Okay, first of all, there's the whole horrible terrorist thing. I can't even write about it. I don't know what to say. There are certain things that I just cannot bring myself to care about right now, and other things that seem unbelievably important. So everything is skewed.

And of course, there's this lingering fear. Every time I leave the house, I feel the need to bring a book (in case I get trapped in my car) and some kind of food and water (ditto) and warm clothes, and a pair of sneakers. What is that? I can't drive across the Bay Bridge without imagining that I won't be able to drive back, because it will have been blown up. It's not debilitating fear, by any stretch (and it's only been a week) but I hate having these thoughts at all.

Fuck fear. Fear sucks.

I mean, I got a package today and my first thought was, "What if it's a bomb?" The return address was Men in Black 2. I thought someone was making a joke or something... until it occurred to me that, duh, it's very likely that Matthew is working on Men in Black 2. (I opened up the package to find an amazing gift: a little poetry book by Walter Benton, whom I have never heard of, and an edition of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poetry, which is undated, but is obviously very, very old.)

As amazing as the gift is, and as great as if made me feel, it made me feel guilty, too, because I didn't have time to call Matthew back yesterday, when he called me.

My parents also called me tonight, offering to fly me down for a big party they are having for my sister's birthday, and my mom's birthday, and their housewarming. One of the things that seems unbelievably important right now is my family, and I would dearly love to be there. But I am already scheduled to work the day before, and I have to lecture the next day, and I have hours of homework every single day. When I think about what it would take to make that happen, I can feel my blood pressure rising. Not to mention that I'd probably drive-- because I do not want to get on a plane right now.

I feel so terribly guilty about this, that I hung up the phone and burst into tears.

And I don't even feel like I have a right to be upset at all. Joey lost a friend in the World Trade Center, and I don't know, I feel like being in pain alongside her is the only thing I can do, but at the same time, I don't feel as though I'm entitled to it. And today before class, we went and bought some beer, and we drank beer and smoked cigarettes and tried to find something to laugh about.

And at the same time, I am so relieved to have her home, that I feel like nothing else is even important. Too much homework? Oh, please.

But my classes-- well, they're part of my problem. Don't get me wrong, I'm really loving them. But this is by far the most challenging semester I've had. And I really want to do well and stay on top of all my homework. Which means that every night I come home and have to do homework for hours. Which is not bad-- I mean, I'm reading some very exciting stuff right now. But it means pressure.

Take today. I woke up at eight this morning so I could get to school on time, to teach my class. It went fairly well, although there's some kinks to smooth out. I have that one problem student, who got a little out of hand today. Before I could say anything, my students schooled his ass for me. But I can't help feeling that my students are more in control of the class than I am.

I don't know. It was a good class, but not great.

So then I drove back to the East Bay to do the beer and cigarettes thing, and then went to my class on Pound. Three hours of sitting in a cramped chair and listening to my professor talk about Pound. Which was interesting, except when he started talking about the people who worked for the company that Joey's friend worked for, and she had to leave the room, and that was not pleasant at all.

My back hurt like hell after that, too. (Which led me to think, who gives a shit about my back? At least I'm not lying under fucking rubble right now.)

And then Hannah had her poetry reading, which was fun and all, but now it's 10:15, and I'm back at home, and I've talked to my parents and talked to one of my students who needs me to sign a form for her, and now I have a couple of hours of homework ahead of me.

Oh, did I mention I forgot to call Danielle on her birthday? Well, I did. And the less said about my inbox, the better.

I feel like a shitty friend, daughter, and sister right now. (Misplaced guilt, anyone?) And then I'm ready to throttle my roommate, who did something really rude to me. (Misplaced anger, perchance?) And I'm just... I don't know. Overwhelmed by everything.

I guess there are worse problems to have, and I feel kind of terrible about complaining. The semester is going well; life is good. But I really wish I could go home for a weekend. I really, really wish it.

"I feel that I don't deserve all this kindness. I haven't earned it, you know. I've been self-involved, and self-absorbed, and caught up in my own melodramas. I've not been thinking of others all that much. I've been wallowing knee deep in my own life's mud for what seems like a long time. "