AJ�s mood yesterday did not improve much. There was some hysteria over the incident of a graham cracker being a little too close to the yogurt container. There was a misunderstanding over which green cup was the preferred container for a glass of water. And then there was the incident of the toothpaste, which totally defies description and is best left to your imagination.

After all of that, I have to admit I practically sprinted out of AJ�s classroom after dropping him off this morning, in order to be far, far away before his teachers realized that the Dr. Jekyll they were expecting was actually Mr. Hyde. I narrowly escaped onto the train to the city to get down to campus for meetings. (Don�t worry � my husband picked up AJ later. We didn�t just abandon him. Although I won�t say we didn�t think about it.)

My meeting with my advisor was long overdue, through no fault of my own. It was difficult, but good and nearly two hours long. I came away feeling initially kind of bad about where things were, but on summarizing it in the log I keep on my dissertation, I realized that ultimately it was really positive. The material is basically there and now I need to start rewriting, polishing and creating the final version. The deadline for said final version is set at the moment for July 1. It�s going to be a challenge � that�s something like a finished chapter every three weeks � and I�m going to have to start putting in more hours. It really helped me to get some direction and deadlines. I�ve been floundering recently in my own insecurities. Also, after talking with my advisor about approaching the rest of the committee with material to read, I�m really, REALLY glad I didn�t just go and do it when I was having trouble getting information from him. It seems my instincts were spot on. He had instructions for how and when such contact should be made that surprised me with their specificity

I have realized over the past few days that I have become academically timid in my years off, something I need to rectify. When I was starting out I was always known for being the student who went her own way, who tried unorthodox combinations of methods and materials. It�s something I take pride in. Now even my prose reflects my uncertainty. And to some degree, I think I�ve been experiencing a fear of finishing. I�m sure this is not uncommon. You live with a big project for a long time and it�s easy to lose perspective. Plus I really have no idea what happens next � teaching? Public policy? A foundation? Something else? I�m not in the best position for an academic job after taking time off. On the other hand, I had a very successful and productive career in another field and a family. I have to keep reminding myself that just because they don�t matter much to the people I�m working with now, that doesn�t mean I�ve spent my life being useless. The real problem is, of course that though my teaching creds are stellar, they are ancient history. I know that next year I�ll need to be doing some part time teaching jobs, for which, I am certain, I will earn considerably less than my fellowship this past year. In our meeting my advisor suggested trying to teach at a community college. At the time that felt like I was being written off, but I�m pretty sure that in this case that was my own paranoia. He�s bent over backwards to help me finish. I doubt very much he�d write me off now. Besides, which, nearly everyone I know did some community college teaching before getting real jobs. Even coming from big fancy universities, you have to start somewhere.

I guess I�m feeling a little old to be starting. Or maybe I�m just feeling old. The students on campus all look so young. How did that happen? Looking in the mirror lately, I scan my face for changes. I remember when I was pregnant with AJ standing naked in front of the mirror every morning marveling at the betrayal of my body. It�s very disorienting to watch the body you�ve been so familiar with become a foreign object. The change has really been continuous since then. I no longer know my own hands. They are filled with creases and bulging veins and brown spots that appeared while I was pregnant and never faded. They are the hands of experience. They are not the hands of the eager student who began her studies here. She is no longer here. Time alone and visits to campus do help to fuel the fire, to remind me not to be too domesticated. It�s so easy to be domesticated, but ultimately it is not satisfying, at least for a person like me. I revel in the small intimacies and subtle variations in the colors of my days, but at night I dream of far-reaching excursions in the dark alone, solo adventures in my seven league boots.

I want�I need�I am not too old. It is not too late. There is still time to do things and there are things to be done.

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