Collin recently observed that for him June was a slow blogging month—a break. Not long ago, I had a similar conversation with Jeff about current writing projects: it was time for a break for him as well. I really understood my need for a break when I returned to the office to print some things in mid-May. Just seeing my messy desk, stacks of computers to deal with, and boxes of paperwork to sort gave me a very intense feeling of I don’t want to be here. I got the same feeling a few days later when I read some student work for incompletes: I don’t want to be doing this.
On the other hand, I started this summer by hammering out a draft of an article. That, too, was a break: last spring I didn’t make enough time for my projects, and I certainly didn’t drop everything else and write for two days—much less two weeks. I found myself waking up every morning eager to get to the computer and write. Even though Erin encouraged me to catch up on sleep, lying in bed, I thought, I don’t want to do this.
“Break” also means breaking bad habits, or re-establishing good ones. Since Madelyn was born I have not been reading very much. Yeah, I’ve kept up with reading for classes, and I’ve read weblogs and news and the like, and some books, but I haven’t made time for careful, intense reading: working through sections multiple times, taking notes, reading what other folks have said, etc. Until last week. I finished Alberto Manguel’s A History of Reading (my department’s summer book) and Raph Koster’s A Theory of Fun for Game Design. While neither book is really heavy lifting, I’m glad to be back at it, and as usual when I return to something after a break (be it running, brewing, or whatever), I’m wondering how I ever let myself fall away in the first place.
Seven weeks of summer gone, and seven to go.