I Like This

It's 9:24 on Sunday night, I need to iron my white skirt, and I haven't worked out since Wednesday. Which maybe wouldn't be such a big deal if my weekend wasn't filled with barbecue chips and Mexico Viejo.

Such is life.

The 4th week of classes (!!) begins tomorrow. After meeting 3 times with my studs, I can safely say I've got a fantastically smart and engaged group. The final tally: 89 students. Ones that actually care about their education? At least 69. Those are odds I can totally, and happily, deal with. We're talking gender conflicts in my lit classes, visual rhetoric in my advanced comp classes, and how to not be a dbag in the business writing class.

Still, though, I am plagued with anxious and angry dreams. Like last night, when I dreamed WebAdvisor let all these students into my class after the add/drop period. Boy, was I mad. I woke up, though, and got un-mad.

I have always, always been a nail biter. Always. But when I had wisdom teeth surgery, I couldn't very well chew my nails. So they grew. And I've let them. I've even used a nail file and clippers in the past few weeks. I've never used these items on my hands before. I'm a little clumsy. But, maybe I am no longer a biter. Tell that to my thumbs.

Today, at an auction in town, I may have purchased John R. Milton's typewriter. I will take that as a sign to start my own literary journal. I want to call it The Flyover Review. And I will publish hip, smart writers who write and live the Midwest. But, you've got to have some kinda angle to get published in my review. You've got to be something.

Bridge is strumming guitar in the kitchen. I'm gonna go put in some requests.