I woke up in Wales on Monday morning, looked out the window, and went back to sleep. Here’s the thing about working in a school library: whenever a new super-strain of bacteria or virus emerges after circling happily through the kindergartners, it’s only a matter of time. Every teacher around you can be hacking and coughing and sneezing and sniffling, but you always think to yourself, “I’ll be okay. I wash my hands. I have a giant bottle of hand sanitizer that lives on my desk. If I see a child sneeze on a book, I wipe that book down with germ-killing alcohol. And then spray it with pure ozone. While wearing a biohazard suit. Besides, I have excellent immunity from constant exposure to these things. I eat about ten clementines a day.”

Well, readers, there comes a point when even the best precautions can no longer protect you from five to ten different versions of the common cold all vying, like tiny gladiators, to battle against your immune system in the grand stadium of your body. One of them is bound to get in.

Tall, dramatic, Lithuanian, and utterly hilarious, Mrs. McGann was everybody’s favorite teacher. She made a regular practice of assigning impossibly difficult assignments for the first week of school to weed out those unable or unwilling to work at a rigorous college level. We knew the twelfth grade AP English curriculum, but never could predict how she would deliver each lesson. From choreographed classroom sword fights to riddle-writing, Mrs. McGann kept us on our toes. We adored her.

What’s that you say? The holiday season is in full swing and you need something stimulating to work on before you sink into a sick-of-cheesy-songs-in-the-supermarket, blinded-by-tacky-yard-decorations, chocolate-induced seasonal slump? Well then, it’s a good thing you’re reading my blog.

Choose an image from T.S. Eliot’s poem “The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock” and illustrate it through art, audio, video, or any other creative medium.

My last month has been remarkably uneventful and, at times, crushingly boring. Work, work, and then–for good measure–some more work. The weather here has been gorgeous (sunny and warm nearly every day) but sometimes I go several days at a time without feeling the sun on my face for more than five minutes.

I arrive at work just after sunrise, and often leave after dark. Go home, eat, fall asleep. Repeat. Haven’t written. Haven’t drawn. Haven’t picked up my mandolin. My camera has been sitting in a desk drawer for three weeks.

On Saturday afternoon I was off to Spain. You might remember from my last post that Eid al-Adha, the Muslim festival which includes sheep sacrifice, was coming up. Well, rather than listen to thousands of dismayed sheep bleating across the city (and smelling them roasting later on) I opted to travel to northern Spain. My goal, San Sebastián, (Donostia in Basque) was only two flights and a three-hour bus ride away.

On the first flight I sat next to a young man who had never flown before. Through him, I remembered the wonder of seeing the tops of clouds for the first time. It was great seeing the look in his eyes in the moment when the plane lifted off the runway.