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So much has been going on lately, both in the world and in my life, that posting has seemed like a far-off and unfathomable possibility. Still, I’ve been planning a long update (please note the word long for those of you with places to be or only a passing interest in my life) for several days now, and since I’m currently battling a cold (April’s apologies, unnecessary though they are, for “giving” me a cold are still ringing in my ears) and am pretty much incapacitated where real mental powers are concerned, I thought I’d go ahead and take pen to paper, so to speak, and let it all out.

I hate that today is called "Patriot Day." I'm not sure I can explain why I hate it, but I do. Maybe it's because hallmark.com has it listed as such on its website. What? Are we supposed to send cards to people in honor of Patriot Day? Maybe it's because it turns what should be a day remembrance for lives tragically lost into nationalist propaganda, something that has been happening from the very beginning and which actually infuriates me. Maybe.

And, of course, there’s Katrina. I knew a girl named Katrina once—a whirlwind of incomprehensible emotions and totally unexplainable rebelliousness, cold one minute, burning the next. I barely knew her, but had great contempt for her brashness. And of course I adored her, too. Not much different with this Katrina—except for the adoration bit—as Katrina has come to stand for everything from the hurricane itself to its startling, appalling and devastating aftermath. The first few days, I kept finding April teary-eyed in front of the television, first because of the human devastation and then because of the animal suffering. I envy her empathy. I cringe inwardly every time I hear myself telling her to turn the television off or change the channel. I don’t mean to be the stoic or to avoid—even though I know that’s exactly what I’m doing, always retreating. I’ve donated money; I would be there if I could; I’m not heartless. Am I trying to convince myself? Maybe I’m practical. Or maybe I shut down when empathy gets too hard.

Instead of watching the news, I’ve been watching CSI with a vengeance. Even though watching it before I go to bed routinely makes it impossible for me to go to sleep without worrying that a murderer is lurking under my bed. I do love the show now (due, in part, to watching it for hours on end with my dear friend Christina in her 90 degree, not air-conditioned, apartment earlier this summer), which means—for better or for worse—that I’ve found a new fandom to obsess about. I can see April mentally sigh every time she asks what I’m doing and finds I’m reading another piece of fan fiction, and even though I’m fairly sure she thinks I’m a little obsessed (I wouldn’t disagree with her), I also think she realizes sometimes I need a little obsession. Sometimes it’s nice to lose myself in something mindless and beautiful and insignificant—in terms of my life and the world at large—for a while. And besides, sometimes I find it incredibly cathartic to tell someone how much I enjoyed their work. I’m a feedback junkie in another sense than the one usually described—if I love something, there’s no greater pleasure for me than telling the writer just how wonderful I think their work is. Especially now, some things still need to be wonderful.

Unfortunately, I haven’t been as persistent with my friendships as I have with my online feedback. A friend of mine wrote me a beautiful and very sweet email today after we hadn’t spoken in almost a year, and it got me thinking about all the correspondence I’ve neglected because I’ve “been too busy” or just plain lazy. True, I saw six different friends this summer through various visitations (Germany, Minnesota, two in LA, two in my own house), all of which were lovely. I count myself extremely lucky that I got to spend time with people I love—and that, over the years, I’ve met so many incredible people in my life I am truly proud to call friends—but there are so many people I haven’t even spoken to in months (if not longer). My long-ago ex in Mississippi whom I’ve been thinking about a lot lately because of Katrina, even though she’s in a central part of the state. My high-maintenance southern belle in Virginia with whom I used to have arguments about feminism and whose love letters (written to others, of course) used to make me cry because they were so beautiful. One of my best friends with whom I used to spend hours on the phone each night, when we were living only a few miles apart, and who now lives in Georgia and we never speak anymore because we don’t seem to know what to say to each other. My dahling in New York City whose name I’d love to see in lights so badly it almost hurts. A friend who once got me through a nasty break-up with her kindness, though she may not ever know how much what she did for me meant, who has now seemingly disappeared in Africa somewhere seeking the love of her life. And so many more: a friend with a baby in North Carolina, a friend with a new restaurant, my rubber ducky, my gay-boy soon-to-be-architect, a friend in Michigan who taught me the joy of pumpkin muffins…it goes on. Not to mention that I haven’t talked to either of my grandmothers in ages. But I suppose there’s only so much one person can do. And I have April. Who’s taught me how to accept love as such and not ask so many questions. I’m grateful for what I have, but deeply sorry sometimes that I can’t stop the world on its axis and just…catch up.

On a brighter note, my life is nothing to complain about. I’ve had three sessions now of the first class I’ve ever taught on my own and my students are just so lovely. I may not think this once they’re first papers come in and I’m struggle to explain to them in the margins why this or that sentence doesn’t make any sense without coming off as scolding or uncompromising, but for now I absolutely adore them. I remember being a freshman, too, and their enthusiasm, their freshness, is invigorating.

All right, this meandering, navel-lint-contemplating purging has gone on long enough. Next time I’ll post something more about my students because I’m eager to share my love for them with the world. I’d like to write this whole mess off and say it was the cold medication, but I haven’t been taking any. Not stoicism this time, though, just plain old stubbornness.