We started talking about poetic forms today in my zoo-ey homeroom - that is, we were supposed to get through the whole section, but we only made it to free verse & concrete poetry. As Teresa would say, I'm not fussy for concrete poetry, not by a long shot. I don't think I've ever used a concrete poem in any of my handouts. I suppose that I just don't get it.

When I asked them what the purpose of concrete poetry was, or why someone would write a concrete poem over another kind, this kid piped up, "it gives you information before you start to read it. Information before information."

And I thought, you bastard. You just made me love concrete poetry. But what I was really thinking was, you bastard. You just made me love this class.

Pretty good weekend, tho' not terribly productive. On Friday the Boy & I tried very hard to see "Bowling For Columbine," but we were turned away from a sold-out house. At this point I was very sick & very frustrated, so I did what seemed sensible at the time - I sat down in the lobby and watched dozens of people walk up, read the "sold out" sign and walk away in frustration. I didn't really want to do anything else, but I was very reluctant to go back to the car and waste our $5 parking fee - so instead of deciding, I sat & existed. (Zen is always easier when you've an incipient head cold.)

Eventually we went home and I read myself into a stupor before falling into a troubled sleep. Bad, scary school dreams.

On Saturday I tried to work, but found it incredibly difficult to concentrate on anything. Part of it was the cold, but part of it was also my reluctance to start work and thus admit to myself that I was returning to the lion's den on Monday. I eventually got some work marked and some hand-outs written; enough so that we could go to Saint Stephen's housewarming party with a reasonably clear conscience.

Of course, as soon as I walked out the door, I began to wonder what I was doing away from my desk. Not only did I feel guilty for leaving a substantial chunk of work at home, but I suddenly realized that I was in no shape to make small talk. This wasn't too much of a problem at first, but the room soon filled with people who haven't seen me in ages: Brit Boy, Aphrodite, Seth, St. Jack, Fly, Casey... Each of them asked me about the whole "being an adult out in the world" thing that I'm doing these days, and I was painfully aware that awareness of my pain was really not implied by the question. So I told some funny stories and kept in the shadows. When Tym:J showed up, I took the opportunity to duck into the porch and smoke some terrible bargain cigarettes (stay away from the "Smokers," let me tell you. With a name like that, what was I thinking?). The second cigarette made me exquisitely nauseous, and I drove home wondering when I was going to vomit out the window. We got home without mishap, I wrapped my shuddering body in a quilt, and we fell asleep soon after.

Not, I suppose, the best way to end the night...but it beats a lot of things.

"My kids always sneer at 'those B_ton kids.' And I'm like, 'hey! I'm a B_ton kid!'"

"Ah. This is when you point and say, '4% off your term mark.'"

- myself & seth, on the joys of hogsboro snobbery

Somewhere in there I met Tree, St. Stephen's gilf/roommate. She seems nice. The phrase that kept coming to mind was 'Vancouver Ophelia,' which you must understand I meant in the nicest way. No, really.

Yesterday it was my mother's birthday, which was, of course, the occasion for pushing my work back a full day to Saturday. During our lovely meal, the Boy & I were informed that Nic has given up on Vancouver, and will be moving back home in the near future.

"Well, at least your birthday was Nic-free," I said philosophically.

The birthday movie was Frida, which was absolutely gorgeous, funny, breathtaking, sad, all of those good things. I was excited about this movie, having very fond memories of Titus, and I was not at all disappointed. Go see it! You'll have a good time. I myself was glad that I'll always remember my mother's 49th birthday whenever I see the movie poster.