Absolutely knackered, (as the English say,) crazy, full, running on overdrive, running on empty, running, dry, thirsty (who has time to drink water?) running on anxiety--did I critique the right essays? Do I have the lesson plans copied? Did I take care of the leak in the basement water pipe? What about the PG& E bill?

It seems dumb. I don't have that many pressing responsibilities. Not compared to a parent. Not compared to a brain surgeon. And I love, love, love the work I'm doing. I love my students, bright, intense, eager, opinionated, unique. What I don't love, what trips me up, are the logistics. Getting from here to there with the right stuff photo-copied and commented on and in my arms at the right time. Remembering the keys, the snacks, the clean-up, the phone numbers, the directions, the combinations. Coordinating dates, times, locations, pick-ups, drop-offs. Dealing with traffic, accidents, lost papers, leaky water bottles, miscommunications.

I love my life, I love that I get to write and publish and teach and have friends too. I love it that some men even like me and are not terrified out of their wits by a smart overly outspoken tall woman with unruly hair who bites her nails. I love it that I have a community of people to play with and lean on and climb on and sing with and dance with and do ritual.

I loved Purim on Saturday night at my synagogue when my rabbi was dressed up in a Superman costume and people were doing tequilaq shooters and dancing to an excellent klezmer band; I loved walking fast around the lake the next morning with a new friend, and I even loved teaching for hours later that day, three hours at New College and then two and a half at Writing Salon.

But when I got home that night I was TRASHED, crawl-in-the-bed-with-all-my-clothes- on trashed, no energy to make dinner trashed, just good-for nothing exhausted. And the pace continues. I need to write the article about Tim and get it out, I have a kajillion student essays and memoirs and things to comment on, and somewhere in all of this I've got to do laundry, because today I just ran out of socks.