Bloglet, the gentleman's mock turtle soup -- Moss made it sweeter than myrrh ash and dhoup
Ay, chihuaha. I just couldn't take it no more. First off, that was the longest I've gone without blogging since Moss gave me the thing in '00, no question. Cold turkey, no warning... it was hard on the heartstrings, let me tell you. Second off, it's no fun when you're having a thoroughly lovely and mellow time to be thinking every second "if something really amazing, mightily shocking and extreeeeme and unprecedented happens right now -- I can blog it!" 'cause, really, what was I waiting for? The only thing of that magnitude that could conceivably happen sometime in the near future -- short of typhoons and jackpots -- would be if I got laid... and you all know I'm far too tasteful to blog something like that. (official summary, august '01 to august '02: bupkis). So, fooey. That experiment will not be repeated lightly. Anyhow, I'll fill in a little of the sodden edges of the past in the next couple paragraphs just so posterity doesn't feel slighted or nothing.
Greyhound bus ride was very lovely; everyone thought I was a boy (I still have to develop the Greyhound-Effortless-Drag theory. The possibilities are startling.) except a woman who wanted me to carry her luggage and a man who cried, took my phone card, and disappeared into the wastes of North Dakota. Two geek boys coming back from GenCon, a truck driver who thought that truck drivers didn't get no respect, and a passel of well-mannered adolescents who liked beef jerky all thought I was a boy, and an amusing and inexplicable thing it was. Hee hee. I thought I should tip off the geek boys, since I had been having a nice conversation with one of 'em for over and hour, but I must have done it the wrong way and embarrassed him inadvertently, since he changed seats after that and didn't say a word. Ah well. The music donations, by the way, were divine. Even the squawky-squillo Japanese heroic tenor guy, heh heh. Oh lordy.
Then I arrived in Missoula and gave my ma a copy of the liner notes from I Puritani autographed by Sutherland and Pavarotti as a present 'cause the final revision of her book is that freaking close to being finished with and she's been working like a mad horse in a laundromat. I played lots of Scrabble with Tante Karin visiting from Norway, and swam in a cold bend of the Clarkfork when we couldn't find Gold Creek. I purged several years worth of sins by listening to horrifically bad gay karaoke at Amvets, and contributed a bit of my own (Mack the Knife and -- thanks to you dear creatures, Zoot Suit Riot. That song makes me miss waltz parties so fierce.), and then I saw two old friends which made me massively happy. I watched several mindless and charming movies, drove the car a bit, and wrestled with my nephew (metaphorically) for the phone line every night. Well, the last three things are still current, I suppose. I'm in Missoula one more day, in Bigfork for two, and leave evil-early Sunday morning on the train to go back east and start school again.
I'm apprehensive. I still don't know how badly I mucked up last semester. I've had five dreams about it now, each with a different result. But it's trial by fire, y'know. I wanna whup myself into shape. I'm not sure how to do it. It's just got to be done. So here goes. A couple more days of blissful freedom and then Whoosh! Down the hydraulic pipes and into the wash of sloggery. Hee hee.
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04:26:00 PM,Thursday 22 August 2002
