Updates

So, I've just made my begging rounds.
And I feel creepy.

I mean, I've taught 9 classes in 2 quarters.
I'm such a greedy pig.
But it's the only way to make any money at this job.

Now I'm only set up for one ity-bity class
next quarter and I'm paniced.
I've sent out feelers to all the branches.

And I feel like such a beggar.

Tim's words help me along:
Can't wait to see what happens in the spring.

I miss blogging.

I'm ready to write that novel.
But I cannot pin down a subject.

I don't think I will ever--
until I get this "memoir" out of the way.

Yuk.
What a sell out.
I mean, I could possibly "make it"
if I told this life's story--
especially from a certain lens . . .

but then, could I face the people I know?

and memoirs are so done.
fried.
exhausted.

But not how I'd write this one . . .

detective style--fiction--rewriting the self--

but I don't want to expose me.

It'll hurt. Seriously.
Forever. And ever.

Yet, nothing else is going to come
if I don't get this out first . . .

aiya.

can I prosper on other people's pain?

I may have an ANOUNCEMENT on Tuesday.