112210. I already get some respect for being a teacher. McDonald's lady gives me free stuff often. Sounds small, isn't. What if I decided to be a really good teacher? 111110. Keyboard sound bug (fixed). Drinking Old Fashioneds. 110910. Dreaming of Old Fashioneds. The smell of going out. Chewing gum, leather, vinyl, cigarettes, make-up, perfume, a hint of stardust and cold, moonlit cement. 110810. Watching the squirrels. She laughs again. Between each letter of the word she spells for him, she makes a wet sound with her mouth, like she's been sucking on candy. Suddenly I think about butterscotch. It is fall, after all. I remember the soft kitten-rasp of tongue on tongue--tasting another human being--how the energy of it sent me up the liquidambar tree. Aromatic resinous balsam. The wood of youth.p 110710. You know what's weird? I really don't get bored. Did I ever? Honestly don't remember. Some of the situations my life gets me in now might have been boring "back then." But back then my life wouldn't have gotten me in them, and now I'm too busy with too many impulses, inspirations, obligations, and irritations. When free time is more precious than iridium, you find ways to mine the slightest flecks. 110310. Here's what I learned from the meeting with Oliver and Merritt: project-based learning is about the only way I can picture being a successful teacher. And I think it might actually turn this thing around, and I can actually picture getting happy about it. 102910. Why do we have to hide our idealism? Why should I be guilty for saying I love you? Man cuz nobody makes me whip out the notebookrgxdthhhhhhhhhhhnjjchhhhyhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhnhhhhhnnhhhhhnjjjhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhnhgggggg like you do. 102810. The perfect app is the enemy of the writer. 102510. My popcorn sounds like rain. The shop is creaking like a fucking ship. I'm in my tinfoil house, haha. I spoke with Javone Beamon today. He seems like a really bright, nice young man. Perhaps even with that hideously beautiful, elusive orbital unit called a Future. Good for him, and good for me. This year's really not as bad as last year was. 102310. Typing on the old Apple Extended Keyboard II. Is it any wonder I want a smoke? (I just don't want the year-long decline into filthily wanting not to smoke again.) 092410. I'm feeling mischievous. Which is not always a good thing at a staff development conference. Especially when I'm a little sophomoric as well around here. The jagged two-step of professional and personal overlap. A shaggy dog trying to learn who has the bones & whom to hump. 092310. Well, here we are. We spent all our money getting here, and now I'm not really sure what we should do next. Any ideas? You know, "Fuck it. I can sit here and drink if I want to," sounds like defiance, but I'm not sure it really is. While the brushwork of a slowly building storm paints the windows with something like possible joy. And the children I believe are asleep upstairs, having believed before they let themselves drift off that I would close their windows if the rain starts coming in. And I will. If I'm still awake then. And the wife may be asleep now too. And she may be sad, may be bereft. And she may be laughing in her sleep.