So I am blah blah blah. I have a lesson plan to do for tomorrow when I will be actually rather overloaded by observers, and I have all manner of other minor administrative tasks to take care of tonight, and projects to complete for college, but I am not able to motivate to get any of it done at all. Instead, I've been reading my Tom Wolfe, my Anita Brookner, and killing time until I can plausibly go to dinner at the usual Chinese store. It's been a drab weekend, which could have been much cozier. Next weekend my bro comes for a bit, so I'll hafta straighten up the place. Hard to believe he's already done with his schoolyear.

It's not that I'm unhappy--I know what that feels like all too well. It's just that I think I've reoriented myself enough so that school defines who I am, what I do: I feel energized only during the week, and on the weekends vege out, even though I have more than enough time, objectively speaking, to get done all that I need to. Instead I let that time dribble away. I only feel better when I roll in there Monday morning, full of piss and vinegar, swigging coffee and mouthwash, a latter-day pirate of math education.