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I have a craggy, treacherous mountain of Bend it Like Beckham essays to grade. After one more essay, I will have completed one class's worth--I'll be one quarter of the way through. Due date? I guess Christmas, although who wants to drag this out further than it has to be drug?

I've got nagging thoughts of wanting better bodily capabilities for dancing--actual leg extension and strength, an un-hunched neck, and a flexible upper back. Trying to figure out how to feel free when I dance instead of stunted and frustrated. Trying to feel vibrant instead of desperate.

More nagging, useless, energy-draining thoughts: all the books on my shelves that I'll probably never read. Wondering when I'll ever decide to reconnect with my literary life--my writing life, especially. At least I'm reading Wolf Hall. Missing Tin House and Portland.

Not looking forward to returning to school tomorrow--this always makes me question whether I'm in the right job. A big part of it is that I don't want to do work--plain and simple. I don't want expectations of me and requirements of my time. Fear of failure is surely at the heart of that. And fear of discomfort and inconvenience.

Watched a DVD of a bunch of super 8 conversions of Leif's home movies last night. It's weird when you realize that your parents are your age or younger in the movies and they've got kids. I think, intermittently, about how Leif is older, and what age would be right for him/us to start a family. He has no answer for this, really, and no clear urge. We have no clear answer for when we will relocate to a city that supports the kind of lifestyle we want. We don't know when we want to get married or what kind of wedding we would have. Time treads over our indecision.

Holidays, family gatherings, and home movies make me think of offspring--I don't desire or crave their presence, but the subject comes to mind. I don't even like planning the decor of my living room, so the thought of planning--well, you see where I'm going with this. I'm hoping to scrape together enough ambition, drive, and focus to one day move, perhaps go back to school, perhaps change my career path, if I decide I even want to do that. How do people do that and physically bear and raise children? I'm hoping not to have to make these decisions for the next few years. Of course, I know that I don't have to do anything--everything is up to me, which isn't actually comforting. (Maybe being decent at adulthood is about giving up the idea that you can be comfortable all the time.)

It's like in Jane Austin stories when a character says "I don't have the constitution" for such and such. Some days I'm surprised I get through a school day with my "constitution."

While running errands with Leif today, I thought of how we--humans--are all a bunch of little doers. We wake up and just run around doing until we die one day. On our deathbeds, if we have such a privilege, I bet we will think about how we didn't do enough. I'm already thinking about how I don't do enough, both in the sense of productivity and in the sense of experiences. I'm always wondering: what are the best things for a person to do? What does it feel like to live a life doing those things? Will I one day find out how to make this happen, and think: how come I didn't start doing this sooner?

Despite all of these Sunday insecurities and musings, I am looking forward to trying out a few resolutions for this week. I'm am looking forward to health and routine. No alcohol and no shows (until Friday afternoon). Lots of water, three kinds of greens in the crisper, ballet on Tuesday, running on Wednesday, perhaps yoga on Thursday. Rehearsal tonight and tomorrow night. Cooking dinner nightly, as per usual. Grading papers daily, as per not usual. Reading Wolf Hall for down time. Going outside to grade and read (weather permitting). Maybe an evening bonfire or two with Leif. Baths in the evening instead of the morning, Wolf Hall and Kava tea in bed. Teaching those kids with rigor and enthusiasm. Just for this week.

We shall see. I'd be happy with eighty-percent. Maybe even sixty.