...nothing is guaranteed...

Dance monkey, sing monkey, write monkey...

Okay children, all 4 of you, this one is for you: I checked how this blog was doing on a whim, nothing more, having had no intention (for some reason) to write in it. I think I've outgrown blogging. Add it to one of the many things I'm bored with in my life. Other things on that list? Just about everything ever. All the institutions that claim a piece of me, school/teach/play, everything just leaves me tired right now. I would have added work on there, but I was there yesterday and a redhead complimented the belt, the boss complimented the skirt, and the big city reporter stopped in for a visit - they're good to me, what can I do? Airkisses everyone.

Tonight I'm having trouble sleeping. I'm exhausted, my body aches with it, but I have spent the last two hours tossing and turning, and now I'm watching Beverly Hills 90210 in reruns. I'm worried about the paper I have due next week on the viability of the Canadian left. I'm excited that we're seeing The Sound and The Fury in lecture tomorrow, and discussing the language struggles in the deaf community. I bemoan the 3 more pounds I've put on this month, where does it come from, why won't it leave. I want to run away west and be a cowboy. West is where all the cool kids go. The cool as cucumber kids you still think about, what's wrong with you anyway?

The only thing keeping this ship floating is brief encounters with the ladies - we carved our own place in the madness, time to be light and breezy, chatty and crafty. Next week we start knitting, in time to make mitts for the winter coming fast. This week we're reading Heti's The Middle Stories. Also, someone said something about a tea party. A tea party! Can you even imagine!