A 24 Hour Day

Even if, unlike Keifer Sutherland, I can't prevent a terrorist plot, I can stay up for 24 hours at a time. It makes me feel kind of dreamy-like.

*****I'm condensing the rambling post that was here before, not because of the horny studs or any private comments but because I can't deal with the way I switched tenses in the middle (hey, it had been a long day). I wrote it planning to record first and edit later.******

Highlights of the trip to Indiana (working backwards):

--First shift at new walk-in tutoring center job, where I got to work on a paper about Dostoevsky and Fargo.

--Purchase of plane ticket to Irvine.

--Hanging out in Seattle with Edward (long-lost jazz bassist friend), the kind of person who picks you up on a street corner and sweeps you off to Dim Sum before you're even back from the airport.

--Flight traumas: sometimes you just really want to the drink cart to stop for you, and instead it skips you. And what magic exactly resides in a zip-lock baggie that makes it so speacial?

--Night of partying with the Indiana MFAs: cocktail-party with a fabulous reading, Uncle Elizabeth's (gay bar in a doublewide), The Video Saloon (The Vid), where I derailed a flirtation by telling the guy he should drink a Shirley Temple.

--Highlight of child-care morning: [out of nowhere] "Now YOU drive the spaceship, and YOU take the ring"!

--Latte in bed, breakfast at the place they take the famous writers. That means that the same bathtub koi have seen too much of both me and Charles Baxter.

Also, an email went out today asking who wants to join the grad prom committee. Yes!

Also, Dickens is fucking hilarious, but most of my other reading for this week is not going to get done. Oh well.