It's late . . .

and I suppose one shouldn't decide on the spur of the moment to make one's thoughts open to the world, but the blogging bug has bitten, and I'm too tired to fend it off.

Really, thesis research is just daunting--a lot of work with not so much to show for it--and I'm badly in need of feeling that I've accomplished something today, not to mention hoping that a little stream-of-consciousness might jar some itty bit of brilliance loose from a rather sticky corner somewhere. Too much Chilton, Schweitzer, and Dodd will do that to you, not to mention trying to put together a syllabus for a new class. Urgh! Writing lesson objectives and course rationales have always given me hives, and never more so than this weekend!

Reality has struck hard, though, and convinces my procrastination to take a hike. What's not done now must be done later, and I've no guarantee I'll have the buckets of time later, or that my toddler will compliantly take her nap on deadline day. But my mind is fuzzing over now, and some bit of conscious thought remaining reminds me I'll regret staying up tonight.

Ah, well. I suppose it's too much to hope for that piece of brilliance to shake loose while I sleep and present me with an Einstein-ian solution to a very knotty introduction? Yeah . . . I was afraid so.