Last night I dreamt of taking innumerable Irish car bombs, never getting drunk and blocking off the exit to West Ashley via arson (I'm not sure what I torched, but it was something). (The exit to West Ashley is actually a bridge, but it was an exit in my dreams.... however, the Waffle House was still there.)

Now: making Valentines for my students, thinking of a Valentine BINGO game, listening to the Modern Lovers. I bought my 8 year-olds inflatable whistles! Pretty cool, huh?

Earlier, I applied for teaching fellowships in Philly, Texas, and Chicago. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps...

And I'm so glad I'm not in Brooklyn right now. In Charleston, I can barely see my breath! (What is it about the weather?)

at present, I'm writing my personal statement for the Texas Teaching Fellows program, realizing how egotistical I sound (all the time), trying to churn this out, trying so hard to make my life work and seem and be meaningful. is it working?

we'll go for a "jesus, I don't fucking know..." with that one.

jesus, I don't fucking know.

"sleep the clock around": song of the first 2 months of 2006. as I wrote craig in an epistle composed while procrastinating earlier this evening, I don't have to get up before noon most days. thus, I don't.

in the "get out of town" update of 2006, I am applying for:
-teaching fellowships in Philly, Austin, Chicago
-teach abroad programs that I'm wary of
-publishing jobs in any city except NYC or Boston
-jobs of which I am capable in any city except NYC or Boston

things I am over:
-serving at an Irish pub
-my shitty apartment, including my dirty room, this fucking couch

still keeping me steady:
-third graders
-the ambition returns
-the fingers feel marvellous on the keys
-studying for something, even if it is only the GRE

it is still pretty here, although going down to freezing right about now for the first time in a while. during the day, I don't need a coat. at night, when I have to wear one to smoke comfortably, I complain to myself. there's the "my weather is better than yours" for this time around.

aight, cigarette (cold) then writing the last 300 words.