Institutionalize Me!

Institutionalize me now! It's been a crazy semester, not so much from teaching but from all the committee work, conferences, writing retreats, and yes, the grading and responding. The responding and grading are the only parts of teaching that overwhelm me. As my husband reminds me on a regular basis, I wouldn't have as much responding to do if I didn't assign so much writing. My students agree with him.

I long for a straightjacket, one that holds my arms still and prevents me from writing and responding. I desire institutionalization right now, a place free of distractions, a place free from choices, a place free of demands on my time.

Actually, institutionalization would drive me crazy as would the other inmates/residents/ whatever the right word is. I need space, lots of space and time alone, free from other people. I border on antisocial, sometimes seeing people as obstacles to my quiet time, to my alone time. Great, now people who read this post will think I resent talking to them. That's not it. I like my friends, my colleagues, my acquaintances, my students. I just need to balance that time with alone time, with solitude.

I like quiet. That makes me somewhat of an anamoly (is that spelled right?) nowadays. A friend of mine grades with the television on. I can't do that. I need quiet to focus on the words on the page. I can't respond to papers with music on, with the television on, with any distractions.

Here's the weird part, though. I need distractions to sleep. I don't like it perfectly quiet for sleeping. I need white noise--a fan, a noisemaker, something to drown out creaks and house-settling noises.

Institutionalization sounded like a cooler topic than it has actually turned out to be. It functions more as a punchline than a writing prompt. Oh well, live and learn. I'll enjoy reading what others write; plus, this post will count as one of my four entries for the week.

What else, then, do I want to write? I don't know. I could make a list of people I think need to be institutionalized, starting with the guy burping at the counter. He walks toward his girlfriend; she's looking back at him, and he's burping. Hmmm.

My fingers slow as I glance around Hildegard's, wondering what to write. Diana still wears her teacher clothes as do I and perhaps Vicki as well. Another couple enters, and I look up, watching them as they approach the counter. I hope they're not ordering any dessert. I need to ensure that the dessert I want will still be there when I finish typing. Chocolate is a priority for me.

Earlier, I was sitting on the couch when Vicki went to the counter to order. I overheard "chocolate" and "mousse" and darted toward her, needing to participate in that conversation. Even though I had already ordered a sandwich, there were clearly better food options that I hadn't considered. I decided to consider them after my sandwich, holding them out as the carrot to encourage myself to write. Speaking of carrots, isn't that a stupid idea for an incentive? A carrot would make me run the opposite way. Chocolate, please, and I'll follow you anywhere.

A Hildegard's employee mops between us and the coffee containers. Oh no, I thought I needed more coffee, but I don't want to mess up her clean floor. I wish my floor were clean. I wish my house were clean. I want a maid, someone who comes in, cleans my house daily, cooks meals, does laundry, irons clothes (ooh, irons clothes--wouldn't that be nice?). Instead, I have me, the person who hates to clean, likes cooking if someone else will go to the grocery store and if I have a good, easy recipe to follow. I need a better me, but I don't see that happening either.

I can write. I can teach. I can love my friends and family. That will have to be enough for now. The only institution I'll join for now is my university.