i am a strong swimmer.

now, remember this. when you get older, and your family ages with you, when your dogs have gone to sleep and to play while they wait for you, when you have had that moment when you see with shining and sudden clarity your mother and your father as those parts of yourself that you love and hate, remember that just because you have those parts does not mean you can change them or make them any better. or worse, for that matter. not any, either way.

remember this, especially when it all comes after the memories of your water wings and dad, and mom would never come in because she was afraid of the water, and try not to cry in the middle of the street when you remember that you know now why she was afraid, though you didn't then of course, it's that your grandfather always threatened to throw her in the elizabeth river when she was small like you were then with the water wings, so she wouldn't go in with you. and remember this, even when you know that just broke her heart sometimes, to not go.

try not to carry around their lives with you, and have your heart break for them, even if you can't help it and eyes are rolled over it, your own mostly, in the middle of the street and walking, with spots on your glasses and afraid you've forgotten your keys and can't get in the building, but of course you can and you always do.

how can you drive if you blind?

name that game, i'll give you a dollar. maybe. you might be disqualified.

okay, so i just choked on a skittle. a red one. i like the red ones, but i never knew they were made out of acid. that shit burns, yo.

i also just found out that i'm going to be gone for two of the five class meetings for art law, which is worth a single credit. this is possibly very bad, as if i don't have six hours of credit during the summer, i cannot work for any of the three crazy professors any longer, two of which will be okay in that event, one of which will come to my house for the sole purpose of confining me in a bunker somewhere in the middle of a deserted island in order to read the internet. yes, i said "read the internet."

some emergency action needs to be taken, including an email to professor art law, which i've already done. unfortunately, i realized too late that i'm missing not one (as i said in the email) but two classes (which i have yet to inform him). the moral of the story here is that i am dumb, possibly blind, and also illiterate. at least we found out before the bar exam, yes?

so i'm sort of sitting here trying to force myself to write professor art law another email. how do i say this? hi professor art law, it's me again. thank you for your quick response to my last note. it seems i won't be returning from my time away (which sounds like i'm in prison--not sure if this is bad or good) until the evening of july 14th (lie) and may not be able to reach class in time (totally not in time, because i'll be across the country). due to this complete oversight, i may now have to miss two of your classes, which is extremely distressing--not only will i miss your class, but if i drop it i will be one credit hour short of qualifying to continue my work as a research assistant to three professors (absolutely true, and one of them is a boarderline homicidal maniac, which i will leave out. maybe)! i realize this is a terrible inconvenience, but again i must ask if there is any way possible for me to make up this work for you (including, but not limited to: cleaning your house, tutoring your bratty little kids, and/or escort services, depending on certain factors), please please let me know.

how's that sound? there may be some editing before i use the power of send.

it's not suprising but it's spring and i should leave

may i direct you to the song the world at large, by modest mouse? there you have it.

i really don't like going and getting haircuts, for a number of reasons. it's not the girl, she's pretty good and nice or whatever. i still don't like having to talk to her. and now that always-happens thing where i have to explain precisely what i want (which is difficult to do, since what i want to is to be able to do absolutely nothing with it) doesn't happen any longer because this girl cuts hair real nice-like and consistent. that's what i like to see. she can't do eyebrows to save her life, but you can't have everything, now can you? no. but you certainly can't have eyebrows actually getting in your eyes and blocking your vision, now can you? no way. that's dangerous.

soon i have to write checks to seventeen people. this makes me want to cringe and scream, but it's not my money, right? i just raked for it.

went to the porch to have a thought, got to the door and again i couldn't stop.

first my right foot then my left behind the other

tomorrow, blessedly, i am getting a haircut. and speaking of "haircut," talk about words for things that nobody really thought twice about, huh? like toothbrush. or blender. not like, say, couch.

what am i saying? i'm saying, i'm going on vacation soon! two of them, as a matter of fact. and as a result, this here site will be neglected. but only for a short while! and only because we all have diaries, or i would have some of you pinch-hit. really.

but anyway, i will see the ocean next week. and be spending too much time in the sun. and burning on the third day. and seeing some old friends (who are really actually old, i mean). and a whole host of other things, which includes the marked absence of work. when i come home, i have another silly class all day saturday and sunday! and then, friends, akimbo will come and pick me up to take me to the airport so i can involve myself in some immersion therapy and get on not one, but two scary airplanes. yee.

at the end of total immersion therapy, however, are some favorite favorites. so on the plane we go. i have my boarding pass. just one step at a time.

suddenly, it was just there! hello! in all its glory!

five minute warning! the macaroni is almost done, and about time for the making of the magic with the cheese part.

tonight i am going to a cleveland indians baseball game. here is a secret: i don't like baseball. but i do like jamie russell, so baseball game it is. here's the thing about bachelorette parties: every single one i've ever been to has been either terrible or awful. once there was a trip to a french restaurant. and some pink and leopard print. and we all cried. remember? meyers, i'm looking at you here. and furthermore, the actual wedding? katie? do you remember what we saw? i can still see it now. years later. yee.

i think i'm going to get a sunburn.

well, which is it then?

working for two professors is like cheating on your boyfriend with someone else. seriously. there's a lot of feeling like i'm going to get in trouble any second now and he's going to call and hear something fishy in the background and he'll have to pull a destiny's child, all you actin kinda shady in callin me baby and if you ain't runnin game you better say my name! and i'll have to get around that somehow.

the moral of the story is: i'm totally cheating on professor triple threat today with professor donkey kong, because it's already taken me forever to finish the latter's project and the former is super high-maintenance. the other thing i get to do today is read about ohio school law, since i'm foolishly taking a class that lasts all day saturday and sunday. but it's only two days! i thought. silly.

let me tell you something about grapefruit. that shit is not in season in the summer, dig? i found this out this morning the hard way. don't make my mistakes. confucious say only a fool learns by experience.

it's been getting harder and harder to fall asleep lately, which means one of two things: 1) i am trying to get too much done before going on vacation or 2) i have been bitten by a tsetse fly. one or the other.

you're old enough to know better

steve lynch writes the best emails, he really does. sorry if you felt you were in the running. hi steve! trying to explain believe it, believe it, believe it all the time/'cause nobody lies with NIX! is an impossiblity, both theoretical and factual. in short: i miss you.

may i also direct you (in the collective) to your right, where you will see both the jackal's excellently designed website and tomato nation, which is a joy. please, off with you now.

the person in the apartment next to mine has been taking a shower for forty-two minutes. won't they have prune skin? yuck. don't ever say that to me again.

here's something scary, if true.

i realize that i've been reading all six volumes of the history of women's suffrage for weeks now (for a total of somewhere around five thousand pages) in an effort to do my job for professor triple threat, and therefore any opinion i have on the subject may be somewhat skewed (and not a surprise), but the concept of a woman's identity? wow. a fight every single step of the way. i haven't really ever thought much about it, you know, just sort of some vague idea of picket signs and the susan b. anthony quarter and then we have the vote and look! there's senator clinton! but really? reading every single (freaking) detail about it actually makes me appreciate it all much, much more. i feel somewhat ashamed, as i wrote an entire thesis once using feminist criticism. oops.

anyhow, i'm just saying. worth thinking about. but really, don't ever read any part of the history of women's suffrage. elizabeth cady stanton was an incredibly gifted writer, but that woman could not edit to save her life.

speaking of elizabeth cady stanton, it's almost two o'clock and i haven't even had coffee yet! there was a late start. and distractions in the form of a perfect email and pictures of a beautiful baby and a nice website and now i have to work till six instead of five. cry, cry cry.

ethan hawley, please come to the information desk: your cat is here.

angry hour is over now. we march ever bravely on, remembering it is summer and not, under any circumstances, the winter of our discontent.

to do:

1) buy "fruit punch," otherwise known, jackie tells me, as "ghetto juice" (no check yet).

2) go to the grocery for food that is not a) spoiled b) gross c) an impulse = leaving with a box of macaroni and cheese in the shape of arthur the uh....marsupial which i cannot spell, by marc brown. (no check yet: also, learn how to spell "aardvaaaaarrrk").

3) "bake something" for tonight's closing show, otherwise known as "buy chips ahoy! on sale." (check and check).

4) take advantage of the yearly buy two used games get one free sale at gamestop and clean! up! (also at gamestop, make sure to purchase at least one (1) game the little children running about your feet would be arrested if caught purchasing. check, joyous check!).

5) go to closing show for man with bags. smile and look happy as you thank God for only one more "fucking" year "of this shit." (no check, but too soon).

6) find any takers for four (4) bottles of beck's. anyone? you calls it, you gots it. check.

7) remember to congratulate bob on fitting moniker. check.

i should stop my DSL service

still, again i am here and still, again i am angry, and still, i have no time.

but isn't that what we all say? i have no time! i can't! and what does that and that translate to? you are not as important as what i am about to do or say, and therefore, stand aside and take what you can get, because you--even you!--should be honored. here you are!

for all our talking, we get nowhere. mostly because we are only talking about what interests us, rather than what interests all. or maybe, what is important and vital to me rather than us. or, something. i purport to be no better, so really, what use is there talking at all?

i suppose, in those cases we find connection, yes? but when you think and think and think about it, then you can explain! and we know what explaining leads to, yes? disbelief. it is hard for me to believe in you sometimes, when you are not here. and mainly, of course, it is because of my own doubt, yes? remember that post? because of doubt. so it is hard for me to believe in you. though i wish i could.

and further! more!

what someone else says, what history says and has said, what others are saying and will be even after we are gone is one thing, but what about me alone? and do we care? probably not. i feel like yelling! frustration! WHO ARE YOU? is what i feel like saying. but, again: here and angry and no time. and not seriously, anyhow, because this is on the internet, duh, and we read these to make ourselves feel better for doing nothing else besides.

somewhere on the streets of paris....

dear katie holmes.

look. i....this is awkward. it's been a long time. well, not so long. i just saw you the other night, remember? when you pleasantly surprised me by not ruining batman begins? that was a good time, right? we had fun together, remember? oh, we joked a little about how you were sort of....you know.....moody-looking in the film, but that's not your fault, right! that's just silly christopher nolan and his brooding. i mean, what do you expect from a guy who made a movie backwards, am i right? but you! you didn't even bite your lip once! you really looked great. and so sassy! all, "get away from her, you bitch!"

wait, no, that was ellen ripley in aliens. my bad. you're the one who was all "no, now!" good one! that was great!

but i mean, before that. before the other night. it had been.....gosh, what now, three? maybe four years? too long, joey potter, too long. wait, no, i'm sorry i said that. i'll take that back! i promise! it's just.....i know......so hard to get away from dawson, i know. that was a difficult time for everybody. and that weird-looking dude you dated in real life, who doesn't so much have "eyes" as much as "tiny slits he can peer through." i'm really glad you broke up with him, seriously. nice work. you don't need that kind of.....uh......drama, in your life? you gots to dance for me? you know what i'm saying? holla?

anyway, i know we haven't talked very much over the years, but i just feel sort of like i need to say something to you, and i'm not really sure how to say it, you know? kind of like when you were dating pacey and.....wait, oh no, i'm sorry. please stop crying. it just slipped out. i won't do that again. really. promise. i prom promise! look, let's go sit down over here and just have a nice talk, okay? i have a kleenex somewhere........here! here you go, just use my sleeve. sure! sure it's okay! hey, we're from the same state, huh? we're practically best friends!

speaking of best friends, who is that girl that's always following you around now? she's sort of giving me the heebs, if you know what i'm saying......oh? is that right? she's from the scientology-best-friend-stalker-weird-cult-help department? that's cool. hey! let's duck into that alley for a minute!

okay. listen up, kate. we only have a few minutes before children of the corn over there gets wise to where we are, so i'm going to give it to you straight, alright? no, kate, look at me. look at me. i don't care if you're in love with that guy with the vitamin complex, i really think that's fine. love is love, am i right holmes? right. that's not it. hell, marry away! i went to see mission: impossible 2 in the theatre, that's right. no problems there. it just seems a little.....you know, rushed, that's all. but hey! when you know, you know, huh? and paris! and such a lovely engagement ring! i know, look at you! look at you and your pretty hands with that pretty ring and pretty pretty pretty! so nice!

but that's not it, okay? that's not what i need to tell you. and hey, i'm not even going to pull that whole "we're both confirmed into the catholic church so let's flush our birth control down the toilet and make potatoes!" routine on you either, alright? yeh, see? there's that smile i like! now look, if you want to go all L. Ron on my ass, that's fine, okay? yes, really. yes, i am a little.....uh.......nervous about it. what? yes, yes i might've said "scientology fucking freaks me out, dude" to somebody rece......wait a minute, how did you.........oh, right. right. okay. that's fine, that's fine.......listen, that's okay. really. that's your choice, you know? your pick! but that's not what i wanted to say either, huh? right? i just wanted to say......well, gosh....i mean, i try not to, you know, uh....say this? a lot? because......well, you know........everybody always hears it as some sort of joke, huh? like it doesn't mean what it really means, you know? like it's supposed to be simple? and non-threatening? instead of lame or weird or dumb or something? but......hey. even though you're in scientology now? and everything? and maybe don't believe in God anymore? God believes in you, huh? right? God still loves you, kate, you know? and i know we're all laughing and joking about it in our snotty and superior way all the time, about aliens and all that, you know how we can get, us Christians, sometimes deserving the shitty attitude we're branded with all the time, but really, i wanted to just let you know you're still loved by the only person that counts, okay? really. so don't worry if everything sort of falls apart sometime maybe, if mission: impossible 3 doesn't get made and your....uh.....new fiancee sort of....you know.......goes to his angry place? that's okay. you can always come back, yeh? never too late, kate. really. i hope you do.

and hey! i'll be around, you know? oh, come on, sure i will! what? oh of course, don't be so silly! of course we can still go to the movies together, are you kidding? aw, well aren't you a sweetheart! no, you're the best! no, you are! aw.

just get that freaky-ass bitch away from me, dig?

love, sincerely for once,
catherine "who never watched dawson's creek when it was on tv for real" loya.

after these messages

i live in the part of akron where it doesn't rain. did you know?

not yet, anyway, though the cars sound like they are going through water on market, four whole lanes of it. until, of course, it becomes three, which you would think people would catch on to that by now, but still those left laners. always trying to nudge in.

go see a movie for yourself while i learn how to be myself again, again. batman begins is more than worth it.

and the air conditioning is a little too strong in here. that's why i have warm blankets.

like louis' in the bronx

at last.

you'd think after all this angst the past couple weeks and maybe even, safe to say, months? the fact that today is finally today would be almost boring, a trifle, something maybe worth mentioning but definitely not more deserving of time above touched on. you'd think.

but it's more of the feeling that comes the day before the big exam i'm worrying my brains out over. those exams, while we're here, have been, in order: civil procedure i and ii, family law, and corporations. i predict, with my sneaky little brain and power of telling the future (just like a recent verdict: i was right then too), the next and final two will be wills and remedies. but hey, who's asking?

you will know our velocity. it's that same feeling, is what i mean. nervousness that begins to just be acidic, and grating, and a restlessness that can get me tossing and turning and wishing my heart wasn't beating so fast. so then i get up. and go to the computer, i mean this computer right here, and i talk talk talk. and not one word of it goes well, really. you know those times? when the magic power of the internet gets weak all of a sudden, and you're ruined and spelling everything wrong? i hope you do. and if you don't, watch out. it will happen. and then you will know all too well. or lack of it, as it were.

the other way i feel is like right before i have to go in for surgery. have you had surgery? then help me out here and fill in the details i miss. you know, when you're in the bed and they're wheeling you into the operating room, and it's so fucking cold number one because it's like ice in those rooms and number two and probably most important, they're pumping saline through your veins and you can feel the ice going up your arm and into your chest and down the other arm. i don't feel the cold like that, but i do have the shakes, just like you get after it gets so cold. but only because you're so nervous, you know. it's time, and you know it's time, and your body knows it's time, so then you all get ready for it. and they ask you to get on the operating table yourself, which is fine, except it feels a little funny and you have that split-second thought: why am i having surgery if i can climb onto a bed? and then they're all very nice to you and the nurse comes and then the anesthesia needle goes in and that shit burns like fucking hell, all the way up, and they always ask does it hurt? and you say, yes it hurts like fu....but the mask's on already and you, sucka, are down for the count.

the point of all that was: nervous. that feeling, and that particular nervous-feeling, too. along with the before-exam ulcer. those two combined. and a late coffee. two-shot coffee, i mean. those things and i'm nervous. nervous and anxious and worried.

you see, i'm nervous because tomorrow ends a year of having a very safe and very comfortable place and person, who i owe nothing to, for talking to and confiding in and crying in front of. a person that i didn't have to worry a single minute about offending, or tiring, or taking care of. and there was no having to worry if i was belaboring a point, or not being fun enough, or sounding stupid and childish and whiny. and there was no having to make it up later, you know, and no having to feel guilty because i talked too much, and no having to cheer up or calm down or chill out. none of any of that. and not even a single problem with doubting, either. doubting that i was being heard, or i was still respected, and still cared about, and still important and not less than i was before. none of the stock insecurities that come along for the ride.

so i'm nervous about that because, well, it's over then. and i start again, or rather, continue on, and of course in a new direction and towards the next thing, but i am worried i have ruined everything somehow between everything and everyone else in the meantime. worrying about this. worried because i was worrying. that sounds an awful lot like me, now doesn't it? yes, sure.

i appreciate thoughts. and prayers, if you pray. and remembrances, especially with a smile. that would be nice. and a comfort, tomorrow, when tomorrow is really and finally here and not just the early hours of what will become today. and i will make you a promise that i will believe you above all the stock insecurities.

and you know, afterwards i see it just like that scene in the godfather, just like louis' italian-american restaurant in the bronx. michael goes there to meet with the chief of police and a don, really to kill them and thus destroying almost the whole framework of mafia family in new york city, and he takes the gun taped to the toilet in the men's room and comes out and shoots them both. and afterwards, after that huge moment that changes michael forever, michael gets shipped off to italy, alone, and the rest of them hole up in a one-room apartment, waiting it out, while clemenza cooks pot after pot of pasta. waiting it out, really. that's all i had to say, and skip the rest.

boredenarium!

bored! boring! bordo! bordolicious! bordorodo!

"bordorodo," the new creature from hello kitty. it's a lump of clay that doesn't change color and is flat on one side so it doesn't even roll around like a ball. yes!

i hate even admitting that i'm bored, because i feel like being bored signifies a lack of imagination or creativity. but, here we are anyway. i am bored, people. bored bored bored. i have to work tomorrow morning early! but is it twelve-thirty in the morning? YES! have i done nothing for the past hour but thought about eating skittles i don't even LIKE and various, completely meaningless subjects? YOU BET!

this usually rarely happens to me, but when it does it's a killer. it never happens on vacation, funny. even when there's no internet. it doesn't happen when i'm away visiting, though i suppose that's common sense, and it doesn't happen during the school year either (though i suppose that's because my time is nonexistent). it's funny how having responsibilities and demands on your time make you value it so much more, or think of things to fill your hours with, or wish you could anyway, besides the thing you are actually supposed to be doing. if only i had all those ideas right now, we'd be alright.

though i guess i do, it's just unrest. a chemical imbalance, if you will. a disturbance in the force. the latent effects of anticipatory anxiety and impending emotional stress. indigestion, and.....oh yes, acute lack of DVDs and/or desire to do anything. also, it's late. and? i've had a lot of sugar. preliminary diagnosis? work addiction, lack of need for time management.

at least i'm in the right field.

this is because i am tired and a little worried about losing you too

do you know what i do? i doubt things. don't worry, this isn't going to be one of those entries that's difficult to read because it's too vague and off-center. so you can sit back down, go on. like i said, don't worry.

i doubt things. i doubt things like the nonexistence of a cure for AIDS. i doubt things like the existence of a real community of believers, we run and run and run after it but we never quite catch it, and maybe that's because we're not supposed to, really, not here in this place. this is meant to be a lonely place, mostly, one that is hard and lost-making and filled with, right, doubt. is it the running that we are supposed to do, or is it the catching? i think the running. is your refrigerator running? well, you better go catch it.

i doubt people, and the things they say to me. i doubt that what they say happened really happened that way, and if this comes from work and hearing story after story about punch after punch, i suppose that's so. even with the kids. even with the parents that were with the kids. i doubt law robots that tell me their grades and the reasons they are in school in the first place, i doubt law professors that tell me they are perfectly comfortable with not having me work for just them, i doubt law librarians that tell me they don't know how to work the computer. i doubt my friends when they tell me it's alright, and okay, and don't worry, i doubt them when they agree and disagree. i doubt my mother when she tells me she won't talk about death and dying any longer, i doubt my father when he tells me he doesn't know or doesn't remember, i doubt the dog when he tells me he wants to play.

you don't want to play, i say, you want to go out.

and i doubt myself, too. i doubt that what i see is really what is there sometimes, or how it happened. i doubt that i can really tell a story instead of just talking loudly. i doubt that i can take a very long test and pass it not just the first, but any, time. i doubt that i can not give in when an angry parent tells me his son didn't run that stop sign, i doubt i will be able to ask when i don't know what to do, i doubt i will be valuable and do a good job even after a whole long year. i doubt i will be able to be open and honest about any pain or joy i am feeling, i doubt i will be able to ask for help when i need it, i doubt i will be able to accept any grace from God or otherwise.

i could go on, but suffice to say i spend more time than i ever realized doubting. but faith like a mustard seed, and not until i put my fingers in the holes of his hands will i believe, and still, remember: hello, thomas, here are my hands. you will still be blessed, but how much more they who have not and still. so, there's that, despite all the doubt and maybe because of it.

you were wild where are you now?

there's this line in a song called hotel that comes just at the end and goes:

king solomon's mines, exit 75
i'm still alive i'm still a-ligh-hiiiiiigh-ive

and that's pretty much how i feel today. usually after some sort of hard emotional explosion or even just a difficult class, i think about that part of the song. good song, really. check it out sometime.

can i ask a favor of you? if you are on speaking terms with God, if you remember please pray for me this week. my last session is this wednesday, and a goodbye is to be had, and some tears will be cried, probably very many. it is a comfort, your telling God about it. thank you.

now i must do some work on figuring out the felony-murder rule in georgia. i've never been to georgia before, did you know? i like the name though. and i hear it is very hot and very pretty in certain places. i also think it might be a little scary sometimes. most of the criminal procedure cases in georgia always involve something awful happening and rights being trampled on and so forth. yikes.

i'll tell you what, though, it is hot in this here ohio. the kind of hot where you don't even want to eat, because the thought of your body burning anything, carbs or otherwise, makes you want to throw up and cry. i do have some nice cold beers in the fridge, though, but no drinking on the clock!

soon.

perish the thought of ever leaving (i never would)

look, i want to say something really important and well-thought out and something i really, truly believe right now, but in thinking over the things in my head i don't want to say any of them. instead, i will say the thing that is in my heart and dying to get out: madonnarama? it's back, people. it's back with a vengence, and the vengence will be swift. there will be bodies in the street, ladies and gentlemen. i suggest you return to your homes and remain calm until this passes.

i really just want to write to madonna and tell her something like, hi, madonna. i really, really, really think you're incredible. i do. i try to be all jaded and shit over your weird kabbalah....uh.....thing, and that boring dude that doesn't really make any movies anymore that you toddy around with or whatever, and also? what the heck is up with your music, yo? i mean, i just......right. i try to be jaded. but the immense gravity of your triumphs! the entire decade before the turn of the century? is all yours. all of it. even the video with the home alone kid. and the one where you're all rolling around in the sand and stuff, that's okay too. see, it's not just the music, it's the whole....everything. madonna, you.....you're like the angel of pop music. you're not around anymore? but sometimes remembrances of you come up on the 90s rewind(!) hour on WSHIT radio, and for the four minutes without commericals, there you are, like a monument to what pop used to be. fun and with backup singing and a really cool drum machine even and i don't even mind, and everybody knows the words and with this good message too, with just the right amount of what-the-fuck-does-that-mean going on in the lyrics! and i drive fast, and despite the fact i really, quite frankly, don't ever like to dance, you know, like dance dance at the club all crunked up, or whatever, when you come on the radio? madonna, are you still listening? when you come on the radio, i am one hell of a dancer. and not good, but that's not the point even, the point is that i am doing it and i am having real fun with music again, instead of the sometimes constant exercise of pale memory and intelligent lyrics and the rage rage against the death of society or a thinking public or something, anything, you know, music that hits me like a ton of bricks and how much i love that, but still so nice to have madonna around, excuse me madonna, i mean you. still so nice to have you around.

so thank you, madonna. really. thank you for everything. i know you're having a.....i don't know what. but i really hope that soon you get over that and bust out another material girl or something. but sans the pregnant and crazy married girl who hangs out with that ooky dude. please. just you, madonna. you're good all by yourself.

remember when you were in a league of their own? that was totally awesome. and evita? oh yeh, i went to see it. yes, in the theatre, what do you take me for? of course in the theatre, silly. oh you stop. no you! aw. that's nice. thanks.

and remember when you did that one song nobody remembers? and the video is all you shooting some other video or something in japan? rain? remember? you sort of talk in the middle of it or something, and then the sun comes out? yeh, that was a good one. you totally rocked the short black hair thing. nice job with that.

whew, madonna, i could do this for hours. but i seriously gotta go before the shins come around the corner and see me, okay? seriously, modest mouse will call up cat power and they'll both come over here and kick my ass into next tuesday, and then i won't even be able to be in the hospital with visitors because there'll be a hit on my fucking head, all paid up in full by mum and bjork in some weird icelandic ritual. and bjork? is not someone you want to piss off. i know you're like, madonna? and everything? but that woman is batshit crazy. seriously.

and don't even get me started on what will happen when nine inch nails gets wind of this. they'll be resurrecting the ghost of nick drake to haunt me while aimee mann bums a cigarette off of patty griffin before they meet up with gillian shaw to go burn my house down. it is going to be ugly, is all i'm saying.

okay madonna? okay. so i have to go. but listen, i'll be back soon, alright? don't make any albums while i'm gone, though. promise? good.

catch the reference to literary criticsm and win a trip to the kitchen!

today i got an email from one of the new professors i'm working for, and she signed it "marge." i think that's all i'm going to say about that. in other, somewhat related news, the lunch went just fine. i mostly kept my trap shut, except when i was politely eating a salad (nine dollars) or responding to a question. otherwise, i tried to fix a thoughtful and attentive gaze on whoever was talking. it was interesting, though, i'll give you that. sort of. maybe a little too much loan-talk, but i'm in this racket so there's no getting out.

that's not true, really, is it? there's always time to change the road you're on, or so robert and jimmy tell me.

yesterday i got asked on a lunch date, which is always nice to hear but seldom comes from anyone i'm enthusiastic about accepting said invitation from. before you shrug that one off, i'd like to mention the gentleman only satisfied the latter half of that word and made it absolutely crystal clear that he had not one, but two whole bachelor's degrees, and furthermore, showed contempt, in various ways, for women. here i would like to repeat a phrase i've heard recently: pasty-faced toad. a clearer picture, there has never been.

so, we're pretty much getting married. the happy couple is registered at angelofthehearth.com, if you're interested in buying me a brillo pad i can scrub the floors with.

no no, i kid! i kid! really, i'm a big fan of weddings and attending them. i will attend my own someday, and i can assure you, yes you, that you probably will too. trust me, it will be a good time. and in case you didn't know or forgot, jamie russell and justin hale are getting married on july third. but! i will not be there, which sucks. what can you do? go to the wedding shower, of course!

wedding showers, on the other hand, i'm not so keen on most of the time, as there's always that one woman in the shadows by the bride making some sort of.....ribbon bouquet? what the hell do you call that? and somebody always asks "dorothy, what are you doing?" and what dorothy is doing, dude, is constructing the fake-bouquet out of the ribbons from the wedding shower gifts in order for the blushing (but not really!) bride to carry it down the aisle at the dress rehearsal. think of it, my dear dottie, as a prop. i guess i understand the point of a rehearsal, but i don't know how i feel about props. i mean, if we're going through the trouble to make one, shouldn't we make more? like cardboard cutouts of the guests, the minister, the organ player? at my rehearsal, i plan on just having my future husband and i move around the dummy guests and give them funny voices. but i suppose it's only because i'm not feeling the bridal fever yet. who am i kidding? i'll be all over the wedding rehearsal. my husband-to-be will crack a joke and i'll throw a tantrum at the rehearsal dinner, because "no one is taking this seriously! this is my wedding, michael! my wedding! and you are ruining it, do you hear me?!"

the dinner will be concluded with me locking myself in the bathroom. again.

so there's that to look forward to. but now i'm hungry and have to put in doubletime at work. now that i'm working for the new profs, marge and dana (who's a dude. i know. it's hard), i'm working an extra ten hours a week. i know! working like a real person! who thought it possible?

do not cry out or hit the alarm

it is here. lunch with a professor. she's not only my professor, but also my boss. she's not only the president, she's also a client. there will be someone else there, too, the old research assistant. he's a nice guy but a little awkward. i'm a little awkward. the professor? crazy-awkward. laughs at things just enough to suspect it's nerves. says various things are "stupid." perhaps doesn't grasp the fine art of internet communication. is "touchy" when it comes to academic circles. brilliant, most likely. personable? sort of a stretch. a hell of a teacher though, really. one of the best i've had since high school. so there's that.

you know the expression "blows hot and cold?" it fits here. see me with questions.

being invited to these sorts of events is always all at once exciting and terrifying. what am i going to say? is what i thought in the shower a bit ago. what am i going to do? i went over the rules in my head, briefly: don't order the most expensive thing on the menu and don't get anything to drink.and don't talk too much and don't swear, for fuck's sake and don't say 'for fuck's sake' and better to dress up than down and whatever you do, don't spill anything, for the love of God.

now it is too early to show up at the atrium of the law school, the designated meeting-place for this seminal rendezvous. when i woke up, i thought: are we all just going to walk? or drive separately? or, holy shit God no please no, drive in one car?

and then comes the pep talk while i get dressed, and the short, incoherent bursts of prayer: God, please please please let me be engaging. let me pay attention. let me be funny but not inappropriate. give me a little class, please, just this once. and then the desperate, pointless bargaining: God, if you let this go really well, i promise i'll go to church again soon or have a quiet time or whatever, just please don't let me fuck up.

but it always ends on the way out the door: look, just don't let me throw up.

always one for the high goals. i'll let you know how it went and how it all turned out.

i see, said the blind man, as he picked up his hammer and saw

hello, hello, here we are, together again.

i would like to announce that i am officially glad i didn't go to graduate school, due to some academic circle rules and the radii thereof. yes, radii. i'd like to do some calculus with you later. go get your graphing calculator. it's okay, i'll wait here.

do you know what i enjoy greatly? writing on napkins in pen. it's sort of exciting, that you're in a place without any paper and receiving information you think is important. but those things are usually so fleeting in their importance, aren't they? there's an flighty sort of immediacy in a paper napkin that isn't present anywhere else.

has anyone seen sylvia? i've heard good bad okay things about it. i like the woman's work, i won't lie about that, but i'm afraid it'll ruin ruin it for me. other things i'm afraid of? the movie the bell jar starring somebody. please don't let it be a shitbrick disaster. please.

i discovered a few red hairs on my head today. it must be sunny summer then. and the faintest signs of a ring tan. ringtan! tanning beds for raccoons and other marsupials.

dictionary.com tells me it can be either racoon or raccoon. who knew? certainly not i. but now we all do. this public service announcement brought to you by the letter c and the number 11.

any questions?

i just remembered as i clicked to post that i have a newfangled meeting tomorrow at noon, across the street. dang! and it's my fault, too, i called the meeting. well, shitters. now i have to go to bed really soon.

in other news, my shoulder still hurts. and i don't like the drugs, but the drugs like me. i'm waiting until the old muscle relaxant kicks in before i go to sleep. "may cause blurred vision," the bottle says, and yessirs and ma'ams it does, i'll tell you what. drugs are incredible, i think. medicine of any type. if i had my life to live over, i think i would've gone to medical school and tried to be a doctor. if i could just get past the maths.

but i'm pretty happy with this law school business i just stumbled into. sort of stumbled, i suppose. i think there might've been some gentle pushing by mighty hands. also, by "gentle" i think i mean "am i totally insane? what the hell am i doing?" which is nice. but makes for a hard time finding a good answer to why are you in law school at parties and other social gatherings.

do you think i could grow up to be a u.s. attorney? do i even really want that?

i would like you to know that the third was katie meyer's twenty-fourth birthday. her follow-up rap single, get in my papoose, will be the b-side to her smash debut, baldy stache don't take no shit. so be on the lookout for it. she's that kind of person now.

also, i'm not really sure how "get in my papoose" came up in the casual conversation via birthday phone call, but it was uttered. and how do you even spell that word?

whoops, time to go. my brain is feeling very slow and gets stuck for small intermittent periods. like somebody poured molasses into my head. this is your brain. this is your brain on drugs. fried! like an egg, sucka!

the sky is tall and heavy when i could be

waking up at ten-thirty and being relatively well-rested but a tiny bit groggy from the meds is sort of nice. oh yes, and by meds i mean i sprained something called my trapezeus (trapezius? trapezeous? my trapezoid? trapeze?), which is in my shoulder. we all have one, says the doctor. and we would look pretty funny without it. the doctor's first name was sigmund. but his last name wasn't freud. don't worry.

what's funny is memory, and how present that can be for me. i just see or replay my memories sometimes, and then it's like the person is there for me, or the time is happening again, and it's a really nice thing mostly--especially when i'm talking with someone on the phone or thinking about them, i can see them well and hear their voice and know what they would say. and that's nice, especially when i miss someone. but also, a little hard. there are some memories i would like to forget, really, or at least the many different versions of the same behavior, like a particularly nasty argument, or doing something dumb, or whatever.

it will be nice to remember the devastator in this way, though, seeing her, but it will also be very hard. especially in the beginning. i have one more to go. the fifteenth. i would appreciate thoughts and prayers, really, to know what i do know, as the innocence mission would say.

i have a lot of things to get done today: finally fucking go to the post office, that's one. run a few errands, including the grocery (maybe, i might save that for tomorrow), and the law library for work, and then finally answer ms j-do's survey, and i would say update this but look what's happened! done and done.

oh yes, and i watched CSI for the very first time last night and i think i'm hooked. which of course, the rest of the modern world is, like, so totally over it, like, for real, but i think i'm going to rent the first season anyway.

right? right.