Morning

Thea comes to me this morning full of demands and schemes, all that funk and lethargy finally behind her. We need to rethink the chapter on postmodern politics. Have I read Haraway on situated knowledge yet? Why won't her Macintosh boot from the external hard drive? Do these shorts show too much derriére, and do I really care?

I think it means something, this sudden abundance of energy. I think it means she's beginning to accommodate herself, to accept her place in the sun. Waking up Californian — sooner or later it happens to all of us.

She sits on my deck wearing some of Alastair's old shades, reading last week's Chronicle and doing a sort of play-by-play. I've never met anyone for whom academic culture seemed so much like professional wrestling.

My day starts well when she comes.