swimming

Friday evening after some of the most heart-wrenching weeks at work -- two glasses of wine with a friend who knows me at my worst and still calls my office each morning.  This semester, a heavy collective sigh.

This morning, I woke at ten minutes past six and realized it felt like sleeping in.  I've settled into a new routine -- rising before the sun and sitting for a couple of hours at a coffee shop, slogging through emails and trying to get my chin above water.  In the evening I spend a few extra hours at my desk, or find myself collapsing onto the couch with two laptops after dinner.  At night I dream of to-do lists that chase me, of students who shout that I've failed them.

I'm drinking coffee again, and trying to name what it feels like to be in this place.  I remember being at camp at twelve, having finally earned my blue swim cap and, with it, the privilege of swimming to the edge of the lake and back.  To be so far from the dock, to turn and see how far you've swam and to still feel quite unsure of how you'll find the will to get back -- it feels like that.