Ok ok. Enough already with the copious angst. I�m damned sick of it.

I�m in far better mood now. I am, in fact, in class. Writing a journal entry. Shh. They�re working on their essays. Plus I just read Frances�s entry and, I swear, that always brings me joy. That green eyed beastie�s always trying to gobble up souls, goddamn.

I�m just tired and this old heavy load sometimes gets the best of me, same as it does for everybody else. I know it, baby, yes I do.

I�ve got here at my side a worn out and well-loved copy of The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson that one of my students brought in to show me. This is why I love this class.

And also this: I just got done talking with Lora (I know I shouldn�t have favorites, but I favor her. And Judy. Thems my favorites.) about Dorothy Parker and her evil goodness:

Razors pain you; Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you; And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful; Nooses give;
Gas smells awful; You might as well live.

Right. I�m out. Like a shout.

Later

I took a break and went outside and sweet lord in heaven is it a pretty night. I just want to jump in my truck and drive to some forsaken field and howl at the moon. Frances, you're invited to come with me. I know you're good at them rebel yells.