OKay--a drive-by blogging here.
First off-- yeee! Lots of replies in the comment box--I can't wait to put the names in the hat, but I'll leave the contest open until Sunday and then pull out a winner!
Second off--I almost hit a flock of ducks flying through an intersection this morning. They were crossing against the light--I shit you not. Chicken sat next to me, eyes wide, as we noted the panicky look in the beady little eyes of the last three teal-headed mallards in the flock. It was one of those intersections that you can see for miles and the green light lasts forever, so we were heading at a good clip when the flock took off from (apparently?) the FUCKING STOP SIGN TO OUR RIGHT! When we were through the intersection we both panted in relief for a moment, and then I said "Excellent, Chicken--if we'd biffed it in that intersection, you realize our last words would have been "DUDES!!!!"
Third off--Ladybug sick:-( She has congestion added to the spiking fever, so she's actually more miserable than Cave Troll--and more pathetic. Unlike the Cave Troll, she cries for mama, and mama feels guilty. Especially at two a.m. when she hauls her blazing, pudgy little bod into bed and I shove an icy thermometer in her armpit, and then make her eat grape flavored motrin. (blech!)
Fourth off-- Bitter Moon II edit is complete! I'm exhausted, and I've thought of no fewer than four distinct details to add throughout the book, but I'm also pleased. I mean, it's probably going to suck, but I'm pleased, because it's 821 freaking pages and because I've worked my ass off for this one and because even if it does suck, and suck horribly, it's not because I didn't do my damnedest to make it sort of almost decent.
And finally, I leave you with this observation:
When I was a kid we had a dog named Socko. We didn't get Socko fixed until he was almost a year old, and we did it because we were forced to.
Socko was a good dog-- he was sweet and well behaved most of the time, but if there was a bitch in heat within a three mile radius, that dog would lose his fucking mind. I shit you not, he ATE A FENCE--and one that was shored up by a 4x4 where he was chewing the most--just to escape and get laid.
He came back three days later--after we had searched the pound and cruised the 1x2 mile block and put up signs. One day, we just opened our door, and there he was, passed out on the porch after having gone out and gotten laid, gotten stoned, and gotten his ass kicked to his the fullest capacity of his great puppy heart.
A week later, we took him to the vet and cut off his balls, because dammit, if he didn't have the good sense not to do that to himself, well, then, we were going to have to do it for him.
The reason I was thinking about Socko today is because it occurred to me that sometimes, as a teacher, I start thinking that teenaged boys are a lot like Socko. They need to be locked in a pen made of 4x4 posts, and if they think it's a good idea to chew through those posts and escape, well then, by gum, we need to kick their asses and cut something off.
Seriously--this kind of threat could eliminate a lot of work for my people, don't you think?
Have a good weekend everybody!