I hate going back and forth between teaching and writing. When I am at school, I want to be Professor Perfection and when I am writing I want to be left alone to write. The transitions are excruciating. I teach every other day, so on Wednesday I caught back up to where I was on Monday. And tomorrow, I will catch back up to where I was on Wed. which is where I was on Monday. I do not call this progress.
On the bright side, I have the best classes in the world this semester. Now, if only I can get Mary Wollstonecraft out of her bad relationship, past her suicide attempts, and into the arms of Godwin, I will be happy. Except then she dies and I will have to write about Mary Shelley who I used to love until MW and I began our love affair. I am fickle, though. Soon I will love MS and look back on MW the way one looks back on an old boyfriend/girlfriend, mistily, that oh yes, I loved her once kind of way.