My partner and I just spent four hours–four hours–cleaning house. It looks great; more importantly, when the place is a mess, I can’t think straight. As near as I can tell, that whole “mess=genius” equation must be true, because how else could you keep track of things in disorder if you weren’t brilliant? Anyway, while I’m glad–embarrassingly happy, actually–that the house is clean, I’m now wondering how I’m supposed to write summaries of this, this, this, and this, and when I’m going to find time to grade the forty papers on my desk, and when, exactly, the time will come to read this and this. All of this, of course, I’ve promised myself to finish this weekend. Good luck with that.
And that’s just the stuff that’s in the right-in-front-of-my-face file. There’s also the article I’m supposed to be working on, the book review that’s due in about a month (on a subject that I’m not nearly the expert I claim to be), and a half-dozen other projects that would add a bit of much-needed weight to my CV. The (albeit weakly developed) point: there is a serious disconnect between what departments say you should do–get something published, review a book or two, etc.–and the stuff they make you do–read books you don’t really need to (although perhaps want to), grade, and all of that.
And then there’s the dirty laundry!