Ach, ach ach. I�ve been struck by the creepy dread today. Free floating anxiety beasties hovering all around me. Possible culprits: 1. I got an overdraft notice from the bank. However, I have a paycheck that I�ve been meaning to deposit for some time now, so that�s actually of no real concern. 2. I have essays to grade, MUST GRADE today in fact. But I only have 7 students. I plan to spend one hour total on this task. Therefore, that, too, is fine and of no real concern. Am I missing something? Creeping crawling wet fish flesh dread go AWAY.

Transitions are beyond me today. All new topics will be introduced with headings, therefore.

Paragraph about last night.

I went to the bar before the reading to meet Scott (who was inexcusably late. Well, except for the inexcusable part.) and stumbled upon Fred and Stuart throwing a few back before the reading. Stuart was interchangeably anxious and cavalier about his impending performance. He was to be the first reader and had yet to decide upon what he�d read. He drank and drank some more and then drank a shot and then went to his office 10 minutes before the scheduled reading time to decide. So like him, that is. That, my friends, is what made him a terrible teacher (and me too, in the interest of full disclosure). Fred was randy and slightly knackered and told me his porn star name (Trixie Beaverstar, if you can believe it) and informed me that if I�m looking for any short-term lovin�, he�s my man. We were also in the company of one really annoying girl who kept bending Stuart�s ear with tales of some hapless boy-toy of hers. I was a bit shocked by her willingness to expose her whole love life, but then, say it with me now, I�m an absolute prude. Fred, 40 years my senior, tried to get me to do a vodka shot with him and I almost gagged at the very idea. Those wild days are far far behind me, children. Very far and very behind. He threw back the shot he�d ordered for me. Yup. All writing teachers are drunks, it�s true. At least all my writing teachers are.

Paragraph about the reading

The reading was by turns fun and tedious. Highlights included MP reading �Stop Cat Fights� by Frances�s niece, Sarah Lindsey (her poems were super), Ann Deagan singing (which always gets me�less this year than in years past, but still moving), Fred was quite funny and quite naughty (one of his poems was called �Well Hung� and that means just what you think it does in the context of the poem), and Scott even won a prize (Robert Frost�s collected poetry and prose). I didn�t win nothing. Dang. I believe Stuart should stick to poetry (he read prose, a new discovery for him and it was all Paris this Paris that and the lights got knocked off about 5 different times during his reading. He became flustered. Because he�s Stuart. He said to me earlier in the evening that he is a man of peace which is why he likes to collect metaphorical older brothers to protect him. He said Thom Lux and Stephen Dobyns are two examples of his older brothers. And I said, well, yes. They are brawlers, aren�t they.), C. Garin MUST LEARN TO READ�that horrid monotone she affects is simply excruciating, and all those prosers need to shorten up their reading selections. Luckily, none of the Southern Belle writers were in the house last night. And thus endeth the reading recap portion of this entry.

Paragraph where I moan and groan and fall apart a little bit more

Oy, I�m falling all to pieces over here and I wish I could rip out the parts of me that revel in this nervousness and snappishness (I believe some of my fellow workers grow increasingly frightened of my growliness) and general life malaise. It sucks. I�m hungry. Woke up late, didn�t get food, no money yadda yadda.

Paragraph where I try to change the subject

My mission this Christmas season: concoct gifts for all and sundry from items already in my possession. I have lots of stuff, you know. Stuff to give away as well as stuff to make and then give away. It�s time to winnow and not spend money.

Paragraph where I try to change the subject again because the last one didn't take

I took a long walk around my neighborhood yesterday with Bash and have discovered whole pockets of houses and people I never knew existed. Each block is totally unlike the last in my neighborhood. I took information from all the houses for sale, too, even though I know I can�t buy a house. Too poor, I am. Oh! I almost forgot this part too�some fellow who lives a few blocks away has asked me out twice now. I hate being asked out on dates. Ugh ugh ugh. I refuse to ever go on a date again for the rest of my life. I�m fairly certain I�ve only ever been on two official dates�though I have a hard time understanding what, exactly, constitutes a date, but I�m pretty sure that�s true. Like two dates with men who I did not know who officially asked me out. Both were quite memorable for entirely different reasons.

Date #1

The Jesus Freak. I was, I think, a tender young lass, aged 19. I was home for the winter holidays. I was itching to get out from under the incessant chatter of mi familia, so I took my pop�s car out for an aimless drive about town. I stopped at a red light and was suddenly and shockingly rear-ended. At a dead stop. At a stoplight. The whole accident scene ensued: police, my dad, me, and they guy who hit me, hereafter known as The Jesus Freak (TJF). TJF asked me out right there, in front of MY DAD and the police. Oh man. I said yes because I was too embarrassed to say no and I gave him my phone number which he wrote on the inside flap of his pack of Marlboro reds. Classy. The date: we went to Dunkin Donuts for coffee (they really do have the best coffee), he smoked up in his van on the way to the movies, he explained to me his life (traveling tie dye t-shirt artist + Jesus freaking evangelist), I told him I was in college. He thus determined that the movie for me would be The Pelican Brief because, and I quote, �It has a strong woman in it and you college girls like that.� Uh, ok. In the movie he snuck cigarettes. Then he lunged at me and I lunged so far away that I just about broke my back. Not understanding this subtle rebuff, he leaned over and said to me, and this is the best part so get excited, �uh, do you want to go out to my van and make love or something better?� [emphasis mine] Oh how I giggled. I was a little nervous that he would spirit me away in his van of loooove, but he just acted pissy after I laughed off his advances and dropped me off at home. He called me and called me after that but I refused to come to the phone and finally Oliver explained to the freaky chap that I had no interest whatsoever in continuing our acquaintance. And that, my friends, was date #1.

Date #2 will have to wait for another time. I�m on the clock you know.