How many times am I going to have to say scratch that to an entry I just wrote? Meaning: fuck that shit.

I just got back from the workshop. It rocked my everlovin socks off. Really it did. I wanna teach THAT class. I rilly rilly do. I'd be good at it too, I know it. It was fun and they totally dug me, if you don't mind my saying so. And I could go into my little rants, which I did with abandon, and they would care. They would right some of this shit down. At the end, we had finished up all the poems except one because that girl (who shares a name with my fair Brittania) didn't show up and so we had a few minutes to kill and so I said, well, y'all can go unless you want to stay and chat. And they did. Want to stay and chat. And ask me questions about writing and I asked them questions and I feel so full up. I wanna do THAT. Why won't anyone let me? Oh yeah. Publishing smublishing. That shit's fo chumps.

Good. I see my way again, now. I ain't locked down in the dark dungeon where I put myself this week. There are other people in the world talking about things that I care about. Oh yeah. I always forget.

Now I'm hungry and I want to take the dog for a long walk and I want to get on with it already. Watch me go.