Home tomorrow! I’ve uploaded the last of the term’s study questions and downloaded half the grad students’ paper prospectuses (prospecti? prospectus, 4th declension?); the others, apparently, are risking turning them in later and only probably rather than definitely getting them back next Monday. I was hoping to get all of them to read on the plane. I guess I can always work on the undergrads’ final exam.

Or on research. I could either try to work on my Zoo paper, or play around with how the just-given conference paper fits into the book chapter it’s supposed to be part of.

Or, I remember now, a piece of writing for a committee.

I do have a book I could read. But although I know people who say they only read novels on airplanes, I march (as usual) to a different drummer. I read novels at home, on the couch, when I’m comfortable. Traveling makes me irritated, bored, and anxious in precisely the right amount and proportion that work becomes soothing and absorbing; on airplanes and in airports, I can get through quantities of work with amazing concentration. Sometimes I think that to get my book written, I should book several cross-country flights on routes that have a low rate of getting in on time.

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