So it's here, almost, at least, the school drudge once more, though I find myself missing being that important, and some of the kids, the easy interplay, and the sense of purpose, to say nothing of the food and the counterboi at the boricua place. Of course, the counterboi is off-limits these days, and probably always was. Dunno what else to say, or what even to teach tomorrow, as I've done no grading or work over break in the least, my version of a vacation, even as we already begin to plan what we'll do with the next one, in February: I just feel useless compared to freshman year, when I produced a final edit of an essay, a dictionary, a compilation, and was stranded in Toronto overnight: perhaps it's a good thing my old computer died, as I suspect in many ways I'd feel like a lazy slouch when compared to my younger, more energetic incarnation.

I must also give more thought to my vacations, as Red China is more of an option now that my parents are headed that a-ways. But part of my just wants to run off to New Hampshire to Skarren Hardy's farm, though I've never actually met her, and milk some cows, mend some rail fences, and shuck some corn.