Check out the Grad School Primer at Acephalous, and be forewarned that its abecedarium of truths does not come to a close when the PhD is in hand. The Primer could be copied with minor emendations for almost any portion of the academic ladder ("J for all the Joy you'll feel in this Hell when it snows" ... except it doesn't snow much in the library).
Anyway, back to letter D, the title of this post. I realized yesterday that I am no longer a scholar. I've now gone the longest in my academic life without producing an article, essay, book chapter, anything. I've almost ceased to write. And to think. Neurons once devoted to hurling Deleuze into Chrétien now negotiate contracts for updating the departmental web site and writing letters of support for teaching awards. Unlike last semester, when I taught my medieval version of "Writing, Race and Nation," this spring I'm back to teaching the undergraduate Chaucer course. I love it, don't get me wrong, but after 12 years of doing it here at GW it ain't so difficult anymore.
It's a good thing that the Infinite Realms collection is chugging along, otherwise I might never think a medieval thought again.