pee. The first few days after I got back from Boston, I kept finding puddles all over the house. Hermia, who is 19 and has dementia, has been pooping wherever she pleases for months, but her peeing has been mostly restricted to the litter box and the wee-wee pads around the box. But we went away for a week, and she was annoyed, so her only recourse was her pee — which she recoursed everywhere. After a while, she realized I wasn’t leaving again, and she decreased her radius. Still, half of our bedroom was covered in wee-wee pads. And she still was peeing constantly and drinking constantly, and Rob told me that this was the signs of a bladder infection. To the vet, we went. Oy. Within 30 minutes, I’d been told she had lost a pound and a half, had a “mass” in her abdomen, had smelly pee (an infection), and tell-tale signs of diabetes. She was doomed. I fell apart and conspired not to tell Rob until he got home or she started knocking on Heaven’s door, whichever came first. Then, after four days and two more vet visits, it turned out she didn’t have an infection, she didn’t and then did have diabetes, and finally, she didn’t have cancer: “It was just a fecal pellet.” Yeah. Now I’m giving Hermia insulin shots every day. And trying to manipulate her so that she decreases her pee radius. Again: Oy.
• There was the Massachusetts Senate election. That sucked some time from me. Not much, though. It was so depressing to watch happen, so I devoted only a few hours of my time commenting about it on Facebook. My conclusion: A bunch of frakkin’ idiots voted for a teabagger and will eventually regret it. I know. That’s deep analysis.
• I’ve been half-heartedly following the Prop 8 trial. I can’t devote too much attention to it, because I’ll lose myself in it, and I’ll get distractingly upset about every appalling thing the defendants say and do. I figured out during the original Prop 8 campaign in 2008 that the anti-gay marriage folks are a hideous combination of cruelty, stupidity, cynicism, and hypocrisy. They’re continuing to exhibit those qualities. They may be a little less successful, because they don’t have to impress California’s dumb-ass voters. They have to persuade a federal judge who has a reputation for, ya know, being smart. Meanwhile, Maggie Gallagher, who runs the Christian Right cultural terrorist organization known NOM, has been spitting out commentary on the trial that is so devoid of Christian charity that it beggars belief. I wish her the worst in life. If you want to follow along, there’s Andy Towle’s Federal Prop 8 trial hub.
• I’ve been watching a lot of movies. I still haven’t awarded the Golden Teddys for Most Excellence in Film, which I need to do before the Oscar nominations come out. All I need to see now are Up In the Air, Precious, The Last Station, and Crazy Heart. I really want to see The Informant!, but I can’t even find it on bittorrent.
• My Droid. I’ve been playing with my Droid. A lot.