This just in from Timalina:

It's the birthday of novelist and poet Margaret Atwood, born in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada 1939). She spent most of her childhood living in a research station in the cold north of Quebec with her entomologist father. In the North, there were no theaters and the radio did not work well. She became a writer in a split minute of transformation. She thought that in order to become an author of any importance she would have to give up all hope of enjoying a happy family life. She would have to become mysterious and aloof, sickly and enigmatic, living in a garret, contracting, dressing in black, smoking cigarettes, drinking absinthe, living in an attic painted black and having lovers whom, she said, "I would discard in appropriate ways, though I drew the line at bloodshed. (I was, after all, a nice Canadian girl.)" She was best known for her novel The Handmaid's Tale. She said, "Wanting to meet an author because you like his work is like wanting to meet a duck because you like pat�."

That may be the best forward she's sent me ever. Happy Birthday Ms. Atwood.

Today just sucks. My students are jerks. They giggled the whole class through even when I gave them the glare of death and even when I said is there something you all would like to share? in my best most meanest teacher's voice. D. told me after class that some kid had farted. That's why they couldn't stop giggling. Except he was too embarrassed to say fart so he hemmed and hawed and finally fell upon the expression "expelled gas." Which I would be more embarrassed to say than farted, frankly. Damn. We need a vacation. Idiots.

Thank god Thanksgiving is coming up. One more week of classes, three little bitty class days until VACATION. And then Brittania and her pal Justin are coming for a spell. The jury is still out on whether or not we shall procure a turkey. Maybe just a little bit. I don't cook, you know, but it might be fun to cook with friends in the house. Yes, I think so. I think it sounds just plain wonderful. Everyone's invited, you know, just give me a ring and I'll set an extra place at the table.

Walked to work today because I need exercise. I am turning all dark and sluggish inside without a daily run. But I hate the dark and I hate to walk or run in it. Beautiful cold morning, it was, full of white sunlight and steam rising up from the frozen lawns. I am so relieved to have the end in sight that I have begun planning my Christmas gifts, a task I love love love to do. I love giving presents and making presents and planning presents and wrapping presents and all things presenty. I still can't sleep on Christmas Eve, I'll have you know. I still wake up at 5 am with Shawn to open our stockings. I will be devestated when he becomes too grown up for this. Yet another reason to get myself knocked up, eh?

Right. I hereby declare this entry OVER.