February 12, 2022

Anindita -

Something I thought about:

  • I spent a good chunk of this week debugging a series of interconnected technical issues, and I realized that the process is a bit like editing/revision (similar analytic part of the brain). I enjoy revision and trust that process whereas I’m always rather pessimistic that a technical issue will eventually unravel and be resolved. I have a running list of things I’d like to revise in my diss that's ticking in my head as I work and some things I want to review before revising. So much to do! So much that I want to do!

Something I did:

  • Spent way too much time on the phone with Apple dealing with tech issues.
  • Had a lot of meetings.
  • Wrapped up grading.
  • Prepped for the spring term.
  • Basically caught up, reset, and dove back into work.

Something I read:

Brown was a seductive iconoclast with a Katharine Hepburn mane and a compulsion for ignoring the rules. Anointed by Life in 1946 as the “World’s Most Prolific Picture-Book Writer,” she burned through her money as quickly as she earned it, travelling to Europe on ocean liners and spending entire advances on Chrysler convertibles. Her friends called her “mercurial” and “mystical.” Though many of her picture books were populated with cute animals, she wore wolfskin jackets, had a fetish for fur, and hunted rabbits on weekends. Her romances were volatile: she was engaged to two men but never married, and she had a decade-long affair with a woman. At the age of forty-two, she died suddenly, in the South of France, after a clot cut off the blood supply to her brain.
The book is an indication that the author may some day write a novel which will be an important addition to American literature.
Don’t think in months or years—just start with today. What is one small thing you want for yourself that isn’t for anyone else? How will you take up space today? How will you try stretching your body into response? One small act can show you the space you could take up—it can show you the as-of-yet discovered reaches of your own heart.
  • The Last Cuentista by Donna Barba Higuera