It's been an interesting transition back into the rat race of teaching and service that marks the beginning of every spring term. My classes are fine, although I've already had at least one discussion that troubled a number of students. Luckily, they talked to me about it, so I can do some damage control before the next class. Mainly it's been hard to get a handle on my class prep schedule. Find myself struggling to keep up with the reading-- even more so than usual. Probably because my "other" world-- the world of Skip's illness--always shimmers in the background. I imagine it like a stage scrim-- a sort of ghost world separated from my day-to-day distracted life by a sort of reflective skin, a permeable membrane. Easy to get caught up in memories and, sometimes, raw emotion. Lump in my throat the other day while talking to a student about theater theory, because I mentioned a play Skip and I worked on once. Not sure how in the world I'm going to be able to discuss Artaud with him without sobbing.
Skip's doing well. Back at work in the studio after a very fatiguing and fatigued post-chemo week last week. One more good week before he gets hammered with another treatment. He's reading On the Road, and understandably dreaming of open spaces. Says he keeps hearing Kerouac's voice as he reads-- slowly, slowly-- through that crazy stream-of-consciousness prose.