By all accounts, I should be in bed, or at least working on my poetry. Sadly, I am doing neither. I've exasperated Austin with my claims of not being able to write in the form of the extended simile, but really, it just isn't working for me. I'm kicking a couple of ideas around, desperately, hoping they take some sort of feasible form on, but so far...nada. I don't even care...it's just gonna suck. Because...writing an extended simile is like...stretching taffy. There comes a point when you stretch it too far and it becomes transparent and breakable, thin and falling apart. And, really, just not very satisfying. See? That's what I come up with in the simile world. Nothing good at all. *sigh* Actually, though, that's the best I've come up with the past couple days, so I might run with the taffy thing. And that bugs me a little, that taffy is the best I can come up with. But you can't win them all, as my dear friend keeps reminding me, as he kicks my ass. Poor Matt's sick, I can hear him coughing as he sleeps. And his voice sounds awful. AHHHH!!!!! Seriously, I'm not a bad poet, I shouldn't have to suffer this torment. I wonder if Dante ever had a roadblock like this, if Donne ever just couldn't write a sonnet? How often did Shakespeare go to bed, an unfleshed idea niggling away at his brain? I feel better when I think about these guys having issues too. I wonder if they ever thought about giving up?

So, here I am, in the middle of the day, posting on my blog, when I should, by all rational expectations be on campus. But no. Mike and I decided to drown our sorrows (iu lost) last night with my fifth of whiskey and poker until...what...4 or 5 this morning. And then we woke up at 8. So I said, "Fuck this, man!" and went back to bed until...oh...about 2 minutes ago. When I realized how much reading I'm behind on, and how much I have to do for Monday, I decided to skip my other class, and just catch up on things today. I'm still being productive. Even though my Hapkido Gi might be in today, and I should go to get it, we aren't doing anything new today in there, just practicing with focusments some more. And King Lear is more important than punching, sadly, in the life of this English major. Besides, we were watching a movie in E-linguistics, so I don't feel too badly about skipping. I have an English linguistics class, and a science one, so I'll denote them with an E or S, just in case you care what I'm talking about. Which I'm sure you don't. Poetry class almost came to blows yesterday, which was quite exciting really. I'm fully expecting a fistfight at some point in there...AHHHH! Why can the people above me not quit stomping??? Jerks. But, um, poetry. The poem that I workshopped was received fairly well, except by one guy, who's opinions I'm totally ignoring for the rest of the semester. However, I fear for the safety of this week's poem. Austin managed to convince me somehow that workshopping is meant to make your poetry better, not about trying to write the best poem you could and bring it in to class. Says the boy who brings the kick-ass poem of the week. But, in any case, I brought a transitory poem, in between caterpillar and butterfly, in a very fragile state, and I'm afraid they'll eat it. *sigh* Hopefully, Austin and Larkin can save it from them. Well, I need lunch, and to submit to the calls of Shakespeare. 'til later.

Is the obsessive posting back, now that I've gotten back into the swing of the blog? It seems so. Just finished up with my two classes for the day. And the not sleeping is catching up to me. *sigh* And, my hands stink a whole bunch. I've washed 'em a few times now, but they still smell like the focusments we used in self-defense today. It's like holding hands with a thousand sweaty boxing kids. Ew. However, class did kick my ass a little bit today, which is good. I want that class to get me. And it was ripe with poetic possibilities. Am I too much of a poet, in that I look for poetry everywhere? Or do we all do that? We, poets, not we, everyone. My instructor was doing this magnificent sort of stick fighting when I went into class, body locked to the guy who was teaching her, sticks and arms and legs flying even as he told her what to do. It was lovely. She's so graceful. I have to do dishes today, because our apt is starting to smell a little bit. Yuck. But it's nap and food time for this 'lil Hoosier. Eggs. Because eggs are full of potential. An egg has the ability to surprise you every time. It's like a present that you can eat.

Man, I feel so...academic. Mike gave me an IM at about 2 last night, asking for company while he finished up his math. So I packed up some writings and a book of poetry, and we worked and talked 'til about 4.30ish this morning, when we both crashed out, exhausted but neither of us totally satisfied with what we'd completed. Possibly one of the best experiences of my life. It was just so...I don't know...professorial. Someday, Erin, someday. Oh. I don't think I mentioned yesterday. I'm sitting 3rd chair, out of 6 horns. So I met my goal of beating out 3 or 4 people. Which is always lovely. And since they doubled up on first part, I'm sitting alone on second, which also makes me smile. I love harmonies. And they're all mine!!! Self-defense today. Very excited. Also a wonderful, wonderful class, and I encourage any girl who reads this to take it. Boys...take Hapkido. About the same thing, really. But, with self-defense, yeah, we do learn cool martial arts moves, but my instructor is amazing about raising our self-awareness, and making us feel good about what we're doing, thus raising our confidence and helping us get a calm head and clear thinking to go with our muscle memory. She's possibly one of the best instructors of anything that I've ever had. Well, I've got a bus to catch in half an hour, and I'm still drippy haired and pale faced. Hmph. Like I can fix that last one. Have a great day.

Mondays are long and ridiculous. I didn't get home from campus until 9.40 or something like that. But it's okay, because I heart All Campus Band. Seriously, might end up being my favorite class, after my poetry workshop, of course. I wish there was a better way for me to post poetry on here; I'd like to share it with you, get some feedback from different people. Got a great comment from Mike the other day, which was surprising, and somehow much more satisfying than the pretentious beings who call themselves poets in my 303 class. Minus Austin and Larkin, who are my saving graces. Good damn poets, and cool people to boot. And I get to talk about poetry all the time, which is great for me. I love my friends, every single one of you, but it's hard to have this passion for writing at a near boiling over point all the time, and have no one at whom to rant, because I don't want to turn you all off writing. So I can talk shop with at least one other poet into the wee hours of the morning and go to bed smiling as the sun comes up. Life is good right now, I think. Had a scare today. Left my binder full of my writings in my lit class this morning, and freaked out during criminal justice when I realized it was gone. Had to fight my way out of a lecture hall just to make sure it was still alive and okay. That no one had molested it. And, of course, it was safe. No safer place than Ballantine for a little folder full of poetry to be wandering around on its own. Lots of English majors there to make sure it got around safely, and not kidnapped. In the process of applying for Ireland study right now. *fingers crossed* But even if I don't get to go, I have a cool ass house next year. Mike, Michael, Dean, Jill, Erin. 416 South Lincoln. Come play with us. And wave at the cops that are a half a block away. Awesome! But I've got some poetry to tinker with right now. See you soon!

First day of classes, eh? Not too bad at all, I think I'm going to enjoy all of them, even though my schedule blows. A lot. It's hard to get from Woodburn to the freakin' Optometry building. Oh, and no, it's not an optometry class...it's a linguistics class. But they don't have a building. My last one was in the chem building. Poor linguistics dept, with no home. Someone help the homeless. Loving Cecil again, and the fact that I have five fellow 403ers by my side in this class. An interesting mix of us, though. More boys than I expected in this class, since last one had two. Should prove to be loads of fun, and if not...well, I know I'll have at least a few good poems to look forward to. Criminal justice...meh. Typical intro class. All-Campus Band...well, I'm a little intimidated, to say the least. Haven't played seriously for about a year and half. Ah well. As long as I get second part. Which means I'll have to beat...three people, or four. Four, I think. I'd just as soon play second, as it's lower. I just don't wanna be last. I'll sit where ka decides, eh? Love the Dark Tower books, lovelovelove them, and I'm sad that I'm in the last one now. I almost don't want to read, because I don't want it to end. I want the ka-tet to go on, questing forever, the Tower just out of reach, and always safe, but close to danger, and the gunslingers saving it always. Who is my own ka-tet? It must be my boys, yes? At least for now. I've become dangerously entrenched in this story, using their words, and thinking of them often. I dreamt last week that I was a gunslinger, and Christy and Hans were by my side. But perhaps just because they are the two that've read the stories.