I know, it's no earthshattering revalation. And all things considered, I'm happier about this move to Broomfield, CO than I've ever been about a move in my life. It's amazing, then, how much moving still sucks the life out of me. With a toddler who is constantly at your heels, packing is a trick. I average a box or two a day, if I'm lucky. It's definitely more of a marathon than a sprint, for sure. I feel like we've been moving for two months already. I just can't wait till it's all over.
Then there is the anxiety about leaving UIC, where my PhD and dissertation are still in progress. I have yet to fully assemble my dissertation committee, although my dissertation is nearly half-way done. And I'm theroetically entering the job market this fall, though my opportunities will be severely diminished because of my new location. Yes, there's CU, Naropa, U of Denver, Regis, Metro, and several reputable community colleges in the area, but there are also a lot of highly educated people in the Boulder-Denver area looking for the same jobs I am. I'm contemplating putting my resume in for some High School teaching jobs, just to see what happens. They have a certification program there that's a sort of certify-as-you-go deal, and it wouldn't be all bad, I suppose. I know I'll miss teaching. I miss it already and the summer's not even over!
I haven't written a lick of poetry in weeks. Packing all of my earthly belongings (the ones that weren't stolen!) into boxes not to be seen again for at least a month, puts a damper on my poetic spirit. Usually being disconcerted brings out the best of my poetic personas. Not now. I'm over the edge on this one.