This is quick, as I am, so that I may briefly record the excellence of class this afternoon. Tonight may be a very different matter. But this afternoon, they were big and excellent and excited to be reading poetry. How you like that. Who knew.

I had one student say, I really like you. As if with surprise. Another said, how old are you? I gave him the cock-eye. I told him he could still call me Molly. Which is my first name. Another read from a poem he found and I think he read: �a dream left two small almonds on my pillow.� He was happy to read that. I was happy to hear it.

I have no idea what will be happening for the three hours my writing class spans this evening. I have barely given it a thought. Squeek.

Hungry hungry hungry. I forgot, I want to eat a mile of food when class goes well.

Later

And now, already, I�m beat. I paused in writing this to finish planning class for tonight. I am crashing fast. How do people teach all day? I can�t fathom it. One hour of this, of me dancing my heart out in front of the apathetic and unwashed youth, and I am ready to curl into a tight little ball and sleep for week. Be nice to your teachers, all you out there. I know I never was. Look where it�s got me.

It feels good, no matter that I will say otherwise a billion times in the coming months, to actually use my brain. I don�t, you know, unless I absolutely have to. It is my last resort. But because speaking in front of people is not my forte (have I mentioned I�m not a people person? Oh yes? Hunh.), I have to creak open the creative corners of my mind and figure out ways to get at them from the side, so to speak. How to engage them in poetry because god knows, I don�t have the charisma to whip them into a readerly frenzy all on my own. Today I came up with a good little idea. I don�t have the energy to discuss it however. My eyes are actually closing and it�s only 2:30. Must. Find. Energy. Source.

Later still

I am consumed with one thought now. Get through today. Just get through.