The Correspondent by Virginia Evans

I first heard about The Correspondent by Virginia Evans on Sarah's Bookshelves Live, which is a book podcast I can reliably count on to tell me what current books are going to be right for me.

Then, the librarian who handed it to me sort of whispered to me that she had this one on hold and couldn't wait to read it. Any recommendation from a librarian is a recommendation I take seriously.

Sybil Van Antwerp is a retired lawyer, a mother, grandmother, and has been divorced for thirty years. She's a bit cantankerous and has spent her entire life writing and receiving letters. This is a snippet of her writing life. This is an epistolary novel in which we watch Sybil as her relationships shift over time, we watch as she deals with grief from the past and grief from her current life, we watch as she learns who she is and who she isn't. We also get to see hysterical letters she writes to authors and journalists. She writes about literature, day-to-day life, and huge life events. 

There's something of a sense of relief I get in reading books with characters who are older and who are still living and learning and being jackasses and making apologies and learning lessons. When I was younger, I thought that surely I would have life figured out by X age (and let me assure you, that X was indeed a number smaller than that which was the number of candles I last saw) and it's comforting to me that no one has it all figured out.  

Sybil is in her seventies when this book starts and she's older than that when it finished. I feel like this is a population we don't get to read a lot about and I am excited that it was done so lovingly and delicately here. Huge thumbs up from me. I read it in less than 24 hours. 5/5 stars

Lines of note:

There is an articulation of life one hears again and again. People will say, 'oh, this is only a season.' You know what I am referring to, don't you? I mean how if someone is in difficulty they'll say 'it's only a season' Or if someone is having a new baby and in the sleepless nights, an older woman will comfort with this idea that the expanse of time is a season - a winter, I suppose? (rather, a hurricane season!) - and the season will change eventually to something sunnier. I take issue with this. There are, by definition, four seasons that repeat in measured pattern year after year. As there is no such rhythm in the human life, I have to think that when it comes to seasons we all get one round. We are born and grow throughout childhood in spring. We live those glorious, lively, interesting years of our twenties, thirties, forties in summer. We settle into ourselves in autumn, that cool but not yet cold time, rich and aromatic. And in winter we age (brutally) and die. One turn of the seasons per person...(page 27-28)

I can't tell if this is bleak or encouraging. Discuss among yourselves. 

The mind was not created for idleness. Golf, drinking, staying in one's pajamas until late in the morning, stretching oneself to find ways in which to pass the days is the way we were meant to spend our vacation weeks, not decades of our lives. (page 81)

But let's be honest and say that we all wish we were sort of idle, right?

When she came to the house in sweatpants about five sizes too large and her wet hair thrown up in a mess on top of her head I though, well, she looks about as bright as a root cellar, but she asked me good questions, as a matter of fact. The child knew something about government and politics. I did enjoy thinking about everything again. She recorded the conversation as if she was Bob Woodward. She took it seriously... (page 108)

Sybil is tough but fair. 

The grief that must fill the world is incomprehensible. Our small dose felt as large as the sun, didn't it? And it persists. (page 113)

It's tough out thee. 

I believe one ought to be precious with communication. Remember: words, especially those written, are immortal. (page 123)

I feel like it's hard in 2025 to talk about written communication. We are in the minority, those of us still typing out on blogs, writing letters and postcards, and trying to prevent AI slop from infiltrating our very beings. Soon it will be impossible to tell what was written by a human and what was from a computer and everything dated 2024 and after will be looked at with suspicion. I am sad for the future. 

Things I looked up:

Elizabeth Franklin (page 16) - I don't know. According to the book, a woman sued her children because they duped her into selling her house and put her in a facility that was dirty and abusive. I can't find anything to indicate if this was a real person or fictional. 

I am writing in regards to the article printed on page 2 of the Life section this morning, June 10, 2013, regarding the death of the young girl in Timonium. (page 58) - I can't find a record of this, either. 

2016 bridge collapse in Pittsburgh (page 168) - I can't find anything here, either. The incidents are so specific in the book, though, that it seems crazy that they are made up. 

Bergamo (page 222) - A city in Italy.

"Quarantine" by Eavan Boland (page 226) - You can see the whole poem here. 

Hat mentions (why hats?):

The way he's dressed like it's still 1978, and that European hat of his...(page 179)

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What's the last epistolary novel you read? 

Tuesday Tidings

I'm leaning into the dark these days. Hannah and I have been LOVING our morning walks in the pitch black. It's just me and her and I like to just let her sniff and enjoy the world. I mean, don't get me wrong, she's nervous as all heck and jumps if so much as a leaf falls near her, but at least I'm having a good time. 

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On our walk on Sunday night, I even took the holiday cards to the blue mailbox and dropped them all in (except for my five Canadian cards - I have yours sitting next to my goal journal all stamped and ready to go out as soon as the strike is over, Canadian friends) and whispered happy travels for them. I ordered my cards through Minted again, despite the fact that I literally have never been 100% satisfied with my orders from them.

One year, we did not get any envelopes. One year, we actually got two orders sent our way. One year some of our envelopes were duplicated, so I had to go through and make sure people only got one card from us. This year? This year some of the addresses were addressed incorrectly. The number 3 became the number 8.  Apartment numbers were added where apartment numbers did not need to be added. The abbreviation MN became MI. Now these are all things that could be blamed on me, but MY SPREADSHEET HAD THEM CORRECT. So I stuffed all the envelopes, but then had to go through each address VERY CAREFULLY to make sure things were correct. (If there is a handwritten correction to your address, I did that!) 

And let me tell you, I am not a detail lady. I am a lady who doesn't notice things like MN is MI. This took me a long, frustrating time. I don't know if I'm going to stick with Minted again. (Also, our card is HUGE. Like 5x7? This is on me, though. I just didn't look at the dimensions because I thought it was normal card size. I was wrong. I'm SORRY, friends. I'm bad at holiday card sending, I guess.) 

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But, in more cheerful holiday news, my Secret SANta gift arrived from Jenny! If you don't think that dog ornament went right on my tree, you don't know me very well!

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Also, we went on our annual trip to see the lights at the Rotary Gardens.

I did not ask my friends if I could post their photos, so I am protecting their privacy. Not my husband's though. If you see him around, maybe don't mention you saw his photo on my blog? 

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Last week, the dean of our college did a "Cookies & Cocoa" event. His partner made like a million cookies and all the leftovers made it to the kitchen on our floor and every time I go by the kitchen, I eat more cookies. The eggnog shortbread cookies are AMAZING, but I have to admit that I have not been making good choices re: sugar this December. January is going to HIT HARD.

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Speaking of cookies, do you know what my husband sent me a photo of today? 

A new KitchenAid!!! My beloved KitchenAid finally gave up its battle. We looked into fixing it (of course we did) and it was $200 to fix it and about $300 to get a new on, so Dr. BB took the plunge and bought me a new one! Who's going to make chocolate chip cookies tomorrow? This girl. (Yes, I'm going to make cookies despite the fact that I've eaten my weight in eggnog shortbread cookies this week. Don't judge my December baking decisions.)

(As part of the November/December hemorrhage of money, why not buy a new kitchen appliance? Fortunately, this came out of my husband's budget. He also paid for an oil change and the cat's trip to the emergency vet last week. Yes, all three things should have been mine to pay for, but that's how the cookie crumbles when you have a six-week winter break and your wife has to actually go into the office.)

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Have you sent out your holiday cards yet (sorry, Canadian friends - your turn will come soon!)? What's the last kitchen gadget you bought? 

Love Letters by Virginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West

Love Letters by Virginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West came upon my radar because of two things. One, Ariel mentioned it on the Books Unbound podcast. Two, I was looking for something for the "memoir that explores queerness" prompt for the Pop Sugar Reading Challenge. All the memoirs I was finding were TOO SAD or TOO DENSE and I just wanted to read a love story. Don't be mad at me, friends - it's been A YEAR. So I read this because I thought it would be my memoir replacement and it's my reading challenge and I make the rules.

THIS BOOK IS THE BEST. Sackville-West was about a decade younger and much more famous than Virginia Woolf. They met at a dinner party and Woolf wrote in her diary that Sackville-West "is a grenadier; hard; handsome; manly; inclined to double chin" (page 1) and Sackville-West wrote in a letter to her husband that she'd "rarely taken such a fancy to anyone" (page 2). They were both married and their husbands play occasional roles in the love affair.

Sackville-West is always SO EFFUSIVE in her praise of Woolf, who is frequently bedridden and much more needy about her writing than Sackville-West is. Consider these lines:

Altogether after reading your first letter I felt like a stroked cat. (page 14)

Lord, you ARE a good writer, aren't you? And a good critic. I take off my hat; I sweep it off, so that its plume raises the dust. (page 207)

I am half in love with Sackville-West myself.

And Woolf was not to be underestimated in her praise of Sackville-West. There were lines that if I would have rolled my eyes at in a fictional novel, but made me squee in delight when I read them in these letters.

[from Woolf's diary] ...she shines in the grocer's shop in Sevenoaks with a candle-lit radiance, stalking on legs like beech trees, pink glowing, grape clustered, pearl hung. (page 35-36)

How on earth have you mastered the art of being subtle, profound, humorous, arch, coy, satirical, affectionate, intimate, profane, colloquial, solemn, sensible, poetical, and a dear old shabby sheepdog - on the wireless? (page 196)

YOU GUYS! I wrote down so many notes and highlighted so many passages. I don't say this often, but I want a physical copy of this book of my own. I want it on my bookshelves. I want to reread it every ten years and fall in love with Vita all over again. 

The editors did such a good job of highlighting letters and diary entries that told the arc of their relationship. Even the final paragraph of editor's notes "Vita died from cancer on 2 June 1962. Her writing desk at Sissinghurst remains as she left it, decorated with two photos: one is of her husband, and the other is of Virginia." (page 270) Virginia died more than twenty years before Vita. WHAT A LOVE STORY. *sob* (Note: I didn't actually cry reading this book. But I did feel my heart grow ten sizes larger.)

Highly recommend if  you're into this sort of thing. I didn't know I was into this sort of thing, BUT I AM. 100/5 stars. No notes. This is my favorite book I've read all year. 

Lines of note:

Do keep it up - your belief that I achieve things. I assure you, I have need of all your illusions after 6 weeks of lying in bed, drinking milk, now and then turning over and answering a letter. We go back on Friday; what have I achieved? Nothing. Hardly a word written, masses complete trash read, you not seen...(page 27)

LOL. I feel for Woolf. When I had COVID, I just slept and read. I don't think I read trash, but I'm not above it. 

She is doomed to go to Persia; and I mind the thought so much (thinking to lose sight of her for five years) that I conclude I am genuinely fond of her. (page 32)

Woolf made me laugh with this. It was hard for to admit in her own diary that she loved Sackville-West. 

The rest of the time I read Proust. As no one on board has ever heard of Proust, but has enough French to translate the title, I am looked at rather askance for the numerous volumes of Sodome et Gomorrhe which litter the decks.

But why did he take ten pages to say what could be said in ten words? (page 50)

Vita is HILARIOUS. I love a good Proust insult. 

How nice would it be, wouldn't it, to get out of the rut of one's own thoughts for a bit; to alter the whole shape of the mind; to walk suddenly into a mental landscape as different as the landscape of Central Asia is from that of Kent. (page 102)

This is how she wrote in CASUAL LETTERS. What a writer. 

It is a very queer thing, being ill, when you are not used to it. I suppose in the course of time, if one became really bed ridden, one would evolve ingenious methods of dealing with the difficulties of bed-life [...] for at present everything seems to fall on the floor or else become submerged under blankets and sheets. Also litter - what does one do about litter? My room is like Hampstead Heath after a Bank Holiday. (page 188-189)

I am not sure this would have resonated with me so much, but my recent bout of COVID and the state of our bedroom when I finally felt human again made this passage shine for me. 

Life is too complicated - I sometimes feel that I can't manage it at all. (page 204)

Now this could be the header to my blog. 

Words I looked up:

gentian (page 9) - family of flowers notable for their mostly large trumpet-shaped flowers, which are often of an intense blue hue

androsace (page 9) - flowering plant commonly known as rock jasmine

arras (page 40) -  a wall hanging or screen of tapestry often Flemish in origin

theorbo (page 53) - a plucked string instrument of the lute family, with an extended neck that houses the second pegbox most commonly used during the Baroque musical period

bingle (page 96) - a collision, especially an automobile accident

Hawthornden Prize (page 116) - One of Britain’s oldest literary awards; it was established in 1919 by Alice Warrender. This £25,000 prize is awarded annually to a British, Irish or British-based author for a work of “imaginative literature” – including poetry, novels, history, biography and creative non-fiction – published in the previous calendar year. The prize is for a book in English, not for a translation. Sackville-West was an early winner in 1926.  

somnifiene (page 174) - no idea? a sleeping pill maybe?

white feather campaign (page 243) - The white feather is a widely recognized propaganda symbol. It has, among other things, represented cowardice or conscientious pacifism; as in A. E. W. Mason's 1902 book The Four Feathers. In Britain during the First World War it was often given to males out of uniform by women to shame them publicly into signing up.

Hat mentions (why hats?):
She was dressed in ringed yellow jersey, and large hat...(page 12)
My heart goes out to you over the hat...(page 57)
It was very odd indeed, orange and black, with a hat to match - a sort of top-hat made of straw with two orange feathers like Mercury's wings...(page 65)
This is the last day of June and finds me in a black pit of despair because Clive laughed at my new hat...(page 68)
Oh dear I was wearing the hat without thinking it was good or bad...there was Nessa tripping along in the dark, in her quiet black hat...Clive suddenly said, or bawled rather, what an astonishing hat you're wearing! (page 69)
...utterly impossible to do anything with a hat like that. (page 69)
[Michael Arlen] Best known for his 1924 novel The Green Hat. (footnote on page 123)
I had no hat. (page 148)
...I'm glad you have no hat on. (page 178)
I can hardly find 8 inches x 8 inches of space on my table to put this paper on. And there isn't a chair to sit on, - all loaded up with books and papers and cowboy hats. (page 216) 

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Have you ever read anything by Virginia Woolf or Vita Sackville-West? Do you like to read collections of letters? 

10.10 Judgment - Dear Ijeawele by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Bestest Friend and I are doing a blog project. Each day we will write a blog post on a pre-determined theme chosen by a random noun generator. The theme for the tenth day of the month is "Judgment." I have personally decided that I will pass judgment on a book on the tenth day of each month.

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Dear Ijeawele, or A Feminist Manifesto in Fifteen Suggestions by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie should be a mandatory read for everyone. It's short! 63 tiny pages! It's powerful! I wanted to underline every sentence! It's important!

Adichie's friend Ijeawele asks Adichie for advice on how to raise a feminist on the occasion of Ijeawele's daughter's birth. Adichie complies, uncomfortably at first, but by the end of the book she's giving direct advice about what's important.  

The back of the book cover

I didn't agree with everything Adichie wrote, but I do think it's important for all of us to think about how we talk to and around children. I think we should think about what our values are and how we pass those on. I think we should listen to people who have led lives differently from our own. I think this is a powerful manifesto and I'm going to start giving it to everyone I know who has a baby, tucked into their welcome baby present right along with a rattle and burp cloths.

5/5 stars

Lines of note:

Share child care equally. "Equally" of course depends on you both, and you will have to work it out, paying equal attention to each person's needs. It does not have to mean a literal fifty-fifty or a day-by-day score-keeping, but you'll know when the child-care work is equally shared. You'll know by your lack of resentment. Because when there is true equality, resentment does not exist. (page 12)

I think this is true of all types of work in a relationship from child-care to housework to paid work. 

Of course I am angry. I am angry about racism. I am angry about sexism. But I recently came to the realization that I am angrier about sexism than I am about racism.

Because in my anger about sexism, I often feel lonely. Because I love, and live among, many people who easily acknowledge race injustice but not gender injustice. (page 22-23)

Ah, yes. Denial is real and has painful consequences. 

...what you say to your child matters. It teaches her what she should value. (page 26)

So much pressure on parents and people who are around children, but they are listening to everything and every word matters.

Hat mentions:

None

4.23 Writing - On My Desk

Bestest Friend and I are in the middle of a blog project. Each day of the month we will post a picture on a pre-determined theme and write a little something about it. The theme for the twenty-third day of each month is "Writing."
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This is what my desk currently looks like. Yes, I got an iced coffee on the way home from work today. Do not judge me.

To the left of my monitor is a pile of papers. One is a list of influential books I made The Angry Taoist write out when she was visiting and the other is a letter from my grandmother. Underneath are some postcards I need to write and mail.  I just love that other people's handwriting is littering my desk instead of just my own to do lists.

For the record, The Angry Taoist's list is:
The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy
All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque
Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling
The Waste Lands (Dark Tower #3) by Stephen King (reminded me to put the Dark Tower series on my library list)
The Talisman by Stephen King

We had to leave before she could finish the list, but I like that it's sort of half finished and sitting on my desk, like she might come over later this week and finish it. (Note: She's not going to come over later this week.)

For the record, my list is:

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith (if I was going to get a tattoo, it would definitely be the cover of this book) 
Ready Player One by Ernest Cline 
Home Style by Richard Fenno (political science nerdery)
Protecting Soldiers and Mothers (more political science nerdery) 
Where She Went by Gayle Forman 
Just Listen by Sarah Dessen 
Speaker for the Dead by Orson Scott Card 
Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert Heinlein 
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling 
The Hound of the Baskervilles by Arthur Conan Doyle

For the further record, my grandmother wrote me a newsy note about people I don't know. She also mentions that she wishes she had more time "to read and do other essentials" and I'm a little bit puzzled as to what's keeping my nonagenarian grandmother so busy that she can't read at her leisure, but I'm a tiny bit afraid to ask. I mean, it's possible she keeps herself busier than I do and then wouldn't I be embarrassed?

Gratuitous cat picture. Zelda hasn't been featured on the blog in WEEKS.

I guess I'll go write my grandmother back now.

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To see what Bestest Friend wrote about the theme of the day, check out her blog, Too Legit to Quit.

Dear Jo Jo

 Dear Jo Jo,

I want you to know that this causes me a great deal of pain.  We were once really good friends. I was maid of honor at your wedding.  I knew you were pregnant before your husband did. I sat down with you with loan papers and spreadsheets and figured out a budget for you so that you could go to college. I drove two truckloads of your possessions to your very first dorm room. I cried with you when your parents got divorced, when your dad was arrested for a DUI, and again when your mother got remarried and then your father pulled himself together and got remarried, too.

I sent so many emails to you when I was in college that to this day, your email account is the one that my hotmail account defaults to when I am sending emails.  Every day there is a reminder to me that we were once as close as the books crammed together on my bookshelf. You had one kid and then another and then you just stopped.  Stopped emailing, stopped calling, stopped sending pictures of the kids.

Something happened, chicky, and I don't know when. You called and told me that you were leaving your husband, discussing issues with money and alcoholism and inlaws. Then you called, told me you were pregnant again, and were going back home.  You are on kid number four now and you never talk about those days when you were so sure your marriage was over.  You write Facebook posts filled with cheeriness and happiness and all of us who knew you when wonder what the fuck happened and who took over your body.

Look, I know. I'm a bad, bad friend sometimes. I forget to call until it's too late. I forget about time zones and interrupt dinners when I call. I forget birthdays, I forget to send cards on anniversaries, and I frequently forget how to pronounce your youngest daughter's name.  But it's not because I don't care. Do you remember these pictures?  Dr. BB took them at your wedding.  That's me. Goofy and happy because you were goofy and happy. 

Recently you were diagnosed with one of the very same illnesses my dear husband has and I spent an afternoon typing up recipes and sending them to you in a notebook. You never let me know you got it.  I sent you a birthday card this year and it was even on time. You never let me know you got it. I called you when I was going to Michigan and asked if we could get together, but you never answered the phone and you never returned my call. I get it.  You've moved on and we're not friends.   But I'm still your Facebook friend and so I have some things to say.

I'm worried.  You are not you anymore. It's like someone has taken over your body.  Somebody who seems to think that this veneer of a perfect life will fool us.  If you are super duper happy being this person you've become, good for you.  But if you ever, ever, ever decide that you are done with this facade and you want to come clean or you need someone to vent to or you just need a break, remember me.  I will be there for you. I will talk to you about the importance of enrolling your children in school, getting vaccinations, and doing what it takes to get your husband into treatment. I will babysit for you. I will sit on the phone with you for hours if that's what you need.

I understand that you want it to be that we used to be friends. But I want to make sure you know that, in my mind, we still are friends.

Peace and love,

Dear Detroit Lions

Dear Detroit Lions,

I am a loyal fan. When I was growing up, I lived in a house with a devoted Chicago Bears fan (ARGH!) and I rooted for you just to spite my father. But eventually I started to really love you. You are representative of what's right with Detroit City - hardworking men and women who continually get beat down over and over and over again, but get back up again and again and again. Ford Field brings a lift to downtown Dtown, part of the revitalization of a city that desperately needs hope. Roary is one of the best mascots in the NFL, Lions fans are loyal, and ours is a storied franchise that deserves its place in football history.

But you also haven't won an NFL championship since 1957, before they called it the Super Bowl. And you haven't even been in the playoffs since 1999. I've been lugging around my Lions fandom from city to city, hoping against hope that someday someone would need to be the person wearing Honolulu blue in the room at a Sunday Night Football game. You haven't had a winning season since 2000!!! Let us not even talk about the 2008 team that went without a single win. But things started to turn around. Jim Schwartz was hired on as coach and brought some excitement back to Ford Field. Matt Stafford was drafted as quarterback and Calvin Johnson began to show the world why the Lions had drafted him. Cliff Avril brought something to the defense, Schwartz started working on shoring up the offensive line, and we had a team at long last!! I'm not entirely sold on Ndamukong Suh as an addition to our team, but things are starting to look good for us. We currently have a winning record this season!!

The Lions Bear usually doesn't watch television - he hangs out here to the left of the television set.

Please don't let me down. Keep it up. It's too bad we are in the same division as the seemingly unbeatable Green Bay Packers, but I think we will make the playoffs. Please. And if you could beat the Bears again when we play in Chicago in a couple of weeks, I could enjoy another victory this season over the dreaded Bears. And maybe, just maybe, I could brag just a little bit to the man I married who is a Bears fan (ARGH!). 

But now the Lions Bear sits on the recliner to root on his team.

Good luck!  Please do me a solid and keep on winning!!

Dear Sister

My dearest sister,

I know that I don't often take time to tell you how much I appreciate all you do. You are the duly appointed caretaker in our family and I don't know how you do it without going absolutely batshit insane. Well, actually, I find that you are just a teensy bit crazy, but, really, that's completely understandable. I find, while in the presence of our mother, that I revert back to 17, which would make me certifiably crazy, right?

Anyway, thank you. You are awesome.

I worry about you, though. You're still intimidated by the fast food workers of America as I observed when I visited earlier this month and you refused to take your order back even though it was entirely wrong. This inability to confront strangers with problems that you have? It's kind of a problem.

Also, I think that you think soap opera characters are real. I recently started tuning in to General Hospital once a week so that I could call and have something to talk to you about (who is the guy with the Irish accent? why is Jax married to Carly? Tracey and Luke? WTF?) and they way you talk about them sometimes makes me nervous. I made a comment about how Vanessa Marcil must have been hard up after Las Vegas got canceled and you just stared at me like I was rude to acknowledge the actual actress.

I'm a smidgen worried about the animal situation in the house, too. Two cats and four dogs is about four pets too many. Let's work on not replacing the animals as the inevitably die, okay?

But, really, I just want you to know that I appreciate you. It does ease my guilt to know that mom has someone around to count on. And I know you sometimes feel like you are responsible for everything. You're not, you know. You can call me. I'll help. I promise.

Thanks for everything!
Your favoritest sister in the world

Dear World

Dear World,

I am a 31 year teacher. I teach lots of things, some of them expertly and some not so expertly. I am married to a wonderful man who works really hard and humors my many idiosyncrasies and tendency to hum Bon Jovi songs as I'm going to sleep at night.

Here's what I would write if I were going to write a bio of myself:

NGS holds a bachelor's degree from Bowling Green (Ohio) State University (go Falcons!) where she majored in political science and minored in mathematics. She holds an advanced degree in political science from the University of Minnesota with a focus on American politics and research methods. She spends her spare time reading books on Euclid and Newton and practicing solving quadratic equations. She's also obsessed with maintaining her standing as the all-time scoring champion on the Wii Fit Skateboard Arena game in her home.

In addition, NGS volunteers for an organization that monitors court cases and tries to figure out ways to make the criminal justice system more transparent and fair. She also spends a lot of time trying to convince her husband that they should get a puppy.

Oh, wait. That IS a bio I wrote for myself to include in brochures for one of my jobs. Who's to say I'm not awesome.

Here are some things you might not know about me.

1) The first time I ever carved a pumpkin, I was in college.

2) I am an expert on standardized tests (seriously).

3) In the last month, I have traveled every weekend except this last weekend when I worked both Saturday and Sunday. My husband is beginning to think he's a bachelor again.

4) If you are my friend, I will tell you when I think you're acting like an idiot. If you're not really my friend, I'll bite my tongue but later tell my husband that I think you're acting like an idiot.

5) I try to ride my bicycle at least 50 miles a week. Until it starts snowing.



6) I made a gluten-free pumpkin pie on Saturday. And gluten-free cookies on Friday. Just call me Martha fucking Stewart.

7) I can't make it past the first level of the Wii Super Mario Brothers game. My husband has completed all the levels and just looks at me with pity at my substandard video game playing abilities. In my defense, I don't have nearly the time to practice that he does. I'm too busy maintaining my lead in Skateboard Arena.

8) I played clarinet in marching band in high school. Last year I had my clarinet refurbished and cleaned and I love playing it. But I suck hard core. Two weekends ago, I went to my high school Homecoming game and the band director didn't remember me. I was crushed.

9) I read trashy romance novels all the time. I'm also rereading the Harry Potter series for like the billionth time. (I'm on the fifth book. Harry is still a whiny brat.)

10) I secretly want children.

11) I not so secretly don't want children.

12) I am conflicted about having children.

13) My husband knows my blog exists, but he doesn't read it. I've maintained it since before we even dated, so it's my space, but I wouldn't care if he read it. I don't think.

14) I think I'm a pretty good teacher, but sometimes I wish I had more patience with my students.

15) My favorite animals in the whole wide world are pigs.

That's all. Thanks for listening,

Dear Kohl's

Dear Kohl's,

I'll admit that the last time we had an encounter, I couldn't take it. Your displays were crammed with clothes, making it impossible to browse, let alone take something down to try it on. Your aisles were packed with oddly placed endcaps and various jewelry kiosks just begging me to knock them over, and let's not even talk about the unkempt state of the clearance racks. I fled to the relative sanity of the TJMaxx down the hall.

The time before that hardly seems fair. I had just broken my hand and was trying desperately to find something long sleeved that would fit over it. I found something, a red sweater that ties in the front, and I wore it every day for those four weeks of recovery with my hand, and, I might add, many times since then. However, my memories of your store on this particular occasion are of people bumping into my hand, getting jostled around by someone moving a huge rack of clothing, and crying repeatedly because nothing would fit over the damn cast.

But today, today, I walked into your store with an open mind. Well, open-ish. I wanted dresses. Dresses I could wear all summer. Dresses I could wear bumming around the house, dresses I could wear to the store, dresses I could wear to work, and dresses that would make me comfortable. That's right. Each dress had to do all of these things.

And, man, was there a sale. It seemed like everything in the store was on sale. I don't think that's how it always is at your store because I've actually walked out before thinking you were crazy to be charging such high prices for the quality of your merchandise. But, today, today, my new favorite store, you had a SALE. And suddenly your prices seemed quite reasonable for a set of dresses I anticipate wearing day in and day out for the next four months. And the dresses! There were dresses all over the place. A-line dresses, and dresses with sleeves, and nice babydoll dresses without empire waists, because while I love me an empire waist, this girl does not want everyone to be raising eyebrows over her ever-expanding belly this summer. I loved me some of those dresses.

So for just over $100, I purchased four dresses, and two items of fashion jewelry (two sets of bracelets, rounding out my kitschy jewelry collection to satisfy me at this moment). And then your cashier gave me a $20 coupon I could use later this week. And I'll be back, Kohl's. To buy that dress I put aside, thinking that going over $100 as silly.

I guess I'm writing this letter to I ask forgiveness. For thinking evil thoughts of your cluttered store and spazzing fluorescent lighting. For not remembering how well the red sweater has served me and instead remembering your jam-packed shelves. For not appreciating the depths of your sales. For making fun of your silly commercials on the television. I apologize for all of this because your collection of dresses is better than any I have come across in quite some time. Thank you for your sale of awesomeness.

Yours in consumer solidarity,

Dear Spring Break

Hi,
How are you? I know, I know, I know. It's been too short, our time together. But haven't we enjoyed it?

First, there was the whole "not much on our agenda" except for listening to Pandora and doing an occasional errand here and there*. I really liked that. I hope you're okay with the fact that we didn't do any of that crazy traveling/drinking/partying that seems to be what people think of when they think of Spring Break. Last week, I was fraying at the seams, unraveling in front of myself, and I really needed just a relaxation party. Which, you know, you provided.

Plus, there was that whole awesome global warming thing you did for me. I mean, it was eighty fucking degrees here yesterday! In Minneapolis! On April 1! I thought it was a big fat April Fool's Day joke, but it turns out that there's just a crazy weather system. And since it was warm and sunny and beautiful all week, I had a week of doing nothing while hanging out at the lake and riding my bike. So, yeah - thanks Spring Break.

Sure, we had our stressful moments together. Taking Monster in to deal with the squealing was tough and cost us a pretty penny. But, guess what? Overhauling the brakes at 101,000 miles is probably a good idea. And, now? No squealing!! Sure, we had to deal with the taxes. It's been an ongoing struggle and we did end up owing some money, but whatever. It's just money. We are, right now, hemorrhaging money in kind of a bad way, but that's why we are so frugal, right? Let's not even talk about the ant I saw and the freak out that followed by my dear husband and the Raid and the open windows because, hey, it was eighty fucking degrees and we could have the windows open!!!

Let's just cap it off by letting you know that I am really sad you're coming to end. But, I know that it's time I go back to work because last night I got snippy with my husband because I have now cleared the cache of books I had stored on my Kindle and now I really want to buy some new books, but I have this spending moratorium, so I'm not allowing myself to buy new books and I'm a teeny tiny bit bored.

So thanks for coming and being so spectacularly awesome. Let's do it again sometime, okay?

Love (really and truly),



*Yeah, yeah. I know that I did work 20 hours this week at my other job, but really? That seemed like FUN, you know? Something to force me to get showered and dressed each day?

Dear Target

Dear Target on Highway 7,

Between yesterday when I was at your store and today when I was at your store, something strange happened. Your store exploded into an excessive sea of rabbits. There were static clings of rabbits on your front doors; big, larger than life cardboard cutouts of rabbits greeting me at the front door when I entered your store; and signs hanging over my head throughout the store with rabbits prancing about evilly.

I understand that this profusion of rabbits is in preparation for the strange holiday of Easter. I get that, I guess. I will ignore for the time being my own aversion to rabbits (stinky, nasty, mean little biting creatures all of them) and concentrate on what upset me more than the false portrayals of this rabbits as cute, fluffy, kindly bunnies*. But, more importantly, what happened to the leprechauns?! Last I checked, St. Patrick's Day was before Easter and it hasn't happened yet!! How dare we put all our shamrocks, rainbows, and maps of Ireland away before March 17?! Or, I guess, how dare you make me worried that I have somehow missed an entire holiday?

So, hey, there's a chance I might be in your store again soon. I'm not so great at remembering to get all the items on my list at one time; hence the repeated entries to your fine establishment in the course of 48 hours. Could you possibly remember to ixnay the abbitays for the next time I wander in?

Thanks so much for your time and consideration in this very vexing matter.

Yours in shopping solidarity,


*No, I really can't get over the larger than life cardboard cutouts. Do you mean to torture little NGS as she walks through your store?! I almost fled the scene in terror for my life! What if one of those things accidentally ANIMATED and then there were GIANT rabbits running around enclosed inside the store?! You never know when a poorly trained wizard will accidentally lose control...

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Dear Check Out Guy At Target on Highway 7 at 2:15 this afternoon,

Remember this conversation?

Me: How are you?
You: Not good.
Me: Oh, sorry. Stuck here for a long time still?
You: Oh, no. Just can't wait to get my boat back on the lake.
Me: Oh, yeah. Still a ways away, you know. Snow still on the ground. Lake's are still frozen.
You: (finally smiling at me) Oh, yeah. But give me four more weeks. I'll be out there. And it's going to start raining in 40 minutes according to the weather boys. Rain makes the ice melt.
Me: Well, good. Thanks for making me think this rain is good.
You: It's good.

Well, I'm trying to keep this conversation in my mind as the rain keeps coming and coming and the days are gray and gross. If I make it through the rest of this dreary week, it will be due, in part, to you.

Thanks for your cheer!

Dear Sports Illustrated

Dear Sports Illustrated,

Last week, my husband and I got our Sports Illustrated and there was no mention of the "Favre situation" as I have taken to calling it while my husband humors me. We assumed that the edition went to press before the awfulness transpired.

So I imagined that this week it would be a big freaking deal when our SI arrived. However, much to my amusement and delight, the cover is a shot of Usain Bolt and in the very top left corner, there's a number 4, split diagonally, each half in the colors of a different team, the Vikings and the Packers, and a red circle with a slash through it overlaying the 4. Around the circle, the text reads 100% Favre Free Issue.

I think it's a bold move that the number one sports magazine is failing to cover what is, at least around these parts, the biggest sports story of the week. Possibly the month. For me? Possibly the year. (Although the Michael Vick fiasco is a whole different rant.)

So. That's why we subscribe to Sports Illustrated here at this house. The writing is usually pretty good (ignore the dumb cover story last week that was like a million pages long and boring - could you all be sure not to repeat a story about three dudes no one's ever heard of again?) and your editorial staff takes stances. You definitely have a stance on doping in sports, you definitely had a take on the Vick situation, and you aren't afraid to say it, put in writing, defend your opinions and suggestions, and be bold.

I think some politicians could learn from your fine magazine about how to truthfully take a position and back it up. You don't skate around issues. You know that some people will be upset. The letters to the editor invariable reflect the differences in these views. But, guess what? That's awesome. I love that. Thanks for making us happy.

In Favre-Free Solidarity,

Letters to the Universe

Dear Pandora,
Please stop playing George Strait songs on my station. I understand that, based on my musical recommendations and your oversimplified thumbs up/thumbs down rating system, I should love these songs. I agree that The Chair is kind of silly and clever and Ocean Front Property makes me giggle every damn time and I must have, in moments of weakness, given them both a thumbs up. But I must make myself clear. I do not like George Strait songs. The songs are boring, Strait has a (very pleasant) range of about six notes, and a lot of the songs have that same dated 80s sound that Clint Black and Alan Jackson songs have (just as a note to you, Pandora, please stop playing Clint Black and Alan Jackson, too - thanks!).

So, yes, Pandora, I admit it. I love me my Garth Brooks, Gary Allan, Brooks & Dunn, Loretta Lynn, John Conlee, Conway Twitty, and Barbara Mandrell. I know I've confused you by saying I even like a few Rascal Flatts songs and some poppy Carrie Underwood and my girl Taylor Swift songs. I get it. I've confused your music generator. But if you play another damn song off that Troubadour album, I may be forced to punch my laptop screen. You don't want to be responsible for that, do you?

Thanks for listening!

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Dear Pepsi,
That Sierra Mist with a splash of ruby red grapefruit? That Sierra Mist with the really bad commercial with the GIANT grapefruit pushing the lemon and lime out of the container making you think that there's more than a "splash" of grapefruit in the soda?

That Sierra Mist is freaking awesome!! Thanks for donating like a gazillion cans to my husband's part-time job. Once or twice a week BB brings a can of this nectar of the gods home and we split it over dinner. It's fabulous. The grapefruit is a nice supporting member. The pop (soda? soda pop? what do YOU prefer I use, Pepsi?) isn't super heavily carbonated and it's a refreshing drink.

Thanks for your awesome, gluten-free product!


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Dear Don't Forget the Lyrics,
Dude, you really freaked me out on Friday night when I flipped through the channels and when I stumbled upon you on FOX there were two twin blonde guys singing remarkably well. I have watched your show before (BTW, I could never win even a single cent on your show and I thought I knew a lot of lyrics, but clearly I do not) and I know you have a tendency to have celebrities on to win money for charity.

So these guys were on, right? And I totally thought they were Nelson!! Do you remember Nelson? It was a "band" in the late 90s whose lead singers were Ricky Nelson's twin sons. They were blond!! And I really thought, for several minutes, that Nelson was on your show!! I was somewhat disappointed when I eventually realized I was wrong. For a moment I had a vision of them busting out with a chorus of (Can't Live Without Your) Love and Affection.

And, yes, I LOVED that these guys had to sing 18 & Life by Skid Row. That's one of my karaoke fallback songs and I totally knew all the words, too! (Tequila in his heartbeat; his veins burned gasoline - do lyrics get any more classic than this?!) For the first time EVER on your show, I could have sung the song without Wayne Brady's help.

Thanks for your choice of blonde haired guys to make me remember my musical misadventures with Nelson,


P.S. I heart Wayne Brady. Do you think you could pass along a dinner invitation from me to him?

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Dear University of Iowa hospitals,

Don't take this the wrong way. You do what you do super well. You save lives.

But I'm really tired of sending flowers and cards your way. See, first there was the thing with the twins being born super early. They're doing pretty well, so thanks for that! Baby O opened his eyes and their mama is able to even hold Baby K for 15-20 minutes each day. They are each now above their birth weight again and the doctors are growing more and more optimistic.

But then yesterday we got a phone call that one of our cousins is in the hospital for a recurring brain tumor. She is only 27. Three years ago she had a tumor removed surgically and they told her she was going to be just fine, two years ago she got married, and then last week a regular check up told her that she wasn't going to be just fine. On July 19 she will be undergoing another surgery. The family grapevine says that the doctors aren't particularly optimistic about her chances of living through the surgery.

I gotta say, U of I hospitals, I know that you are the best place for her. I know, deep in my heart, that she will get through this. She is young, otherwise healthy, and strong. I want you to know that I appreciate you and what you are currently doing for my family. But I am growing weary of the toll all of this is taking on my family.

Please take care of my loved ones,


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Dear Chicago,

Did you hear? I'm leaving tomorrow to go visit you, you fine city. I will be there on Wednesday and Thursday hanging out with my sister and then on Friday and Saturday hanging out with my bestest friend.

For four days I am going to think of nothing more stressful than picking out which restaurant my great-aunt Alice will be taking us to. For four days I am going to eat whatever I want to, whenever I want to. For four days I am going to laugh and laugh. For four days I am going to wander aimlessly around your greater metropolitan area.

The weather is supposed to be good for the next week or so in your fair city. Please, please, please make it so.

Thanks for your kind consideration in all things weather-related,

And how was your week?

Dear World,
I am not pleased with you right now. I have some gripes and I'd like to air them out here. Then I will put this all behind me and move on, continuing to be my peppy old self again.

I don't mind the cold. I really don't. January sucks and those of us who live in Minnesota just deal with it. What I object to is that everyone expects things to be NORMAL when it is this cold. Look, things aren't normal. I'm slower moving. My car is certainly slower moving (much more so NOW, but that will be a later gripe). Why do you, Dear World, have the same expectations that you did for me in June? The sun sets at 4:30. You expect me to work after this time? Because...really? All I want to do is sleep.

The high school where I work is clearly situated directly above a pipeline to all the germs and diseases and viruses in the CDC. A couple of months ago, we had an outbreak of the chicken pox (seriously? there's a vaccine!!). Earlier this week we got an email from the school nurse notifying us that there were two severe illnesses striking down the children in our midst - a stomach bug that causes 48 hours of severe discomfort and a respiratory bug (her words, not mine) that had caused our principal to lose her voice that takes about three weeks to go away. Her advice? Wash your hands.

So, Dear World, what happened to me? I managed to not wash my hands often enough, I guess. Last night I came home at 5:00 and collapsed into bed where I stayed until 7:00 this morning. I am the proud new inhabitant of some handy dandy respiratory bugs.

Now, I figured this morning when I woke up that I could manage the trip to school (still bitter out there - it's warmer, but it's still -12), teach my two classes, maybe go to Target to get some cough medicine, get to my hair cut (scheduled f0r 2:00 today), and, you know, go home and sleep for the next two days straight.

There was black ice. I knew it. I was going slow, hanging out in the right lane. I'm like an old lady in my two wheel drive truck. I had three car lengths in front of me. A red (orange? who can tell with the vehicles all covered in salt) SUV spins out in the left lane, causing a chain reaction that ends with me, in the right lane, hitting some woman with a suspended license who had come into my lane to avoid other swerving cars in her lane, swerving into the median, and nearly hitting a telephone pole. This is not exactly like the incident in June when Monster's front end got whacked, but similar enough. The driver of the SUV drove away, unscathed.

This time, however, a police officer saw the whole thing. I end up standing on the side of Highway 7 for half an hour, hacking up my lungs, in the -12 degree air. Meanwhile, the woman with the suspended license (and a warrant, I guess) gets to sit in the nice warm police car. A tow truck pulled my truck out of the median, it was pronounced drivable, and I was sent off to do my business.

Now, Dear World, instead of teaching my classes, I am waiting patiently for the insurance company to call me back.

Dear World, I made that appointment for a hair cut to help me with my stress-y January. You are not helping me. Now I have to decide - go to the appointment or not? Take the bus there or get into my dear truck (he's such a good truck - he started EVERY DAMN FREEZING COLD, BELOW ZERO DAY this week) with its ghetto, mangled up face, and drive there, hoping not to get a ticket for driving a safety hazard through the city?

I'm sick. I'm concerned that two accidents (neither one my fault!) in seven months may in some way damage my future insurability or my poor truck. I'm tired.

I have tried to remain upbeat, World, but you are bringing me down. Could you please bring me some good news? Or, at the very least, a brand new puppy?

Yours (much aggrieved),

Dear Tony

Dear Tony Dungy,
I want you to know that I had a sign all made up that said "Go Tony" for today's game against the San Diego Chargers. I want you to know that before the game started, I made my licorice spice tea, curled up under a fleece blanket on the couch, smiled at my little sign, and prepared to watch your team kick the crap out of the Chargers.

I also want you to know that when the game ended up going into overtime, I had to leave the room. I couldn't take the stress and I started chewing my nails. I wanted to be there to cheer you and Payton and Adam and all my other Colts on, but I failed you. I went into our office and wrote a lesson plan to keep my mind off the stressful nature of the playoffs. I want you to know that I will never do that again. When you lost that game, I knew deep in my heart that it was my fault because I left the room.

I know you are considering retiring after this season. I hope that you don't. You are the classiest coach in football and I love watching you week after week. Please don't let this defeat (to the Chargers! ergh!) have anything to do with your decision. After all, this defeat was caused by me choking at the end of your playoff game - it had nothing to do with your coaching and everything to do with me leaving the room. Please don't retire! We need you! The NFL needs you to set an example of how a coach should act and be.

I'm sorry I have failed you, Tony. But thank you for being everything a real man, a real coach, and a real person should be.

Your Fan Forever,


P. S. If you do end up coming back next year, can we get some new people to help you decide on challenges? You are not so good with the throwing of the red flag and it's starting to grate on my nerves!!

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I have decided that I'm going to enter this into Scribbit's Write-Away contest this month, because it fits so well with her theme of "The Finish Line." I hope it's not the actual finish line for Tony Dungy, but this year's season is officially over for the Colts.

A Reminder to Myself

Dear NGS,
I know you feel like the waking dead. Exhaustion hits in waves and I know you need a break. For the first time in months, you are craving the fake alertness of caffeine and have succumbed to the lure of the bed for the extra half-hour of sleep in the morning, forgoing your shower and feeling grimy all day. It's your own fault - you've over committed yourself (AGAIN), but now it can't be undone. You have to get through it. The days fly by, but you've got to avoid dwelling on the wrapping left to do, the cookies left to bake, the cards left to send, the parties to plan, the trip to plan, the budgeting to figure out, the apartment to clean, and the sleeping that needs to happen.

You have to promise me that you will stay upbeat during the holiday season. The tree is up and there was no protracted process like when your parents did it. A glass of apple cider, Los Straightjackets on repeat on the stereo, and a half hour of pure joy. Now whenever you feel like crying because there's so much to do, you can just look at those twinkling lights and feel the weight come off your shoulders as you think about that tree. There are only a couple of dozen ornaments on that tree, but each one has a story and each one is a treasure. The boy is a treasure in himself, his patience becoming more apparent with each passing day.

You need to remember all the good things going on in your life right now. You had dinner last night with a dear friend you need to see more often. You have out of town friends coming in for one last grad school celebration. There will be pregnant belly patting and baby cooing over. You have two weeks of time with your husband coming after this next hellish week is over.

You can't keep thinking about the bound to be uncomfortable trip back to Michigan in a couple of weeks. You will only be there a few days and then it will be all over. Your husband will be there with you and if all else fails, you guys can hit the road early and stay at a Holiday Inn in the middle of the Midwest.

You can't think about the pain from those people shaking your hand last night (OMG! what were they trying to prove?) or the twinge you feel when you twist off the milk cap in the morning. You have to remember that there is no cast anymore, only rarely a splint, and the vague memory of discomfort and not being able to shower.

You can't think about the disappointments at work. You can't think about the chicken pox outbreak (again OMG! It's 2008! There's a VACCINE!). You have to think about the successes, the joys, the laughs, the smiles.

You can't think about how sad it is that your engagement ring has to be changed. You love that sapphire and that setting, but it has to change. You can't wear it like it is and you will still love that stone in a new setting. You will love it because you know that it represents so much to both of you. You will be so happy to be able to wear it all the time. Don't forget to remember how lucky you are that you even have the option to change it. Some people aren't so lucky!!

You have a wonderful life. In the rush of these days, you may feel overwhelmed. Don't forget to enjoy what you do have.

Love,

Letters

Dear Local Grocery Store,

Look, for all of our special food needs, we don't really ask that much of you. So, could you please restock your shelves?

Here are a list of things we have not been able to get at your fine store.

1) Koepsell's popcorn (apparently you have decided to stop carrying this brand - why?!)

2) Snow peas (I was able to find a $3.50 bag of "gourmet snow peas" in the organic section, but why do I need to buy "gourmet" vegetables? just fresh ones will do for me, thanks!)

3) Craisins (this is a recurring problem and I have been forced to go to TARGET to buy Craisins)

4) Goat cheese (totally out of stock)

5) Kitchen Basics chicken stock (totally out of stock most weeks - when it is in stock, we buy in bulk, preventing the next couple from getting any)

6) Kitchen Basics beef stock (see number 6)

7) Brown rice (seriously? you don't have rice in stock)

8) Yellow bananas (why are they green all the time?)

9) Gluten-free corn flakes (you just stopped carrying these - why?)

And, furthermore, why are all your natural foods half off? We like that our beloved NutThins are half off since we eat them all the time, but we are worried you are getting ready to stop carrying them, along with the Kind bars, and BB friendly cereals. If this happens, we're going to have to break up with you and go to a different store. This would certainly not be in your best interest and it certainly wouldn't be in ours, as a different store would be farther away and have a difficult parking lot that would make me cry.

Please address these problems.

Thanks,


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Dear Postal Carrier,
Please stop cramming our mail in our mailbox. We didn't say anything when you smashed our wedding cards. We didn't say anything when you crammed our Net Flix movie in so hard you broke the DVD. We didn't say anything when you forced birthday cards in with an American Journal of Political Science and the envelope was completely destroyed. But I will not stand by and let you destroy a perfectly good edition of Sports Illustrated with college football on the cover!! Damn you and your jamming ways!! Stop it.

Thanks,


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Dear In A Hurry Cyclist,
I was waiting for that SUV to turn right. When you passed me and squeezed in between the SUV and me on my bike, you almost caused me to crash into that SUV. Please don't be an asshat again.

Thanks,

Every Breath You Take

I pass a billboard on my way to work most days that has the statistics listed for the number of suicides, homicides, and DUI-related deaths for last year in the state of Minnesota. The number of suicides is almost twice that of the other deaths combined. The tagline of the billboard is "depression kills."

Today was a perfectly fine day in my life. But I'm sitting here at the computer, aware that I'm just concentrating on every breath, willing myself not to cry, and wondering at what I'm doing. I'm overtired, I know. I'm upset that on Valentine's Day I left the house at 7:00 am and didn't get home until 9:30 pm and now all I want to do is go to bed, but I want to spend time with my fiance and I want this neverending cycle of constant work to stop. My throat is closing up. My stomach is in knots.

I check the news and see that there has been another shooting at another college and more students are dead. I hear another story about another couple who can't even pay their bills on time having a child. I panic when I think about what will happen in another four months and insead of having three jobs I have none. I panic about the alarm going off nine hours from now. How can I get through another day like this?

Most days I am fine. Absolutely fine. I go through life without a hitch. But today, right now, I feel all of this inside and I wonder about that billboard. I wonder if I had to live with this day after day if I could take it. I hope that when I wake in the morning, all of this anxiety disappears and I can be myself again.

P.S.
Dear Blogger,

Seriously, if you don't fix the fucking spell check function I may be forced to hurl my computer out the window. And you don't want to be responsible for that, do you?

The World Has Defeated Me

6:45 am Alarm clock goes off.

7:05 am Outside to warm up Monster. Monster does not want to be warmed up.

7:06 am Back inside to get the mug of tea I left sitting on the coffee table.

7:45 am At the university, "prepping for my class." This "prepping" includes listening to an old This American Life episode because I am going to use Ira in my class if it kills me.

8:12 am Can't find the keys. Can't find the keys. Must go to class without keys.

9:35 am Back from class. Where are keys? Where are keys?

9:37 am Call Biker Boy. I need keys.

9:50am Back from walk to Monster. No keys in Monster's ignition.

9:55 am Women's restroom. Note on the mirror that someone had left keys in there. Oh, yeah.

10:00 am Call Biker Boy. Found keys.

10:15 am Leave for second job.

10:45 am Am swarmed by high school children demanding to know grades. Don't care. Don't know. Please leave me alone during my prep period.

11:30am-2:30pm Teach. Point-slope equations and alternate exterior angles. Don't you wish my life was yours?

2:30 - 3:30 pm Meeting.

3:30-4:50 pm Grade. Write tests. Make photocopies.

5:20 pm Get home. Inhale soup.

5:30-7:30 pm Work on Thursday's lecture for the university.

7:30 pm Watch Family Guy with Biker Boy.

8:45 pm Wash face. Change into flying pig pajama pants and XXL Bowling Green State University sweatshirt. Sexy.

9:50 pm I am going to bed. I cannot stand to be awake for another twenty minutes. The world has won. I cannot stay awake any longer.

P. S. Dear Blogger,
Why doesn't your spellcheck work? Why doesn't your photo link work? Why do you hate me?