Thursday

Thursdays are not Fridays. James Joyce wrote Ulysses about a Thursday (mostly). He said "Every Friday buries a Thursday" in his Hades episode. My Joyce class was held on a Thursday. It sparked a fascination.

Friday evenings usually find me in a bit of a lonely funk. Maybe it's because they're all funerals for Thursdays, or maybe there is a darker, more socially significant reason. Maybe I'm just lonely.

It's the first of January, for another seventy minutes or so. In 2009 I look forward to the possible beginning of a PhD program and a new direction and focus for my academic life. I feel almost as if that new direction hangs on the toss of a coin subject to all the laws of probability. A whole crowd of friends and relatives are waving their hands in the air and singing "Maybe, maybe not" in falseto voices. I'm mixing my allusions. It's not my decision, nor is there any longer anything I can do to either help or hinder the coming of that opportunity. I have only to wait well.

I will be turning twenty-eight this year. I would like to publish something, either fiction or nonfiction, before I turn thirty but unless the opportunity walks up, grabs my head and plants a juicy kiss I won't pursue it.

Speaking of juicy kisses, it is time I divided my life into that which is under my control and that which is not. I cannot control whether I am accepted into the PhD program, whether I am asked on a date, how much money I earn (if any at all), whether someone will take my room before April, and any accidents which may occur.
I can control what I learn, how I balance my time (within reason), how I treat people, whether I give my students a fair chance and an opportunity to learn, and if I fulfill my responsibilities as a teacher, member of my congregation, and member of my family. I can make sure that I keep my word. I can control a percentage of my efforts to increase my health.

Don't think that means I will.