So, yeah. Another year, another big family Christmas. I hate watching my grandparents get older and frailer, especially since there are no new babies or children to counterbalance things. My younger cousins are all in college now, here for a flying visit before running off to pursue their own interests, and I keep feeling like I ought to get married and have a baby, or ought to have done so years ago. This is a stupid idea for an almost infinite number of reasons, but I miss having kids around, and I miss all the silly things you only do at Christmas if there are kids, such as having a big tree with garish felt ornaments and waking up early in the morning to watch them turn the stockings inside out. I miss the noise and the cheerful chaos of my childhood Christmases. I miss Aunt Anna's pierogi (she has been dead for eleven years, and I never learned to make them very well; I stick to cookies and fudge). I miss not being aware of aging and mortality; I miss taking it for granted that I will have children of my own someday, and not wondering and worrying about whether it will ever happen. Sigh. Early-thirties terminally-single angst, I guess.
Another MLA. This will be my third, and some of the excitement has worn off, although it is nice to know what to expect (mostly, that no one I meet there will ever call me again). All the same, I have to admit I kind of like the MLA, even though nobody else does. (My mom brought me to a cocktail party there when I was seven months old and she was a desperate jobseeker; I think this experience warped me for life.) Anyway, the book exhibit always throws me into paroxysms of geeky joy, and, I dunno, there's just something cool about being surrounded by thousands and thousands of English professors. I'm like, hey, these are my people. And I get to say hello to the ones from the Beloved Alma Mater, which is nice.
Uh, yeah. Warped. For life, I tell you. Mothers, don't take your babies to the MLA.
Hope to see some of y'all there!