Oh blah. BLAH. I hate everything. I hate that today is Wednesday and that means that I have to go to class tonight and leave old Bash forsaken and I hate that one of my students went to my boss down there because she wants an extension on her paper and she never even asked me if I would give her one and I hate that my boss gave her the extension without consulting me and I hate that I have so much grading to do before the week is out and I hate that I haven�t even starting that grading and I hate this cold and I hate that drip dropping rain and I hate my truck and I hate how tired I am and I hate heaters and I hate cigarettes and I hate that I have no time to make all the presents I planned to make and I hate that I'm hungry and thirsty and I hate coffee late at night and I hate the incessent dark of winter.

Fuck this and fuck that, fuck this, fuck that.

Things outside the realm of everything:

Item the first. Sarah Lindsay. She seemed so nervous and quiet in the loud bookstore and I wanted to crawl right under the table where she stood to read her poems and I wanted to curl myself into a ball and I wanted to shut my eyes so that all I could see in the wide uncaring and loud and commercial world would be her voice and her poems and how she hushed her voice a little bit when she said sex and how she made up islands and archeology and wrote caiman and wrote tapir and wrote the names of made-up gods and the names of pretend flowers and the names of imagined discoveries and wondered myths.

Item the second. Brittania sent me a poem she has just written. Hush everyone and drink it in. I will write her a poem and send it and so there is still hope in this big chest of despair and sadness and grumpiness.

Item the third. Scott drove me around and around on adventures last night and revealed his true nature: teeny bopper guy. He knows all the songs. He knows all the words to "Jenny on the Block" and he knows Avril Lavigne songs by the opening bars (and boy does he get excited because he loves Avril and he thinks she sings just to him), and Christina Aguilera and, is there really any need for me to go on? Scott makes good company, is the real end to that story. I still wish he'd driven clear to Canada last night, though. Or at least to a different state. At least to Virginia.

Item the fourth. Reading Jeff always makes me less grouchy.

Item the fifth. I feel keenly the transitory nature of this bout of grouch. Sleep and time will save me.

I hate the new guy who isn�t so new anymore. I don�t want to hear him talking about peanut brittle. Idiot. He just told a story about, and I quote, "when I was first started courting my wife." Shut up new guy.

I hate that I am such a jerk.

I hate that Oliver called me up in despair last night because he can�t find a plane ticket home for under $1200 because he waited too long and I hate that I looked this morning and found plenty of tickets under $500 and I hate that his email isn�t working so that I can tell him.

I hate that Dan is NOT coming home. He�s my family posse and he�s not coming home for Christmas. Goddamnit.

What else? I hate the interminable mess of my life and the fake things that worry me so: money and papers money and papers.

I hate that my boss at RCC just sent me the syllabus for the class I�m teaching in the spring and all I have to do is fill in the blanks. Name. Email. Office hours.

I hate that I can�t be with Bashi right now. I need him.

Time is a hard master this week. Time and money and my lazy lazy bones.

Help me. I think I�m falling.