See that userpic up there? That's MY baby bunny.

Right now she is destroying the box my filing cabinet came in.

And periodically, she stops to express her joy at being given such a wonderful gift: she does a really, REALLY fast loop around the house, leaps into the air, clicks her back heels together, and slides to a stop. Then she comes over and kisses me.

Life is good.

Someone save me.

44 Pages To Go.

I love my papers, really. Truly.

I hate finals week.

I should really talk about China, since I haven't updated in a while, but I fear China itself is only tangential.

I'm going out of my mind. I've never been on break this long. My mother will tell anyone who wants to ask that I used to become practically suicidal during Bard's 6-week winter break. It's been almost two months already of no work, no school - and although I certainly complained plenty and was un-stimulated by either my job or my classes the last couple of years, they at least kept me busy. Add to this the way women work, culturally, in China and I feel like a housewife. Not even just a housewife, but a pre-war housewife. Maybe even a Muslim pre-war housewife. I am an accessory to Josh's life here; I haven't met anyone on my own he doesn't already have an established (or, worse, business) relationship with, and no Chinese person will talk to me unless they think I'll be an easier sell (being female) than he; or, with approximately equal frequency, they want to look up my skirt. (On no less than three occasions, one or two or even three men have literally sat down on the street curb while I've been waiting for the bus and literally tried to look up my skirt. They seem to think that because I can't speak very much of their language, I'm retarded, and therefore won't notice. I don't know how to say "fuck off" or even "go away," so in a way I suppose they're right; my only recourse is to either walk away and thus miss my bus, or pretend not to notice.)

In taxi cabs, the drivers ignore my instructions entirely if Josh is along. (Our Chinese friend Ava says my accent is better than his, and they're obviously male chauvenists.) If I hand money to a cabbie or waitress or cashier, they inevitably hand the change to Josh.

Worst, though, is the work situation. I had all these grand fantasies about all the writing I was going to do here. I've done none of it. Zero. Partly this is neurosis: I can't seem to work on Josh's computer, especially when he's in the house. Partly this is because if one is going to write well one must be in the mood to write, and one must have some semblance of freedom and privacy; Josh hasn't been working much lately, and as a result spends almost 18 hours a day on the computer, and although he says I can ask him to give me a turn to work at any point...well....

So I cook and clean and that's about it. I think, sometimes, that if I have to wash one more pot I'll kill myself. I told this to Josh and he said "okay, so I'll cook some." Which sounded good at first, until I realized that he is incapable of cleaning up the kitchen as he goes along, and so by the time he's done making dinner, the whole area is a disaster (which I have to fix later), and that at least if I'm cooking I feel useful.

Mostly, sadly, I just need more people to talk to. Not people who are trying to get me drunk, either. I just want someone to have a cup of coffee with. And Oh, what I wouldn't give for some decent gluten-free cake...

It's not all horrible, really; this is by far the best vacation I have ever, ever had. It's just that it's a bit long, and it's not over yet. Even once we're back in America, I still have six weeks before my first day of classes. Why oh why can't time compress just a wee little bit??

Over'n out, from Qingdao, where the weather is beautiful, incidentally; I hope none of you is flooded back home.

http://www.nypost.com/entertainment/movies/news/n9007.htm

http://www.theonion.com/content/node/47722

I can neither breathe nor move because NYC has taken it upon itself to fill our streets with strange trees, all of which I am apparently allergic to, in addition to the grass and the maple.

What is up with that? I mean, really. I would be bad enough if we had just the grass and the maples here. Why does Manhattan feel the need to import flora? Why not celebrate our lovely New York State trees flowers shrubs and grasses? I say this not just from a selfish standpoint (though I will note that my "native" allergies have gotten significantly better as I've gotten older and really don't trouble me SO much anymore, at least, not so much that I wind up in BED), but from the point of view that illicits questions about the morality: we are introducing strange flora and often because of this strange fauna or at least insecta to our NYC habitat. Right? Is this wrong? Are we messing with stuff we shouldn't be messing with? Is the pollen this stuff releases going to do something weird, in the long run, to our native trees and flowers? Is it bad-weird or good-weird? It's times like this I wish I'd paid more attention in science class.

My friends, I have a problem.

This is that every time I fly anywhere, my luggage gets LOST.

But I am going to China for two months, and although Josh says he has some clothes there for me, I don't necessarily trust his taste for everyday wear, so I feel I must bring at least two changes of clothing, no? Right.

Anyhow, I also want to bring the following:

• My Laptop
• All my many xeroxed articles (which stack to be approximately 6" in depth)
  
• Three books for the current research project
• A yoga mat, because I am silly and...want it.

How do I smush all of this into a carryon? More accurately, how do I smush it all into a backpack that they cannot possibly force me to check? (obviously the yoga mat should technically be carried separately, but then it counts as another carryon, so I was just going to strap it to my backpack.)

What if I just wear a lot of clothes on my person? What if I decide to be a total hippie and only bring a hippie skirt and one pair of pants? What if I...check a bag? I'm afraid, my friends. Terribly afraid. I like the clothing I have now, and honestly, I don't have much of it. (Josh's parents might testify otherwise, but the boxes sitting in their basement are honestly just filled with books.)

Let's be serious here: what are the chances that they're going to totally lose my luggage again??