Yesterday was a day of small chores--storm cleanup, laundry, chicken stock, tomato sauce, planting spinach--plus a Bills game in the afternoon, which always means a few hours of cozy text exchanges with my kid . . . this is the only reason I care about football, but a parent does whatever it takes to keep that coziness alive.

Today, however, I'll be back in the saddle--driving north to Monson, in the rain, of course, because the travel god wants me to get used to the real world right away. Fortunately I'll have company this time, as my friend Gretchen is coming along to do an opening-day performance project with the students. So I won't have to download ten podcast episodes to distract my mind from how much I hate long-distance driving.

This year I've decided to make a conscious effort to improve my quality of life on these trips. The housing situation up there is quite comfortable, but I nonetheless struggle to fill my evenings and to sleep well. It's not the fault of the place; it's the fault of habituated me, who has a hard time settling into new places, sleeping in a new bed, etc., especially without company around. Once I'm in a place for a day or so, then I'm fine: these single overnights are actually harder on me than an entire weekend or a full week, when my body and mind have a chance to adjust to my situation.

Tom suggested that I create a special project for myself, only to be done on evenings when I'm alone in Monson. So this weekend I've made a few writing and listening prompts for myself involving Beethoven and Dinah Washington. I'm going to pack some familiar home items that I don't usually travel with. I'm going to focus on creating a circle of comfortable lighting and sound, setting out home things on counters, drinking tea out of my own cup, etc. etc. It's silly, I know. But I really need to find a way to make this solitary time both constructive and restful, and it's so often neither.

As a teacher, I feel like I'm at the top of my game. I'm good at it, and energetic, and experienced, able to roll with whatever comes up. But as a body, I'm less resilient than I was. I'm healthy and in good shape, but I'm also easily stricken by sleeping problems, and they make everything I do as a teacher so much harder. And then there's all of the driving, on either end of the session. I get back to Portland feeling like a rag.

So I'm determined, this school year, to fix the machine, if I can. I love this job, and I want to keep loving it. So I'd better take care of the carapace.