12:00 p.m. - July 14, 2003
What's this? I just accepted another class, August 4 - 12. It's not that I'm insane, money-hungry, or someone who enjoys teaching, it's that I've nothing better to do with my time. That's a crock but since the laptop is down and my recovery discs lost somewhere, there's not much I can do for the book. I meet Wednesday with Barbara-the-Editor and could I attract a major life-threatening illness before then that would not impact my teaching, I would gladly do so in the vain attempt to disarm what will undoubtedly be Fury. I had my sister overnight the case in which every CD-ROM associated with my desktop and laptop are stored, and her tracking receipt indicates the package was delivered here at the university on Tuesday. It is now Monday and still no sign in the post office or my office, the receptionist hasn't seen it, the library doesn't have it, and any other conceivable location has been prompted, Where's the beef?. I'm so far behind I felt like crying all day yesterday. I'll admit to a tear or two.
Is that immature, crying when frustrated? It strikes me as such but perhaps - and this is my exculpatory excuse, didja see it coming? - it's healthy given I rarely cried for most of my life. Of course, once I met Spec I've begun to cry far more often and readily than ever before. Did I ever say he's a bastard and I wish I had never seen him, much less take it up the ass from him? Hmm, how graphic, unappealing, and utterly tangental.
I'd do a survey but can't find one that appeals. Is it just me or has the overall quality and appeal of Diaryland begun to diminish like forest mushrooms and organic Red Delicious apples? Kuinileti was smart: She's jumped ship and while some days I'm tempted, I'm holding fast until I have more than 20 readers who would follow me to a new domain. I'm like that; I don't allow the custard to stiffen and become inedible.
What? I don't know, either.
I'm off to make some transparencies. Yeah, I know.
Most days my life is a malignant follicle.