Tuesday, February 27, 2007
I was in Nebraska for two weeks for my father's illness, death, and funeral, and I arrived back in New Orleans late last night. Now I've got 15 newspapers to read, dozens of bills and letters to address, 120 midterm exams to grade, 60 student bloggers to read, 30 phone messages to answer, and more than 1,500 emails that I have yet to look at. Thankfully most are spam. I decided to cancel the paper that I was supposed to present at the regional Society of Biblical Literature/American Schools of Oriental Research conference in Dallas next weekend. I just couldn't find time to write that paper and still get midterm grades in on time. My dogs sure missed me, and I missed them. The house is full of Mardi Gras loot gleaned by Therese and the kids. The mountain of work in front of me seems huge. Oh yeah, I have all of my dad's files and I have to try to write up his tax returns. I miss being an 18-year-old punk rocker. Life was simpler then. I just heard about someone who claimed that they never felt like an adult until their dad died, nor did they feel so lonely. That's pretty much how I feel now. It's with a heavy heart that my life goes on.