defeating november, one small stupid act at a time

Rough couple of weeks. Too many job postings to sift through, application envelopes to stuff, poetry portfolios to grade, BER winter galas to organize, little white dogs to brush, panel presentations to rock. Apologies if I've been playing the "let's-make-plans-then-when-you-call-I-won't-pick-up-the-phone!!" game especially hard lately. I suggest you drink a few beers, ride the train, and leave me voice mails at 1:13 am that make me laugh, then save to replay frequently.

But now it looks like I've caught up on my backlog and I can tackle the rest of the semester one day at a time. And then end each day with a pint. Or eight.

I wasn't really excited about teaching today, but - like this class always does - just talking to my students made me feel better. We explored creative nonfiction, talked out their issues with it, and voted to move on to fiction. Their reading assignment for Wednesday? The classics: How to Be a Writer, Happy Endings, and this one.

At the end of class my *favorite* student (and it's hard to have one, especially with this group, because they are all stellar and smart and funny) paused to tell me he really enjoys class. Wow. It's enough to make a cynic tear up... or, throw herself in the job application process 115%, to ensure that there are more of these days in my life.

Aw. Barf.

It's dark by 5:04 these days. It's enough to make a girl run out, cut her hair short and wax-able for the upcoming months, buy [clearance-priced] Daisy Fuentes sunglasses that normally she would ridicule on others, and take a photo using the flash to acheive that enviable Dita Von Teese skin:



Put away the laundry in the background, you say.

All right.