Though I’d beat the system by flying out one day early to Korea and having an entire day free before teaching. But alas, I’m awake on my second night at 2 a.m. with a full day of teaching ahead in six hours and things are not looking good sleepwise. It’s a perfect time to slog through all those e-mails lined up in Procrastination Lane or update my mailing list or plan my year’s curriculum at school. Instead, I’m lying around thinking random things like:
• Do birds get jet lag when they migrate?
• Do dishwashers at Korean restaurants earn more? (We had a dinner with some 25 bowls per person, each an enticing addition to the rice.)
• Visiting the palace with the king’s quarters and servant’s quarters, should I be nostalgic for hierarchy in human relations? After 38 years at one school, couldn’t I be given a reserved parking place?
• Do my colleague Sofia and I really have room in our luggage for the two large Korean Samul Nori drums we bought? Will the airlines charge more than the cost of the drums?
• Will I get points in heaven for not turning on the air-conditioning in my hotel room in the midst of a humid 100-degree heat spell?
• Do such acts affect butterflies in Kentucky? (According to Barbara Kingsolver’s novel Flight Behavior, the answer is “Yes.”)
• Though I think I’m constantly inventing new material, I noticed that everything I thought about teaching in this upcoming course I had already done two and a half years ago. I also noticed in a photo someone brought from a course 10 years ago that I was wearing the same shirt that I had on now. Am I in a rut?
• If you like the rut you're in and the people you share it with enjoy it, is it a rut?
• If you think about it, is the word “rut” really weird?
Welcome to my 2 a.m. brain. Fascinating, huh? If I could only be bored as you are reading this, maybe I could get back to sleep.