In last night's dream, I was wandering through a crowded club, and I saw him, and he started winding his way towards me. I don't remember what happened next, but I overslept for work because I didn't want to wake up. Last week I had an incredibly vivid dream that he was holding me in his arms and I was listening to his heartbeat. Clearly, my subconscious has been reading too many Harlequin romance novels.

No, this isn't a segue into anything; just something that has been floating around in my mind. A mind that's crazy and crowded in this crazy, crowded week I'm having here. School, workshop, cappuccino making, tons of tutoring, Journalcon preparation, hair appointment, vet appointment, squeezing in bike rides between work and more work, trying to unwind with wine and television, not getting nearly enough sleep.

I'm getting better at balancing. On Sunday I had four students, but I left enough space so that I wasn't stressed out. (In between students, I even got homework and proofreading done; it was quite a productive day.) Some days (like today) that just isn't possible-- my students aren't available, or I'm not, and so I have to schedule my day so I am racing from one thing to the next. Not the most relaxing day.

Fortunately, I planned ahead-- I scheduled a fun-filled outing with Megan. I took her out for her birthday; we went and saw My Big Fat Greek Wedding in an empty theater, and gorged ourselves on popcorn. It was great; I even liked the movie better the second time around. I think she might think I'm a nutbar, though-- I released my day's stress by acting like a complete doofus. (Oh wait. That's... how I act all the time. She probably didn't notice a thing.)

Of course, now it's almost one in the morning, and I am faced with this entry, the October redesign, finishing my laundry, entering my tutoring time into the system, printing out poetry for tomorrow, paying my bills, and getting to sleep on time. Anyone want to place any odds on all of that happening within an hour? I thought not. And I wanted to be in bed by one anyway. Any takers on fifteen minutes?

Damn, I need to start typing faster.

We were watching the movie previews, and there's this new Dead Poet's Society clone coming out starring Kevin Kline (he doesn't actually say "carpe diem" but he thinks it very loudly) and the voiceover guy is like, "It's about the choices we make... and the lives we touch along the way..." As I pointed out to Megan, this is the most generic advertising line for a movie ever. Every movie ever made is about "the choices we make, and the lives we touch along the way." I'm not kidding. Every movie.

To prove my point, two previews later there was one for Tuck Everlasting, a "beloved classic American novel" that I've never heard of, and the announcer said, I shit you not, "It's about the choices we make, and the lives we touch along the way." Oooooof course it is.

Oh, what else did I want to say? Tutoring is going well; I am getting less nervous about it, because I have proven to myself that I can handle various difficulties-- students who don't do their homework, students who are smarter than I am, students who are being interrogated by the police while I'm at their houses, students who aren't responsive, students who think I'm insane. It's always a new challenge.

And it's amazing how many different kinds of rich people there are. I like the down-to-earth rich people myself, the ones who have messy houses and big dogs and wooden decks and bowling trophies everywhere. The ones with the crystal chandeliers and the pristine toilet bowls worry me. And then there's the house where you walk into this huge white foyer, with all these Greek columns and huge, high ceilings, and staring you in the face is a giant plaster Jesus statue. Surrounded by smaller Jesus paraphernalia. In a wall niche.

These people have more Jesus paraphernalia than anyone I've ever seen-- and I grew up among the Catholics! They've got the Last Supper in plaster, mural, and clock form. They have God-slogan magnets on the fridge. I think I even saw a Virgin Mary planter in the bathroom with a fern in it. I have no words.

Speaking of... well whatever (I am simply typing madly here, no idea what's going to fly from my fingers) I have been meaning to ask: is it just in Berkeley, or is it all over, that people insist on ordering a "kwah-soh" when they want a croissant?

Customers do this all the time. Do they think they are cultured? Intellectual? French? Do they not realize it is incredibly affected and irritating? "Yes, I'll have a grande latte and a chocolate kwah-soooaaahhhh please." I actively fight the urge to roll my eyes as I get their kwah-soh. Why must they torment me in this manner. Why? WHY?

And on a completely different note, remind me to tell you about the interesting epiphany I had while riding my bike the other day. It had to do with owning my own life. I had this weird feeling that if I wrote about it, everyone over a certain age would say, "Aah yes, so you've finally figured it out."

I think I wrote down some other things I wanted to say, but it's time to move my laundry into the dryer and do some more amorphous productive stuff. Say, Journalcon is in a few days! I know it's going to be nothing like I expect, and nobody is going to be anything like I expect them to be. But I look forward to having my expectations shattered, and also having a grand old time.

That's it. As the deaf lady always used to say, bye for now.