There may be a book in me after all.

For the first time in a while, I'm feeling inspired. Writing my dissertation burned me out. I guess that's fairly normal. I remember finishing my MA thesis and feeling like I would never again, EVER, have anything else to say. Multiply that by about a billion. Well, after this past weekend, which I spent at a big conference in my field, I actually feel like maybe--just maybe--there's something left in me that might be worth putting out there. I had two meetings with university presses. I blew the first one, but thanks to a straightforward (if personality-impaired) editor and the counsel of some wise colleagues, the second one was awesome, and I came away feeling like writing the book will be an opportunity rather than an obligation. I know, I know, it's going to end up being the same grind as the diss. in the end, but still: at least now I want to start, whereas a week ago thinking about the book made me want to slit my own throat and watch myself bleed.

So, in addition to the writing stuff, the conference was great for getting back in touch with old friends (though there wasn't as much time for socializing as I'd have liked) and for making new connections. I made a great contact with an Important Person in my Field--someone who, to be frank, I hadn't given much credit until now. My own panel was less great than I'd hoped. We had a significant turnout, which was no small feat at a conference where attendance seemed pretty pathetic compared to past years, and the audience had great questions. But I was totally unimpressed by our commentator, who I am quite certain didn't actually read my paper at all. You know those kinds of papers students turn in when you are pretty sure they didn't read the book and it's all bullshit padding? Yeah. That. So that was a bummer, especially because she was all oohs and ahhs over another paper on the panel, which is fine (I don't begrudge others their oohs and ahhs) except that I found myself scribbling over and over again on my pad of paper, where is the critical lens? Sheesh.

Also: why do people knowingly speak for longer than their allotted time? Why? Really. I will go to my grave not understanding why any academic believes that any other academic wants to listen to a paper longer than 20 minutes. This is a self-selecting business: no one here is overly social and most of us are totally self-absorbed, so word to the wise, 20 minutes tops. If you can't say it in 20 minutes, it's not worth saying because, newsflash, no one is listening.

Now I have 10 days to write another paper for a conference in 2 weeks, I have to mark a metric craptonne of my own students' essays (my own fault for assigning them, I know), then there will be final exams, plus my government gig, plus life. Plus I've agreed to sub a body ball class next week for another instructor at my gym (I usually just teach hi-lo aerobics), which will be fun but, um, I have never taught body ball so...yeah. I have 8 days to figure that out. Tomorrow I am meeting with my trainer who has warned me via e-mail, "Prepare for torture." Interestingly, this intrigues and excites me, which I think probably says a lot about who I am as a person.

On the brightest side, this week marks the final teaching week in the semester, and the final week of a course that I was terrified to teach because it is outside my field of expertise. I don't know what the student evaluations are going to look like, but my own assessment is that it went much better than I expected. I made it through all the lectures alive, at any rate, and I learned a lot along the way. There were only a handful of total dear-in-the-headlights moments where students exposed my lack of knowledge for all to see; most of the time, I think I did reasonably well, though I'm as aware as anyone that my teaching lacked the depth it normally has when I'm running courses within my research interests.

Still. I want a real job. I'm kind of sick of this shit.