I should be planning class right now. I've been trying. I can't think in the evening times though. I have no thoughts about what to do. The poems I assigned for tomorrow are all wrong.

Bathsheba has left. She just came by with her truck (which I will sell) and truckloads of stuff. An antique croquet set. A third bed (because, really, two beds were not enough for me. anyone need a bed?), a coffee table, bookshelves, a dresser, dishes, food (food!), a lamp, glow sticks, and many many boxes full to the brim of stuff as yet uncovered. She let Basho lick her all over her face for the first time. He's been waiting his whole life for that.

They looked beat. But they just went back to finish cleaning the apartment and then they're hitting the road. They want to put North Carolina behind them before resting their box battered heads.

It's a good thing I like Peter. (And Peter--if you're reading this--you haven't got me fooled for one second. You're good) That's all.