Wah-Wah-Whiney-Poo

My husband and I used to joke that this would be his Indian name, if he were more native than he already is. Then we decided that we probably made a racist statement and have stopped referring to it as his Native name and just refer to Wah-Wah-Whiney-Poo as a state of being.

I'm in that state now.

He had a conference in Louisville Thursday morning, so we drove all day Wednesday to get there. And then we drove all the way back on Thursday afternoon. My back is killing me and my nerves are shot.

Do you have any conception of how utterly boring English conferences really are? I wish I could convey it properly, but I wouldn't want you to chew off your legs to get out of my mind trap. Lots of people go, but the panels are actually quite small--three or four presenters, and a few people there to listen. This ain't the sciences, where important findings are being presented.

The presenters get up and read from the paper they wrote. Just read it out loud. Being in graduate school/being professors often makes no difference to the way most people read a paper. Monotone. Speaking too low or too fast. English/Literature is currently going through the "lets make up all of our own words" phase in an effort to seem more philosophical and more social sciency. It is so incredibly pretentious and bo-ring.

Why do I go? Because my husband doesn't handle stress well. Sorry, babe, if you're reading this, but you know it's true. I call into evidence exhibit A: that accident on I-65 that nearly kept us from making it on time. Ahhh-freak out! I could go on, but suffice it to say that my unofficial job was to make sure he got there physically, mentally and emotionally in one piece. It's a tougher job than it sounds.

I also go to pose difficult questions and to generally be an ass when I can to the presenters. Every presentation has it's heckler, and that would be me at English conferences. It breaks up the monotony. On my husband's very first presentation, I was accidentally HIS heckler. I thought I'd lobbed a softball, and I guess he just wasn't prepared. I was trying to help. I felt pretty guilty about it for a little while.

Except for seeing my wonderful Sister, none of the heckling was worth the incredible back pain and shot nerves I have today. I tried to relax with a whiskey last night, until my wonderful overly dramatic husband overly dramatized his sneeze and I spilled the damn thing all over my bathrobe.

Wah-Wah-Whiney-Poo.