Windchimes

shelling peas

********bitch alert*********

Or maybe "bitch" alert doesn't really fit here. I spent a good bit of time comparing it to the men's work(ha!)/women's work binary this afternoon while taking care of some necessary tedium, but I learned later that the same thing happens to guys in similar circumstances at times, too.

background information: For this academic year, I've been asked (and felt honored to be asked, and still feel that way) to be editor-in-chief of our university's student literary journal. In the last few years, the folks who edit this journal have made it stand out from your average such university publication. The 2005 issue won the Association of Writers and Publishers content award. That probably wouldn't mean a lot to my sisters or Dad, I wouldn't have realized its implications a few years ago myself, but to people involved in such things, it's no small potatoes. I didn't have anything to do with that, besides having two poems and a translation included in it. One of this year's faculty advisors, however, was the advisor for that year.

My assistant editor is a classmate from last semester's poetry writing class. He was in two other classes I took as well. He's a nice young man, writes some astoundingly interesting poetry from time to time, and I like him.

You know a paragraph like that will be followed by a "however." So here's what happened this week, with today's high point, or low point.

We'd decided to stuff slips of paper advertising the submissions deadline for the 2007 magazine into the 25 or so boxes worth (each box containing 56 mags) of mags that remain from last year's issue. (There are that many because pub and print couldn't get last year's issue printed before the semester ended, so they didn't get delivered until the summer semester, when no one much is around, but that's another story)

Phhhhhht, the long and short of it is, as you've probably figured out by now, that I got stuck with most of the drudge work, that I've been getting stuck with most of the drudge work. The A.E. told me he was sorry I'd had to do so much by myself thus far, and said that he'd be in this afternoon to help me stuff the rest of the magazines. So I took the notebook we've been keeping to try to document the process, that has the flyer we've been copying, up to the office where he spends his student assistant hours. Planned on seeing him (he said he'd come downstairs where I've been keeping myself lately) early in the afternoon. Got to be around 3:00 and I thought to myself, geez, if I don't get started on these things, they won't be ready when I need them to be ready. So I traipsed upstairs to see if I could find out what was up. And he wasn't. Up there, I mean.

I prowled around the halls for a minute, talked to the resident department whiz-magician-if-anyone-can-she-can person. She's one of my favorite human beings lately, especially after she found me some office space. But I digress. Told her how I presently felt about stuffing things, or ...well, you had to be there. She laughed. Talked to the other prof who's co-advising this year. He hadn't seen the MIA either. So I went back to said MIA's office, grabbed the notebook and the slips of paper, and headed back down to my space to start...or finish, stuffing. An office neighbor helped me out until we ran out of the notices. Then I went to see if the table-setter-up people had set up the tables in the lobbies where we needed them. Hadn't done it in the building where we spend most of our time, so went across the quad to case the situation there, and there was one. Practically ran back to get the department handtruck, brought it down to collect four boxes full, and rolled them across the quad and into the lobby with the set up table. Unloaded the boxes. Rolled the handtruck back. In walks MIA.

"Gosh, I'm sorry about that. Me and Prof. (a co-advisor and the guy who asked me if I'd like to do this) just got to talking. I've been in his office for the last hour and a half."

I swallowed. Smiled. Said it was fine. At that point, I just wanted to get as many boxes unloaded onto that table in the building across the quad as possible. So he offered to push the handtruck, and we loaded five boxes, and headed that way. Strolling, lolling, easy breezy and dilly dally when possible. As we pulled all the books from the boxes, one of the English classes being held up the stairs let out, filling the lobby with descending English students and a professor. MIA then proceeded to talk about all the stuff we'd done so far, and what we thought we'd be doing next.

*sigh*

J.H. Larrew
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