Wanted: Sugar Daddy

Mouse body count: 2. I think I have at least 20 more in the walls, I can hear them now. Must get rid of more of them so I can invite a plumber into my home without worrying about the overpowering rodent smell.

Jonseing for a vacation. Next week is the last week of school, and the week after is the only week I'll have off before the new semester starts. I'm trying to figure out how I can get away for a while without spending any money. Looks like I'm taking a slow trip to nowhere.

I've been reading a magazine with an article on renting a houseboat. That's what I'd like to do -- go out on the water, drifting from spot to spot. Carry a bunch of books and sunscreen. Read, then jump in the water for a while, then read more. Go ashore and have seafood, or possibly grill my own if I can find someone to clean the fish. Watch the scenery pass by with a glass of sangria in my hand. Feel the boat sway in the water at night. Do dumb things in the evening, like play charades or cards.

Green Tortoise has a Northern Pioneer tour that sounds like fun. Nothing like their Alaska Loop, but it would still be fun. And I want to go to Burning Man, too, but it's always about the time school starts. Or go tubeing up in the hill country. The Brazos and the San Marcos rivers are probably wonderful right now.

Of course the best vacation, hands down, would be a week in South Padre. Hell, a day in South Padre. The waves are calling my name.

I want to get away from Algebra, away from the Anthropologie rug that I don't like after all, and most of all away from the pressure of a perfect dressy date dress that will hang forlornly in my closet (once it's delivered).

Escape is a top priority. Must get away from myself, and away from work. I need other things right now -- I need my nose to sunburn, my eyes to crinkle with laughter, and my face to hurt from smiling.

(later)

Re-reading the poem, the stupid, stupid poem I sent last May. I've known for well over a year that it was probably the dumbest thing I've ever done in my life. Up until tonight I've read it and sighed over what could have been. Tonight, though, I flushed with shame. That stupid poem must be the single most uncomfortable thing anyone has ever sent him. I hope to gods he never finished reading it. That he deleted it after the first few sentences, or better yet never even noticed the attachment.

I guess I'm really past him now. Used to fool myself that the poem was something he treasured in private, but now I know it's something that makes him barf. I guess that's progress of a sort.