When some friends took me to lunch at a restaurant called Copious Notes, I had to laugh. "Story of my life," I said--or at least it's the story of my sabbatical. Once a week I go to campus to drop off a pile of interlibrary loan books and pick up the next pile, and then I spend the rest of the week reading and taking copious notes, which will I will eventually have to massage into some sort of shape, publishable or lecturable.
To an outsider, this process must look pretty boring, and not at all like real work:
What have you been doing lately?
Copious notes.
How was your weekend?
Copious notes.
What's on the schedule tomorrow?
Copious notes.
Lunch at Copious Notes was fun and fabulous--Cajun shrimp and cheese grits accompanied by live jazz music, colorful art on the walls, and interesting company--but most days lately my life is much less flavorful, with copious notes for breakfast, lunch, and midnight snack. I would much prefer to eat at the restaurant called Copious Notes than to sit in my study space being consumed by copious notes, but I am propelled forward toward the time when I can put a fork in my sabbatical project and call it done, and the only way to get there is to keep piling up all these copious notes.
And when I'm done--what better way to celebrate than to go back for a real meal at Copious Notes?
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