April 23: Tumble Up, Fighting Lethargy, Ibuprofen

HARPOONEERS AND SAILORS (Foresail rises and discovers the watch standing, lounging, leaning, and lying in various attitudes, all singing in chorus.)

Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies! Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain! Our captain's commanded.-

1ST NANTUCKET SAILOR Oh, boys, don't be sentimental. it's bad for the digestion! Take a tonic, follow me! (Sings, and all follow) Our captain stood upon the deck, A spy-glass in his hand, A viewing of those gallant whales That blew at every strand. Oh, your tubs in your boats, my boys, And by your braces stand, And we'll have one of those fine whales, Hand, boys, over hand! So, be cheery, my lads! may your hearts never fail! While the bold harpooneer is striking the whale!

MATE'S VOICE FROM THE QUARTER-DECK Eight bells there, forward!

2ND NANTUCKET SAILOR Avast the chorus! Eight bells there! d'ye hear, bell-boy? Strike the bell eight, thou Pip! thou blackling! and let me call the watch. I've the sort of mouth for that- the hogshead mouth. So, so, (thrusts his head down the scuttle,) Star-bo-l-e-e-n-s, a-h-o-y! Eight bells there below! Tumble up!

DUTCH SAILOR Grand snoozing to-night, maty; fat night for that. I mark this in our old Mogul's wine; it's quite as deadening to some as filliping to others. We sing; they sleep- aye, lie down there, like ground-tier butts. At 'em again! There, take this copper-pump, and hail 'em through it. Tell 'em to avast dreaming of their lassies. Tell 'em it's the resurrection; they must kiss their last, and come to judgment. That's the way- that's it; thy throat ain't spoiled with eating Amsterdam butter.

Strange that I find myself in the same predicament as the sailors in this chapter--being forced out of sleep to keep watch through the rest of the night.  They are stirred from their dreams of home and mothers and girls.  Called to ascend into the salt air of ocean and stars.  And they come, grumbling, the dream bodies of their loves still pressing against them in the dark.

I, myself, have been fighting this lethargy for most of the day.  This afternoon and tonight, I taught.  Won't be getting home until almost sundown, most likely.  The weekend's festivities are catching up with me today.  The emotion of my daughter going to prom.  Book Club and The Bell Jar last night.  It seems like I accomplished a lot and very little at the same time.

The most I have to show for my weekend efforts is a sore neck and a headache that won't go away.  I thinks it's linked to stress.  I could barely turn my head when I woke up on Sunday.  I've been popping ibuprofen ever since.  These are the last two weeks of the semester, so I'm in the throes of impending final exams.  Students are panicking.  Just this afternoon, I had three students come in during my office hours.  That's a 300% increase from all of last month.

Right now, the ibuprofen is kicking in.  My headache is abating.  My neck ache has disappeared.  After I'm done typing this blog post, I may simply go to bed.  Or I may fall asleep on the couch.  Or I may have to drive my daughter's boyfriend home, THEN snooze on the couch, and THEN go to bed.

Saint Marty is thankful tonight for good medication.

May 9: "Valley of the Dolls," Final Grades, Ann Patchett

Billy asked for something to read on the trip to Tralfamadore.  His captors had five million Earthling books on microfilm, but no way to project them in Billy's cabin.  They had only one actual book in English which would be placed in a Tralfamadorian museum.  It was Valley of the Dolls, by Jacqueline Susann.

Billy read it, thought it was pretty good in spots.  The people in it certainly had their ups and downs, ups and downs.  But Billy didn't want to read about the same ups and downs over and over again.  He asked if there wasn't, please, some other reading matter around.

"Only Tralfamadorian novels, which I'm afraid you couldn't begin to understand," said the speaker on the wall.

"Let me look at one anyway."

So they sent him in several.  They were little things.  A dozen of them might have had the bulk of Valley of the Dolls--with all its ups and downs, ups and downs.

Billy Pilgrim craves stories on the long flight from Earth to Tralfamadore.  Unfortunately, all his hosts have is a copy of Valley of the Dolls, a highly popular but completely trashy novel by Jacqueline Susann that was published in 1966.  Since Dolls was first released, it has sold 31 million copies.  To put that into perspective, the first Harry Potter novel sold a relatively small 5 million copies in hardcover and 6.6 million in paperback during the first year of its release.

It's not surprising that Valley of the Dolls is going in the Earth exhibit in a Tralfamadorian museum.  Everyone was reading Susann's book when Slaughterhouse first came out.  Today, the Tralfamdorians might choose a copy of Fifty Shades of Gray for their museum's human collection.  It's all about popularity.  Certainly, J. K. Rowling and Stephen King might make the cut as well, simply by the sheer numbers of books they've sold.

It is the day after.  I finished evaluating my last stack of papers at 10:40 p.m., entered my final grades at 11:35 p.m., took some ibuprofen, and went to bed.  I am currently in the state of end-of-semester hangover.  My eyes are burning, and I am a little achy with sleep deprivation.  I plan to completely relax this evening.  Tomorrow, I dive into planning my summer class, which begins in two weeks.  Gulp.

Tonight, however, I take a break.  I have a copy of Ann Patchett's Commonwealth that I have been saving for this occasion.  It's not Valley of the Dolls, but it has gotten great reviews.  If I can stay awake, I plan on reading a few chapters before I pass out from exhaustion.  I do have a bottle of white wine in the fridge.  I may have a glass.  Or two.

Saint Marty is thankful for a night without a red pen in his hand.

February 17: Useful Terror, Three-Hour Dentists Appointment, Sick Leopard Seal

One scout hung his head, let spit fall from his lips.  The other did the same.  They studied the infinitesimal effects of spit on snow and history.  They were small, graceful people.  They had been behind German lines before many times--living like woods creature, living from moment to moment in useful terror, thinking brainlessly with their spinal cords.

Now they twisted out from under Weary's loving arms.  They told Weary that he and Billy had better find somebody to surrender to.  The scouts weren't going to wait for them anymore.

And they ditched Weary and Billy in the creekbed.

The scouts can't be slowed down by Weary's imagined heroics or Billy's ignorance.  They are realists, and they know that Weary and Billy are albatrosses.  If the scouts continue on with the pair, all of them are going to eventually be captured by the Nazis.  So, the scouts follow the instincts of their useful terror and abandon Roland and Billy.

I like the term "useful terror."  It describes the feeling that I get before I teach a class or give a poetry reading.  Anxiety mixed with a kind of excitement.  Useful terror keeps a person alert, prepared.  In dangerous situations, it keeps a person safe.  In stressful situations, it can generate serenity.

This morning, I had a three-hour dentist appointment.  That sounds worse than it actually was.  I was having a temporary crown put on a tooth.  That means there was a lot of grinding and picking, numbing and rinsing, waiting and waiting.  I don't get nervous about dentists.  Never have.  So I was in no need of useful terror this a.m.

Tonight, however, my jaw is quite sore from holding it open for so long.  I'm sure it's also sore from the "cutting down" of my gums, which is about as pleasant as it sounds.  No useful terror needed for this pain.  Just Ibuprofen.  Maybe a little alcohol. 

The useful terror will come into play tomorrow night, after it is revealed who the next Poet Laureate of the Upper Peninsula is.  I hate watching and listening to myself on television.  I've been told I have a good reading voice, but I think I sound like sick leopard seal. 

Anyway, Saint Marty is thankful tonight for good dentists and good teeth.  And Ibuprofen and alcohol.