Lacadays

Yes, I know I spelled that wrong. Creative license. I sincerely doubt that I will stay on this leveler very long. It is dulling all of my senses and keeping me up at night. I am back to not sleeping and admittedly, it's not so good for me because all I do is worry.

Mom and Dad suggested that they would get me a puppy to make me feel better. Right. Dad actually told me probably not because it "eats and shits" -- I can't afford to feed a dog and I really don't do well with the clean-up aspect. I know that repeated exposure makes it easier for me to handle (from personal experience), but I really would want to go through formal training with the dog. I can't have a dog that would run on me or that needed constant vigilance in the whole "crap" on the floor thing.

I do want a dog. I miss Kevin's dogs pretty much every day. They are impossible to replace. Maybe they should get me a computer instead. I am really tired of having to use the school computers. If I don't log out then people can get into all my stuff -- I left my log in on at the library earlier this week and some asshole cruised through my e-mail and all my research saved on my "Z" drive. Of course, I always save that stuff on my jump drive (the handy-dandy SanDisk that the department gave us) so I didn't lose anything, but the asshole was kind enough to leave a note for me on both my "Z" drive and my blog reminding me to log off from now on. Jerk. I'm on drugs, dammit!

Lisa's helping me along with several of my students complete the damned Byrd project this weekend. I am really pleased with it -- not a doubt in my mind that the project will be publishable when I'm done.

We have a winner

I think I'm having a reaction to the "leveller." I have felt drunk all day -- nauseous, dizzy, lethargic and ... well, basically, drunk.

Now I haven't a written a paper drunk since my freshman year in college -- there is a reason for that. Everything I write is incomprehensible when I'm drunk -- for that matter, most of the time when I'm sober.

I am trying to write Dr. Baker's author exercise -- and I found I can use a lot that I have already written on Byrd from both last semester and a few years back with Dr. Port. In this way, I am practicing what I have been preaching to my students about not doing more work than necessary and creatively recycling old work. In other ways, though, I find myself running like a dog chasing its tail through the journal stacks on the first floor of Founders Memorial Library. First I find a really good article. I pull it off the shelf. I look at the Works Cited list -- I compare it to my own ever-growing list -- I photocopy that page if it has new info -- then I find the new article and start the whole process all over again. This is going to take a really long time. Oh for a research assistant right about now!

I again thank God that I have been so organized this term. I planned this to work out this way and because I organized and planned early in the term, I can just coast from here on out on this project. Making the time is the worst part.

Baby Cat is home from the hospital, now. She's going to be fine.

Gotta Make a List

Still Making progress -- list is even shorter and color-coded now.

• Work on Test WB gave us
• Grading with updates (Add extra credit for Michele, Brian, Jason & Craig -- for library help)
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• Finish Notes of a Native Son
• Read Sula
• Work on final essay for Giles For crying out loud -- try to take some time on this essay instead of waiting until the last minute (practice what you preach)
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• Write out syllabus for Fall 2005
• I think Dr. Barnes on Thursday (what time?)
• Make an appointment with Dr. Bhatia for after school out/steroids done
• Schedule GRE again
• Type up Bibliography (Primary & Secondary)
• Pull Journals & copy for annotation
• Sort all typed secondary stuff into books, articles, pamplets, websites, other resources
• Annotate the right amount of articles (ask Dr. Baker)
• Ask Dr. Baker if I should include discussions of Byrd's library -- I think I can deselect --confirm
• Go to UofC and get that damned book -- William Byrd of Westover, 1674-1744 Marambaud, Pierre -- also William Byrd of Westover by Beatty, Richmond C.

Red -- Get done ASAP
Blue -- Get done this weekend some time
Green -- Whenever

And What Will Tomorrow Bring?

This morning I saw the doctor again. Unpleasant experience at best. But the good news is that the steroids are going to be a bit levelled out with my latest prescription. It's already working (he chose this because it works right away) and for that, I am grateful because ...

My baby sister Cat -- the newlywed -- had to have an emergency appendectomy (sp?) today. Scary shit. No one else was in a position to help (so now I don't feel so bad about the family not helping me) so I had to go get her purse with her new medical insurance card (with the married name) and take it to her and Shane at the hospital. I got there just in time to ply him with Chamomile Tea from Lavazza and then to hear that she was being "rushed" into surgery.

She's okay -- the surgery was laproscopic (spelling, again?) and it hadn't burst. She's resting comfortably at Edward Hospital in Naperville if anyone wants to check on her. She is coming home tomorrow, though. It's rather like "Here's your IV -- what's your hurry?" Geese.

Checking my Mood at the Door

Today, my mood is best expressed by Albina.

She really is brilliant. And I own an original McPhail! All mine -- "Good Girls Go to Heaven ... Bad Girls Go Everywhere." And bad girls ... yeah.

I think all of my moods are best expressed by Albina (check out her other stuff on that site -- it's all pretty amazing).

This sucks -- I can't sing. I don't write music. I don't paint. I am a piss-poor stamper. I play piano (badly and infrequently). I don't even get poetry (except Adam Duritz's -- and oh yeah -- that Shakespeare guy). I don't dance anymore -- haven't (even alone) for a long time.

So I guess I write. Do I have to? Does it have to make sense? Why can I do this cool shit in Academia, but not when I want to write that book. I think my biggest problem is that which inspires me -- oh don't get me wrong -- I have "the book" in my head. Albina pesters me every time we talk to get that book out of my head and onto paper where it belongs. Funny -- I can't mention certain names to her but she still thinks I must write the book. Nah -- I'd have to kill off the lead character for personal catharsis and that just ain't right. I don't wish death, harm or pain -- just peace and happiness -- like Albina's painting above. And I want that "Girl with Book" series -- if I have to take out student loans to get them, I will. What's another few thousand dollars between friends?

Karma train? "We" will be having a little chat about that one.

So the new Jasper Fforde is out -- I missed it. Been out for months, dammit. And Harry Potter on my birthday this summer -- happy b-day to me! And I send Jeff an e-mail tonight -- the new Beowulf movie has finally finished shooting. I don't think there is a release date yet. Very cool indie project (it looks like it anyway). I think the link is http://www.beowulf-movie.com.

I have to finish my tea and go to bed. Chamomile to sleep. I have my Jasmine Becca brought me from England to wake up. The Monk's Blend late afternoon and the Mauritius in the early evening. For fun on the way to school sometimes -- Mango Breakfast tea that Cat and Shane brought back from their honeymoon. And then -- my beloved Earl Grey. He's dead too, right? Terribly ugly, though. Don't need a pic of him.

I sent Rob some of the Mauritius tea I love so much -- got him hooked before they sent him back to Iraq. I also sent him a few books to read -- had to slip 100 Years in for him and then the first two Jasper Fforde/Thursday Next series. Some baby wipes, some baby powder, soap, toothpaste and a card I made for him (badly). I miss him. I did talk to his mom this week -- she called me to let me know that she had heard from him and he is well (for those who keep asking). Jack is also recovering very well -- he says the only pain he's in is "healing pain" and that it isn't bad like his hip replacement. DJ is back at work and recovering handsomely (in all senses of the word that I may or may not have spelled right).

Brett is no worse for the wear -- lol, sorry, honey. Not sharing. I'll keep your secret if you keep mine.

I'd best sip my tea and try to settle in.

Risk Takers and Heart Breakers

I am in a great mood today. I think what is cool is that I got up, I showered, I drove to school, I taught -- I taught something today. My students actually learned something today. I saw 45 lightbulbs go off over heads today. They participated in class. I loved actually being there. I love it most days (which is why I know I'm in the right profession) but today was like -- well -- orgasmic.

Speaking of orgasms, I did something potentially stupid last night. Okay, I do something "potentially" stupid every day but this one really takes the cake. And you know who you are -- I feel pretty dumb, but it was well worth it.

For the rest of you -- what? Like you haven't taken a risk or two in your lives?

I hope I don't live to regret my actions of last night, but I feel strangely, obscenely safe. It could be an invincibility complex manifesting itself through silly risk taking -- incomprehensible urges to divulge information to people with whom I would never, ever share at any other time.

Danger isn't my middle name. I know that comes as a surprise, but I've not been one to live my life by the seat of my pants. "The Planner."

Well -- as Robbie Burns tells us:

The best-laid schemes o' mice an’ men

Gang aft agley

An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain

For promis'd joy!

So Robbie Burns was hot -- maybe a little light in the shoes, but the guy was gorgeous.



And then there was John -- my soul mate (except that he's dead, of course).



And speaking of dead white guys, Nathaniel had beautiful eyes -- and a tortured soul. Damn. I fall for those types now, too.



I've got to stop falling for these guys. Dammit, people! I suppose you can say that they don't make them like this any more -- but they do. Guys like this, though, just drain the fucking life out of you! I'll stick to reading the dead guys' stuff instead of looking for tangible incarnations.

I have a student who just found me at the library and she needs help. Surprise! I'm at the library.

Okay -- now this is just too much

There is something collosally wrong with me. I can't sleep so I'm looking at random blogs. I followed this link and took the "longer" question test. So this is my "inner world leader".

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Here's the problem -- 1) She's dead. 2) I'm not. 3) I am the most self centered person alive. 4) I always thought I was supposed to be a nun. Too bad I really like sex.

Closer

So I watched Closer tonight -- with my Mom. She's mad at me, now. She thinks I'm warped because I cried -- the movie was beautiful. It just hurt. No movie has touched me so deeply since Fall.

I was really uncomfortable watching this with Mom -- she doesn't see "art" films as worthy of her time. She takes these movies as statements on what society has become. I see her point, but really ... I think that films like Closer and Fall celebrate rather than mourn society's shortcomings. What else can we be but human? Not everyone has what my parents do -- not everyone can be real without making sadness in their own lives. My parents have troubles -- sure. But they have never had to go out into the world to look for love. They found each other in high school. I'm still looking. I look in the face of every man I meet and ask if he could bring beauty and love into my life. I haven't found that face, yet, that looks back with "Yes, I can." I haven't given up hope, but Mom doesn't get that.

That face may be out there somewhere, but I guess if it is, it will find me -- or it won't.

There is beauty in the world (wait for it -- I'm having my 5 minutes of lucidity). If I don't find that one -- I didn't lose out. I have had beauty in my life and I still do. I have it in music that touches my soul. I have it in books that grab my heart. I have it in friends that hold on tight but that will slap me silly, too. I have it in my heart and dammit -- I give it out whenever I can.

I'm not a brilliant writer. I'm not a brilliant soul. I'm not a blazing star shooting through people's life. I'm just me and I'll still be me long after these drugs eat the memory of this movie out of my brain.

I may be in love with Natalie Portman. And Julia Roberts, for that matter. Have either of them ever made a BAD movie? They just choose so well the roles for which they are perfectly suited -- perfectly, beautifully, brilliantly convincing.

Love is just so ugly that it has to be beautiful.

I couldn't have written this

Okay -- the last few weeks are a big blur -- between midterms and mind-altering drugs, I remember only pieces of time.

I got a paper back on Thursday night that I had turned in before this stuff started. My instructor wrote "original and provocative ... artful ... unique" on my answer to the second essay question. I'm a bit surprised because it was the first question that I thought I really nailed. The second one made me nervous because it focused on the term "rhetoric." I have to look "rhetoric" up any time I am forced to deal with the term or its definition.

I wrote this:

In The Souls of Black Folk, DuBois cites an increase of nearly 400% in the numbers of Black college graduates from 1875 to 1900 (73-74). It is this group of educated men he identifies as the “Talented Tenth” and the audience to whom he appeals throughout The Souls of Black Folk. DuBois’ rhetorical strategies were designed to appeal to those who remained immobilized against the urge to fight racial inequality. In essence, DuBois carefully chose his words in hopes of catalyzing revolutionary ideas in otherwise dormant Souls.

Where the hell did I get a verb like "catalyzing?" And what the fuck -- I sounded like I knew what I was talking about -- I used "rhetorical strategies" right.

Maybe I'm supposed to be in grad school after all.

And I'll Take "Cell Phones Suck" for $500, Alex

I resisted for years on the whole "cell phone" thing. I whined about it once in a while -- the fact that there are fewer and fewer public pay phones in the world. But really -- what if I did get stuck somewhere? So Mom and Dad, in their infinite wisdom, though it was time that I became "cellularized." They gave me a phone; they told me I couldn't use it.

Now, how fair is that? I have to share 500 minutes of peak calling with both my mother and my father. Granted -- Mom never leaves the house (or her room, for that matter). Why does she need minutes? Dad works at home and has a phone to use here. If he doesn't work here -- he has an "office" that he can use his minutes on.

Okay -- I have a phone disorder -- If there is a phone, I need to -- I am compelled -- driven, if you will, to make a call. But shit -- a few days in the hospital and I am at 200 minutes already with another 3 weeks before the new month. What the hell was I supposed to do? I had students to deal with -- papers that were being turned in -- professors of my own to contact -- library work to get picked up ... I had to fucking make calls! And then, really, I was freaked out a bit with my medical situation and the thought of my future terrified me for those few days.

So here is my point -- I promise I have one. I made some calls that if I had not been so completely doped up on steroids I would have N-E-V-E-R made. If I could change something that happened over this week -- it wouldn't be the fact that I was alone 4 times while doctors told me about the disease -- it wouldn't be telling my mother that I yell because she always yelled at us as kids -- it wouldn't be crying in front of my Bibliography & Research Methods instructor over NOTHING -- it wouldn't be "sharing" with every fucking moron I meet on the street. I WOULD TAKE THOSE TWO PHONE CALLS BACK. I am mortified. I have no control over my mouth, my thoughts, my actions at all. I really just don't know what I am doing from one minute to the next.

I lost 6 hours of my life -- just lost it -- I don't have a clue what happened at all -- from mid-Wednesday evening to sometime Thursday morning. That scared the shit out of me and I called my doctor first thing -- he told me that it's the steroids but that I must continue taking them until I have finished the slow taper. I can't freaking think. I have 15 lucid minutes maybe out of every hour and the irrational crap that runs through my head is so fucked up ... well, that's it ... I was nuts to begin with but these drugs amplify any impulse that I have spent my adult life learning to surpress.

I am furious with myself. As soon as I sober up, I will "deal" with my own guilt -- my own role in this mess. But "sure as heckfire" I won't be making those phone calls again.

And that number is not even in my cell phone! It's not even on my home phone speed dial. I have it written down exactly nowhere. How the fuck did I remember that as drugged and whacked as I was and why?

So to the unlucky recipient of those two calls: I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I cannot excuse it -- I can only say that I am sorry.

I think lucidity is slipping away again. I have an overwhelming urge to write a paper.

Catholics aren't all bad

So Catholic Charities has a program that helps the needy pay for medical expenses and prescriptions. Thank God because the drug they want to put me on (and I may decide not to) is $1300 a month -- not to mention that it is a HUGE needle -- a HUGE shot -- that I will have to get someone else to inject into a "major muscle group." I don't think I can personally reach that muscle group.

It's official. I've got it and I have to treat it. I don't know what kind I have, but I'm sure I will find out "someday." The waiting is going to be the worst part. Jay's mom told me that she ran off to the doctor with every little thing for a while always expecting to hear that this was the next episode for which she had been waiting. She's still waiting years later. She told me that sooner or later I would stop living my life waiting and cope as it comes. I believe her.

Actually, I don't believe much, right now. I can't think clear enough to believe anything. It takes me an hour to get to school and I don't remember driving here at all. I am terrified of being pulled over -- I'm hypersensitive to every movement of anything. I had to pull over to cry because I almost hit a bird. Funny -- I think if I were SOBER I wouldn't have even flinched -- the fucking birds usually move.

Or maybe it was just a stupid bird.

My students are busily turning in their papers. I saw 8 today and I sent 7 back with no grades. One was awesome (and up yours, Chris -- I'm on drugs and I can't spell) -- it was on safety improvements in NASCAR. He had a good argument, no errors, good research -- he loved his topic. God does that show! I loved reading it!

I went to church. Am I rambling? I mean, I ramble anyway, but this stuff is so whacked! I cried on one of my students because ... well, I don't know why but he laughed and seemed totally cool with it. I laughed then, too. I know why he was cool with it -- he's freaking stoned all the time. I knew it. I called him out on it. I point blank asked him how stoned he was when he wrote his paper. He had the good grace to look sheepish but he admitted it. I told him to stay straight for a few hours and read his paper himself. Then I told him to call me and tell me what he thought. About an hour later .... "This paper doesn't make any sense, Kristen." Case in point. Pot makes people stupid.

I'm not going to be a pot head. I'm going to go to yoga -- I'm going to go to church -- plus, that takes care of my "guilt" problems that have driven me this far.

Drugs are good

I'd like to see if my doctor will continue these drugs until finals are over in about 3 weeks. I can't face crashing now. I've gotten so much done! I did all of my searches for William Byrd's secondary materials (those I can get done on line). Now I have to go through each of the searches and eliminate all the duplicates. Then I have to find the articles and follow the breadcrumbs to see if there are any articles I am missing.

I want to do this project right. I could get it published. I have 45 (okay -- 11 haven't turned them in yet) webographies to grade and then next week -- I'm grading 45 (hopefully) research papers in 1/2 hour shifts. We'll see how well that works (I anticipate pretty well, actually -- but only if I don't totally crash after they switch me to an oral taper off of Prednisone.

The eye is coming back. I don't think it's 100%, but the promise is that I will get "most" of my vision back. Again, we'll see. According to everything I've read so far, it sounds like it could take a few weeks, maybe even a few months, but that everything is quite promising given my treatments.

I read 4 novels in 3 days. I highlighted, wrote notes in the margins, made inspired observations -- and I can't remember a single word of any plot line, a single character name, or the ending of any of the books (let alone what started the books). But I have really good notes. I wonder if I can pull off my finals on those notes alone -- or even carry class discussion remotely believably.

I finally slept for about an hour this evening. Crashed pretty quick because I was crying over the Murphy Brown "Avery Died" episode. Then I slept. Of course, I also cried all the way through Princess Diaries and 10 Things I Hate About You today. I laughed non-stop (maniacally -- is that spelled right? -- at times) through 2 episodes of Band of Brothers (Dad's got the DVD set).

I bought $15 worth of snacks at the store when I snuck out for 5 minutes after the nurse called to "check" on me tonight. Then I wouldn't eat any of them. I seem to be having a "bonus" reaction to the solumedrol (the big steroid). I am not having the hunger that others do -- I don't want anything. Besides, I can't focus on food long enough to finish eating whatver I have started to eat -- I wander off and do homework while my food gets cold. So -- I checked and it appears that I've lost (since about 4 weeks ago when I saw my personal trainer) about 20 pounds. This is so cool. I want to stay on this drug forever.

Managed to miss Jack's call. He's having prostrate (or is it prostate -- whatever) surgery on Wednesday -- he has cancer and he's having it removed. I called him back and he shared a little on the TMI end. But I love Jack and if he wants to tell me about his and Ruth's plans for their future sex life -- hey, that's awesome. I love both of them. Hell, I love everyone (even the asshole) right now because I'm totally looped.

I have decided that if my students did anything even remotely resembling the assignment on the Webography (a project I totally hate anyway and wouldn't do unless I was forced to as I am) then they're getting an "A." Screw it. Life's obviously too fucking short. Everyone is getting an A and I don't care -- so fuckin' fire me!

Then I'll go get a job before the "official diagnosis" becomes "public" and get health insurance before anyone fucking finds out.

Or -- I'll stay in school on their damned (but not bad considering they're paying for the home health care and every single "2nd opinion -- 3rd opinion -- specialist, etc.) health insurance until they either kick me out or give me a fucking PhD.

I informed my brothers and sisters that I don't want to be, by the way, stuck in a nursing home drooling and pissing myself in a corner when they bring their kids in and point at their PhD sister in the corner babbling nonsensically. They all looked a little worried -- or maybe they just thought I needed to get off the massive drugs.

So pot smoking is considered a prerequisite to being a college professor. A few of my friends seem to think it would be a good time for me to go ahead and take this up. I hate pot. It makes me stupid. I really, really hate it. Figures. The one thing that I hate that much (other than the asshole) seems to hold the most promise for keeping my condition in remission or from ever really acting up at all. Shit.

Why couldn't it have been beer? I actually have grown quite fond of beer. Of course, I haven't finished more than 1 in a week in several years. Fuck.

I'm fine, though. Eye is working better. Can drive after my intravenous dose tomorrow. Going to get the fuck out and get some "me" time.

Cute

So I threatened my students because of the pervasive absence problems. Craig was excused. It's not like him to blow off class and he did send word with another of my students.

Here's his reply:

Kristen Peters:

Hello, my name is Craig Hoffman, I am in your monday/wednesday/friday 10:00 A.M. English 104 class. I am writing to you in regards to my absence from class on Monday April the 11th. As you may have already heard from my esteemed collegue, Brian Menezes, due to some quite extenuating circumstances, I regretably was given no oppurtunity to be present at the library. Let me unfold to you the situation. After a wonderful weekend of visiting my father, and celebrating my grandfather's birthday in Windthorst, Tx., I had been scheduled to arrive at Chicago/O'hare airport at approximately 18 hundred hours central time, after making a quick stop in Tulsa, Oklahoma. However, due to unavoidable maintenece issues, my S 80 American Airlines airplane, immediately prior to takeoff, was delayed several hours. After the initial problem had been taken care of, severe thunderstorms in the surrounding area prohited further air travel on said date, therefore stranding my brother, Dustin Hoffman, and I in Oklahoma for the night. We then stayed at a Holiday Inn Select, courtesy of American Airlines (the hotel had a very nice fitness room by the way), and rescheduled our flight for 07:15 central time, the following day. In accordance to this strict timeing factor, we were obligated to wake up at 04:30 central time that morning and take a shuttle bus back to the airport to make our flight on time. After all this, I finally arrived back in Dekalb, Illinois at approximately 12:00 Central time. So as you can see, after taking all possible measures, my absence was definitely inevitable, and despite all my good intentions to be present in my favorite morning class, I was denied such an oppurtunity. I hope sincerely that you will see the benevolence in my case, and will take this in consideration when you are faced with decision of whether to fail me or not.

I've got to say that this is one of the more "innovative" responses I have gotten. He really got to me on this one. I really want to send it back with corrections, but instead, I turn to my grade book and change the "UN" to "EX" yet again. God, I'm such a pushover.

Yet they still manage to fail

I am the easiest teacher alive. Attendance policy? What's that? Late work penalty? None. Rewrites? Anything to improve the grade. I give extra credit -- I stay late -- I hold special help sessions. But somehow or another, I have 6 students absolutely failing my class and another 4 that are getting D's. Why? How?

Well, again, I may be more dedicated to their educations than they are. I must have been an obnoxious student -- I have a few of those, too. I never showed up, I rarely was on time when I did, I begged for extensions on every assignment. I still maintained nearly a 4.0 for my Bachelor's (and we won't bash any Sociology teachers because we need the room to bash "Linguistics" professors from AU).

Okay, let's be honest. I flunked out of Illinois State (well, maybe not actually, but pretty darned close). I took 13 years to get a 2-year degree from Waubonsee. I was admitted to Phi Theta Kappa there by the skin of my teeth (and only because Cherie "forgave" some really old grades -- including an "F" that Kevin Whaley's dad gave me -- thanks a bunch -- another thing for which I hold him personally responsible).

AU wasn't "easy," as such ... but I've always been good at my "job." I had been a professional student for some 15 years before I started there -- I finally figured out how to do it right.

How disappointing those few students are who show up infrequently, turn everything in late, saunter in to class (keeping in mind that I teach IN THE DORMS) some 15 or 20 minutes late -- but some of them write really well. Damn.

I'm surprised that Jack never wrung my neck. How crazy I must have made him for all of those years. I certainly hope that I make it through the term without killing any of these underachieving and disappointing students.

So, I talked to Christine's mom for, like, 45 minutes tonight, and then to Christine for another 15. Looks like a "bonus" opportunity for a job this summer. I hope that works out because it may just mean that I can pretty much blow off any responsibility for the whole summer. I'd only need to work 2 long weekends (Fri-Sat-Sun) for the whole summer and make close to $700.00. Then with tutoring and my student loans ... it could be a fun summer.

The answer is, "Yes," then -- I can go camping that weekend -- are you buying the gas? I've only got $700 to spend and that won't cover us roundtrip. We can't get more than 3 or 4 miles on $700 worth of gasoline!

I Really Did Ask for This

I wanted to teach -- to mold young minds -- to open their worlds to the beauty of literature. Uh huh.

Instead, I am pointing out comma splices, missing antecedents, fragments, and confused facts:

1. Winston Churchill is a great American hero.
2. I don't know who Roosevelt was but I'll be he was important.
3. Hitler and Churchill were good friends.

Then there is the occasional fun comment with which you just can't quibble:

1. The government needs to get their heads out of that "special place" of theirs.
2. And before you know it, you're hungover, broke and you don't know what the hell happened.
3. Drugs aren't just destroying the community, they're pretty bad for other people, too.

I asked for this.

I suppose I also asked for the 9:30 a.m. phone call this morning from "Toni," a troubed student with whom I was compelled to share my cell phone number. Toni has recently broken up with her boyfriend and she is not doing very well. She's an older student (about 24 or so) who made the mistake of following her grad-school boyfriend to the middle of DeKalb's cornfields. She knows no one; her parents are in Northern Wisconsin, and she got dumped.

"I tried talking to his friends but they just aren't telling me anything." Duh! They're his friends; they aren't your friends.

"But he promised this wouldn't happen." Yeah, promises, promises.

"I can't go on without him." WHOA! Hold up there. He's not worth it, Toni. How are your grades this term? Good? Well, then, how are your parents? Doing fine? Then, how is your health? Pretty good -- well you've got a leg up on me then. So, Toni, is it worth it? Is it this bad?

I didn't say this to her. I just thought it. The really funny thing was that I was moved to tears over her problems but not over mine. I will not and cannot discount her problems as trivial. She had no one else to call -- that alone is sad. She is a beautiful, smart girl -- great writer, good sense of humor, perfect body (bitch), stunningly gorgeous and brilliant. I hate her. But she doesn't have any real friends. That is so sad.

Her problems aren't trivial -- especially not to her. I've been there -- it may seem trivial to everyone else but it feels like the end of the world to you. What I am blessed with, though, that "Toni" is not, are the most wonderful friends anyone could ask for. I am so blessed. So as for the eye thing -- well, the Tarot said that there would be health concerns, but they would turn out to be nothing.

I suggest having Albina read anyone's Tarot, if for nothing else, hope to which to cling when things don't look so good. I think I haven't "reacted" yet to my "news" because I really trust Albina's tarot. She's never wrong -- or at least not very far off.

Besides, let's say, on the off chance that she was wrong on this health thing, it can't be too bad because I have the best friends in the world. They will see me through.