Image description: Me doing jazz hands
If you've been with Writing About Writing for a while now, or listening to me whine like a four year old with a skinned knee, you know that summer school is historically six weeks of me trotting out some of the most spectacular jazz hands I'm capable of doing. ("What? Another day of Fortune Cookie Wisdom? You don't say!") I somehow have managed every year to avoid putting the blog on hiatus through sheer force of will and not a single bit of crystal meth no matter what the district attorney alleges, but it is a difficult time for any semblance of a steady flow of non-ridiculous posts. Unfortunately, my imminent move out means that I lost the luxury of being able to afford turning down a 35/hr teaching gig.
Of course, cancer has also provided a challenging time to keep a steady flow of non-ridiculous posts going up. In the last eight months I've had to add jazz fingers and grow my hair out so I can do some mean hairography. So now we get to find out exactly what the effect will be of stacking cancer and summer school. (And company in town. And moving out.) Jazzier jazz hands? Or just complete meltdown? Tune in to find out! If you've ever wanted to see me crash and burn, now might be your chance.
I've known this particular confluence of suckitude (not the good kind) has been coming for a few months now. Hopefully I've got a few things set up (from half written articles to some slow ball questions for Mailbox posts that I've been saving) that will help get us through. I'll be leaning hard on weekends for productivity. And of course promoting my Kickstarter will create a little more filler that isn't usually there. (Sea monsters fighting carrier groups. It's going to be great. And even just a dollar will get you on the list for updates.) I should be able to at least fake it with style. I mean more so than usual. I always feel like I'm never going to see the light of day or write a decent post again, the six weeks usually ends faster than I expected.
So if you see me floundering in the next six weeks or I miss a day (especially a Thursday), that's probably what's going on. Or maybe my kids finally revolted against the terrible aspect of my eye, and even though I inflicted serious casualties, I was no match for 25 of them.