how was your day, dear?

Fine, thanks. It's a huge relief for me to have something new to write about mere hours after having composed such an ode to ennui.

I started working on a new story, one which skips merrily between the ill-guarded borders of lucidity and freewheeling, crazytown-dwelling self-indulgence. I'm enjoying it to little pieces; it's a story about a boy who is exhibits symptoms of serious illness, only to see them disappear. Not as dark as it sounds, promise! I'm loving it, and feel an immense relief re: me writing again. I went through a huge period of inactivity this summer, but was too depressed to write anything other than this blog. Mercifully, for myself and the ragtag readership, that time ended and so did my depression.

Then, last night my dreams were crazy as helllllllll. First, I made some kind of awkward reconnection with the man whose role as my eighth grade history teacher gave birth to the certainty of my gayosity, not to mention the numerous masturbatory fantasies. I'll spare you. I don't really remember what his role in the dream was, just wanted to take a trip down memory lane. Damn, was he fine, though. And apparently single now. Where's my rolodex, yo? Anyway.

Second part of the dream: my parents' house was being assailed by a pair of telepathic deer. My mom saw them coming up the stairs and started screaming like a madwoman. I locked myself in my father's guncloset (yes, he has one, my parents live in fawking Montana). I could still feel them, invading my mind, certain that they would kill my shit.

For those of you who are giggling at the idea of murderous deer, I'm pretty sure that there are loads of deer on the Animals Gone Wild shows of Fox, or whatevs such programmes are called. Lord knows I don't watch them. And if you hit one of those suckers on the highway, you better hope they just destroy your care, instead of stamping through your windshield and trampling you until you are SO DEAD!

Yeah. Moving on. I tought a class of design students today, who are all between 19-21 and let me just say...forgive me blogger, for I am having so many impure thoughts about this lot. Lordy be. Luckily, I'm normally working with gross little fifteen year olds, who are too annoying and nasty to be hot, let alone the fact that they are fifteen and that would be gross as hell. There are lots of hotties in this class, trust. But there was one guy in the class (which mercifully/tragically I'm only subbing in for two weeks) that has the most beautiful face. Blue eyes, thick lips, glasses (yes, I think glasses are sexy as fuck), who was watching me throughout the hour...um. Fuck. Apparently, he lives in the dormitory, but I haven't seen him around. And trust me, y'alls, I would have noticed. Also, I have to make friends with one of them so I can get un vendeur des drogues français. Word. You know what I mean.

Then finally, I gave my first aggravated peptalk to my class of fifteen year olds today. Afterward, I explained to them what a pep talk was through exaggerated gestures and reference to Mike Tyson. It felt good to yell at a bunch of French kids, contrary to what I would have expected. I mean, it's a little like Dangerous Minds, what with them being on all those wacky drugs and all. Seriously. At least one third of this school is stoned all the time. Bless their little hearts.

Okay, I think that covers it. Stay tuned for updates on the exciting world of the French laundromat, which must be visited approximately toute fucking suite.