Charlotte was sick and/or teething for a few days, with diaper rash to boot.  (Hence the skimpy blogging.) Low fever, wakefulness, fussy eating (moreso than usual).  Mama and I were at the low end of high by last night, when Charlotte decided to get up and play at 4:44am.

You’d think I’d be used to sleeping for four hours once or twice a week.  And, if it happened every night, I might be able to get used to such a routine.  I remember being much less exhausted when that was the routine last spring and early summer.  Now, however, six and even (gasp!) seven hour stretches of Mommy and Daddy sleep show up themselves once or twice a week to throw everything off even more.  I can’t figure out what to get used to.

No matter how tired and fatigued we get (and remain), it’s all worth it, though — every second.

I’ve had a rough couple of weeks at work (etc.), and I thought aloud tonight to the Mrs. that I would love a cigarette tonight but that I wouldn’t smoke one.  I did smoke in the past.  Not that far past.  The last time I smoked was June 2009 at a party, and I don’t, uh, remember smoking it very well.  So, to indulge my desire to smoke, I ask if I can light my pal’s cigarette (my brother seldom lets me, you punk!).  It’s fun.

I got a thousand bug bites on my feet and ankles.

And, in the weird light tonight, I noticed that I’m more tan than I’ve been since, well, my early teens.  At my age, that’s probably not the brightest idea.  But, well, whatever.

I am officially between pairs of glasses.  My ultra bullet-proof lenses cracked, from going in and out of the heat and AC this summer, I think.  Turns out that our improved health insurance means my glasses, whatever I want, are $25 (+$50 if I want Transition, and I do).  Awesome.  Only I don’t have time to go to the eye doctor this week or next or last week.  So I’m squinting a lot.

I’m officially finished my AmeriCorps time in two weeks.  My office becomes a library after tomorrow.  I think I might be off-campus the week after, my last week.  Bizarre.  I didn’t accomplish much this year, after a great year last year.  I think I might actually take my Dell Mini outside of my apartment, after owning it for almost six months.  That might be exciting.

I have been drinking more coffee than usual, being online less than usual and reading more than usual lately, though.  That is excellent.

I am in my underwear on my couch now, since Charlotte’s asleep, enjoying the AC and wet hair from a shower.

And now I will stop revealing things for the evening.

If you can’t imagine starting your morning without a triple espresso shot or at least a hot cup of Joe (see our blogger’s logo), you’re not alone. Eight in 10 adults claim to be consumers.

But a new study suggests that coffee doesn’t really give us caffeine fiends the jolt we think it does – it just returns us to a normal state of alertness after a night of withdrawal.

So why do some people become drawn to caffeine in the first place, and others never touch the stuff?

(More.)

I met with my director in November in Washington (took the train down one Friday morning) when he was there for a conference. He promised we’d work this out. He also lightened my spirits by telling me that the defense, in our department, is “celebratory.” That is, it’s finished and a done deal before I get there. The trouble with that is that you don’t get a defense until it’s perfect. Ready to go. I enjoyed myself that morning because my director is a very nice person with whom I have a good bit in common. We took a nice walk on a beautiful day around the Capital, and I ran (literally) to get my train home in a very good mood.

I finished my draft in summer 2007. I didn’t ever look at it until March 2009, when I did some proofreading and sent it after my bike accident in like late April or early May. Asked about maybe a July defense. Then everyone got busy, and nothing happened. When we found out about Baby in August, I emailed my director to see about scheduling, and there was a good bit of suggestions, including tying Emerson into my work. There are worse assignments than having to read a bunch of Emerson, I joked.

Then part one of three took a while to get in shape to everyone’s liking. Part two is Nietzsche, and my director is not a Nietzsche guy. I have some comments to work on for that part, but the Nietzsche guy they brought onto the committee hasn’t had a look yet. That scares me a little. The rest of the comments for the last part are in the mail, too.

So, my director told me to “bug” him as much as I had to when I met with him in November. But I don’t like to do that to people and especially not to people I like, like him. But I did yesterday. I flat out asked for a date. And, he gave me three days in February he thinks would work, and one specific date at 3:30pm (Central Time) that he is shooting for. He’ll get back to me when he gets confirmation from the rest of the committee.

So. Holy shit. I didn’t realize how much this was hanging over my head! We played Scene It? (Simpsons Deluxe Edition) until late last night and slept until 10:04am (our anniversary), to a sunny day and a big Baby belly.  I couldn’t remember why my mood was so light!  Whenever I think about how long we’ve been back in Baltimore, it’s tainted by my dissertation still hanging over my head, driving me crazy.  It almost makes me feel like a failure.  I never thought I wouldn’t finish, but I never realized that a good number of the people who start PhD programs don’t get to the prospectus, and a lot of them never finish it.  Yikes.

I’m still nervous that the Nietzsche guy is going to go nuts over my Nietzsche work.  But, well, if he does and if the date is set, that simply means that I have to pump up on coffee and do whatever he suggests.  Simple.  Easy, no, but it’ll get done.  While we’re not traveling to my favorite place or for my favorite reason, we are traveling.  And I do love that.  Won’t get to do that again for a long time.  And, next time, we’ll get to show Baby the train and how fun it is.

And I can’t believe that, with it being a possibility for so long, I’ll actually be Dr. Johnny officially when I get my diploma in the mail (can’t take that trip with a newborn to walk on stage, but I won’t care with Baby here anyway) in a few months.  Wow.  I think I need a new nickname on camping trips/cycling.  Dan mentioned Doc once, and I like it.

I do need to take a walk later to pick up some stuff and food and possibly for some last-minute shopping.

But then more PJs and soup and coffee/tea/cocoa and movies and books.

Hell, when it comes to relaxing and cozy comfort, I’m king.

If someone thinks I’m stuck up because I make my coffee in a $12 thing I got at Ikea, maybe ya’ll have issues, not me. Seriously. When someone starts giving me shit just to give me shit when what they’re giving me shit about is not even a topic that’s come up, it’s textbook fucking projection or being a pain in the ass just to be one which is not nice and way meaner than anything I might say to defend myself. Does a French press evoke strong feelings? Too simple? Too French?  Unreal that I’m willing to pay more for the coffee I like because I don’t pay for other luxuries like cable, cars, etc.?

I don’t give anyone shit for the things they spend money on that I don’t, and everyone I know spends money on things I don’t spend money on which is not a fucking sin and none of my business.

I’m tired of people projecting their bullshit onto me. Fucking tired of it.

Picked up/bought my bike Friday, with nice accessories and very friendly folks at the new bike shop.  I’ll use some lunch hours this week to put on my fenders, lights, rack, computer and change the tires to the slightly wider ones I bought.  When my helmet comes  in, I’ll ride it home and, once again, start pedaling my ass all over town.

Funny thing is, all this hipster-hating is turning into the new hip.

I can’t figure out how I fit in. I started riding a bike for transportation just before it got hip. Started drinking copious amounts of coffee before the current state of hip set in (when I was a wee lad pouring in tons of sugar). Started using Moleskines before they were hip and when they were too esoteric for early millennial hipsters.

Am I a hipster for these things just because they are hip now? Am I nearing the age of being clueless to what’s hip? Maybe; I don’t care very much about it.

I think maybe my own hip-ness can be defined by the new hip (see above). In that case, am I hip for hating on the hipsters? Oh, shit, they’ve turned me into one of them.

Freakin hipsters.

[Past talk of hipsters.]

Also, my hands smell like ballpoint pen ink. WTF?