Two weeks left of classes. This is my favorite time of the semester: the blitz of Thanksgiving grading behind me, the final projects ahead. Nothing waits on my desk. I come home early and get out on the sidewalks before dark. Before ice.
To do, Wednesday: make final-grade sheets, make final grade sheets. The hyphen makes all the difference.
My head feels better these days.
Plans for the holiday are being built. Looks like we'll be in Buffalo for a bit and back here for a quiet New Year's with friends. It was decided over the weekend that some part of that celebration should involve writing down all the ways 2009 punched us in the genitals on little slips of papers, then: burn, baby, burn.
Normally I like odd years, but this one was way odd. Please, 2010, be cool.
Sometimes I shop at the fancy market in East GR just because it makes me feel good. It's like grad school: the first semester, with a tiny stipend, I limited myself to groceries from the Super WalMart. But the second I got my first Grizzlebee's paycheck, I hightailed it to the real supermarket. Sometimes I just want to drive down the brick road to Gaslight Village, past the big brick houses and their little white lights. Sometimes I fill my basket with fresh pine boughs and pomegranates and too-expensive cheese just because I can.
I miss Wegmans.
Speaking of little white lights: the house has been decorated with lights and pine. There is a wreath on the door and Mr. T nestled in it. Peace on earth, motherfuckers. Peace.
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