Woke up at 5, 5:30 this morning, from a new teaching nightmare. In this one, I'd agreed to teach two new classes for two institutions in downtown Chicago in the same time slot. Spent most of the dream running full-tilt from building to building looking for the classrooms, trying to explain to my students why I had to be somewhere else for a minute, but would be right back. Even in the dream I thought to myself "this is like an I Love Lucy episode"--but it was still incredibly stressful and unpleasant, and I'm glad to be up, even early, too early, in a silent house.
Did I mention that I start my Spertus class today? The one on "Religion and Identity in Contemporary Jewish American Literature"? The one I've never taught before, to some unknown number of adult students? (Could be three, could be five, could be a minyan--I'll find out in a few hours.) I've been up to my earbuds in popular romance fiction all summer, reading and teaching it, getting up to speed on the criticism; as of this afternoon, though, and for the next week, it'll be Bernstein and Kushner and Goodman and Scholem, Ozick and Finkelstein, Ostriker, Bloom, Jacqueline Osherow, Ari Elon... A few of my favorite things, but evidently (see above) a daunting task as well.
I'll keep you posted.