Here's a quick parakeet report.

Pigwidgeon is okay with flying. Aiming? Not so much. He keeps taking off from his cage, flying around the room, aiming for his perch, and crashing into the front of his cage instead. Sometimes he avoids this by "landing" on the floor of his cage and sliding across it, coming to a more gentle stop when he hits the back of the cage. Then he sits on the floor with a dazed expression on his face.

Does anyone know how to test a parakeet for concussion?

Not much progress on the Cassie front, either. Pig is still flying into her cage on a regular basis and pissing her off. (I'm not sure it's on purpose, though. It's just a bigger target for him to crash into.) The idea of keeping him locked up for a month does not appeal to me, but I have to be able to trust him not to crash into anything (good luck), and I have to be able to trust Cassie not to peck him to death.

It's a problem.

My Keats class is over, and the professor gave us our grades. I got (yay) an A. I couldn't help feeling that old familiar twinge: "Aha! Fooled another one!" I always feel that I'm getting away with something when I get an A in a class. Maybe because I know I didn't try as hard as I could have. But I showed up for every class, took lecture notes, and didn't fall asleep once. This, apparently, is more than most graduate students do. (Blowjob face.)

One of my other professors (Experiments in Poetic Form) is going to post the grades on Friday, after looking at our final projects. I am not too worried about my grade there; she has always returned my poetry with complimentary comments, and Deb and I got an A on our e.e. cummings presentation.

I've been told by someone who was on staff last year that I can expect an A in the lit mag class, simply by virtue of showing up to every class and basically pulling my own weight. My last class is on Monday, and I am hoping that if I ask nicely, he'll give us our grades officially.

The fourth one is sort of a wild card: my Revolting Romantics class. I am turning in a final essay tomorrow, which answers the question: "What is the [poem/poet]'s job/aim/goal/purpose/work/task?" I'm currently working on it. (I'm trying to build up to the line, "The best poems are the ones that fuck you silly." That's a crowd pleaser for sure.) But again, I've done all the assignments, and shown up to most of the classes, so I'm betting I'll be okay.

Tonight, I went to the last poetry reading of the year, and I was dishing over grades with my (second year grad student) buddy. He said, "You should get all As." Mickey then piped in with, "And if you don't, come see me. I'm not gonna let anybody mess with my girls." I said to my buddy, laughing, "Oh yeah, Mickey's my mac daddy." Then Mickey said, "We don't even have to talk to communicate. It happens--" he pointed to his forehead "--here."

I've been saying all along that he and I have an unspoken understanding. I'm glad to know that it's not just me.

"Toker is full of compliments for you," Laurie said tonight. "It must make you feel great."

He really is, and it really does. Tonight, at the poetry reading, he mentioned several times that I'm going to be doing a feature reading next semester. Later, he said something flattering about my sonnets and added, "That's why I keep bringing up your feature reading. That's going to be something. That's going to be a real draw."

I don't know how many people agree, but it's great to know that in Toker's universe, the entire school will flock to see me read my poetry. I really love Toker, and not just because he loves my writing. He's one of the best friends I've made this semester.

Man, is it ever hard to believe that the semester is over. It's been wonderful, beyond my wildest dreams. I'm so sorry to see each one of my classes end. I'll even miss the boredom of Keats: hour three. I'm glad to be going on vacation, but I have so many great friends here, and I'm going to miss them when I'm gone. And I'm also going to miss Deb and Open, who are leaving the program.

Open is leaving because of family problems at home; he's taking a leave of absence, and hopes to come back at some later time. I am not holding my breath, but I hope he does. He's a great guy and a good friend.

As for Deb, I found out today that she is leaving because she's pregnant.

I feel like a fool regarding this bit of news, because I was incredibly slow on the uptake. We were presenting our final projects today in class, which are the sonnet sequences. I heard her say, "Well, this is interesting for me, because these are very personal." Then I heard her say a whole bunch of stuff about Hemingway. Apparently in the middle of all of that, she also said, "Six weeks ago, I found out I am pregnant, and that's why I'm leaving the program." Space cadet that I am, I didn't hear her say this all-important sentence.

The sonnets made reference to a pregnancy, but it was unclear whether it was a baby given up for adoption, or a current pregnancy, or an abortion. So as we were walking to the restaurant for dinner, I asked Laurie, "So, how did you interpret that?" She didn't get a chance to answer, but I'm sure she was thinking, "Well, when Deb said, 'I am pregnant,' I chose to interpret that to mean that Deb is pregnant."

I sort of got the idea after a while, but it was only because Laurie and Joey seemed to understand what was going on, and they assumed I understood as well. I thought that the answer was in the poems somewhere, and I had missed something in the text. Needless to say, my evening was rather confused.

It wasn't until I talked to Joey and Laurie later that I got the whole story. They laughed their asses off. "Where the hell was your mind? Of all the times to space out in class, the whole semester..." I told them I was in my happy place. Or maybe I was looking at Mickey and thinking, "He's so pretty..."

"Sometimes, the Fates have a cruel sense of humor. Ha ha, Fates. Yes, you’re so funny. See me laughing."