I finally got a perfect score on a paper. I am feeling optimistic that this will not be the last. If I were a lazier person, I would just settle for the 78% I currently have in this class, and just not bother turning in the final paper. But this is... fun. The most expensive fun. Writing things based on an assignment gives me a clearer objective, something I don't have when I write here or in my paper journal. I like writing about whatever is going through my mind, but it seems I also enjoy the challenge of having to follow guidelines. Weird.

The laptop is burning my thighs. Considering the exercising, this is not entirely a bad thing.

Devin is with Jesse for the next week. I'm not sure what to do with all this free time, if I do anything at all. I haven't had this much free time since July 20, 2002. There are a lot of things I need to get done, but that has absolutely no bearing on whether or not I actually will get them done. I really, really need to set up Devin's intake to get him started on whatever medication they want to put him on, so that this tutoring I've arranged will take hold and he can be closer to where he needs to be come the start of school. His tutoring starts next Monday and I hope he doesn't play shy-guy and make me mad because he needs this, he needs it a lot.

I'm half tempted to not do anything but whatever immediately makes me happy for this week. I've been feeling easily overwhelmed as of late; school meetings about medication; making calls and arrangements to start medication; making arrangements to get a tutor for Devin over the summer; keeping the house immaculate basically by myself; keeping the yard up to the management's specifications basically by myself; "working" full-time; doing all of the cooking; being on a diet; being back in school; being a shoulder for friends when I have no shoulder myself to cry on. Shit wears on a woman, you know?

In no particular order, here is a partial to-do list, because I find it easier to get shit done when I have committed it to "paper":

-Take Devin's winter clothes and baby books/toys/movies to Goodwill.
-Clean out the living room closet and pantry in the kitchen.
-Figure out what to do with all the free crap we got when we moved in here that it's obvious we'll never use. Probably take that stuff to Goodwill too.
-Finalize getting Devin on medicine.

Obviously the Devin/medication thing should be the most important thing, but it's the hardest. I've already come to terms with the fact that he needs to be on some sort of medication, but can't seem to bring myself to actually get it done. I feel like there's more I can do before I jump to medicine, but I've done it all; I've tried the dye/preservative-free diet; I've tried using an egg timer while studying with him; I've tried the "competition with Mommy cause she's in school too" thing; I've tried taking him outside to work on school stuff; I've talked to him and tried various "punishments" and none of it seems to work for more than a few days. No one wants to feel like their baby is broken, and that's how I feel. I feel like he is this way because of genetics or something I did or didn't do while I was pregnant with him, and because of those things I feel like it's my job to "fix" him, and that has never really included putting him on medication. I feel like a bad mom.

On top of all that, I'm sick, so that's only going to make it extra-hard for me to get motivated to do anything besides lay around the house. Well there's only one of me, so I'm going to have to get motivated somehow because by now I've learned that shit's not going to get done unless I do it myself.

I should be writing the rest of my paper. I called out of work today so I could spend the day writing... well this counts as writing, right? Out of the four paragraphs required for this fourth paper in my class, I have only managed to write one and a half. I'm not sure if it's the subject matter (pretty much everything I can say in this paper was said in the last paper, therefore it has already become "boring"), my ultra-short attention span, or the fact that I'm a sprinter and expect everything else to keep up with me. As is usually the case, it's probably an amalgam of those things.

This paper is getting my ass, which is fine. I got the asses of the first, second, and hopefully third and fifth papers. One out of five papers getting my ass shouldn't discourage me. But it will. And it has. Perhaps a side effect of higher education is gaining the ability and drive to push past things that are tough, that challenge us. I could give up, six years ago I would have, and did. I'm trying to learn from this. I'm trying to learn that sometimes shit is hard, and sometimes shit makes us flex muscles we didn't know we had, but just because shit starts burning doesn't mean we are supposed to stop.

I mean, look at Oprah. She wouldn't be where she is today if she hadn't fucked so many people over at WJZ while high on coke. She busted her ass, probably literally, to get where she currently is. I'm sure along that seemingly pleasant path of sex and drugs she got a bad batch of drugs or had to screw someone with bad body odor or missing teeth. But those are the sacrifices one must make in order to achieve greatness.

So I'm gonna go fuck that stinky man as hard as I possibly can. I'll just get in there and get the job done before I even have to stop holding my breath. This paper is not even gonna know what hit it. Maybe.

I can't get motivated to work on my fourth paper. Last night my mother took Devin overnight and I had every intention of at least skimming through the chapters I need to read for this paper, but decided my time would be better spent going bowling. While fun, I got nothing accomplished at the bowling alley other than giving my saddlebags a nice workout. Even on notes unrelated to schoolwork, last night was a complete waste of my increasingly valuable time.

I'm really happy that I decided to take this class online, and even happier that I decided to take it during a mini-mester rather than for a full semester. My interest is waning and obviously my motivation is taking a hit as well, and I'm sure if I were spending 14 weeks rather than five on this course I would be failing. As of right now I'm holding down a strong A in this class and I hope I can get through these last two papers to get the grade I should have gotten almost 9 years ago.

It'll be a while before I feel like taking another English class. Although I like words a whole lot, and I like writing a whole lot, I don't think I'm cut out to be an English major. There don't seem to be many practical applications for it anyway. I'll find something equally as generic to latch onto, maybe psychology or sociology. One of those degrees that just says "I have a degree".

But, if my calculations are correct, it will take me at least another five million years to get my 4-year degree, so I have some time to figure it all out.

The animated movie idea that I came up with didn't come true. Last night, after more than two weeks of living in a Styrofoam bowl on top of my stove, near the heat of the pilot flames, I had to put Robo-Robin to rest. I was turning the egg over in its "nest" yesterday morning, the internet told me to do that, and felt something hard flop over inside of the egg. I think I might have accidentally cooked our robin. Oh well.

I only say "oh well" because life would have been hard for a crippled-ass baby robin. In the animated movie, Robo-Robin would have been able to triumph over his disabilities, essentially making lemonade out of his lemons. But in real life that poor baby robin wouldn't have stood a chance against the elements, let alone the stray dogs and cats and my neighborhood's slight rat problem.

So I did Robo-Robin a favor. At least I hope I did. Anyway, disposing of the egg seemed like the right thing to do. Either I would have let it go a few more days and the scent of rotten egg would have filled the house, or the egg would have hatched and I'd end up with a wild pet bird because putting him outside of the house would have killed him. I already have a child, so I don't really need a pet anything.

Now I'm hoping this wasn't a sort of birdie late-term abortion, I really hope it was dead inside that egg. I'm having a little bit of freak out time now. I'm taking the trash out as soon as I get home, and I really hope I don't hear chirping coming from inside when I do.

But Robo-Robin would still be a pretty awesome movie.

I've been going tanning for the last two weeks or so, and I can already see a difference. So, because I can't see myself properly, I conducted a survey of my peers, Annie, to see if I look "better" with a tan. She said that I do. Being told that I look "better" with a tan only further solidifies my opinion that I shouldn't have been born in Maryland, or any other state that has four clearly defined seasons.

All of the above only further solidifies my opinion that I am a test-tube baby. Perhaps I was subjected to intense cold when in the tube, a la Brave New World, and that is why I crave the heat. Maybe I'm destined, or was designed, to be the palest banana picker ever. Or maybe I crave heat because my mother was pregnant with me during the spring and summer, so I grew fond of nice weather in utero. It really could be any number of things, even things I didn't list here. Probably only things I didn't list here.

I'd love to live in a place with no weather, as I've often heard California described. I'd love to live in a place where I don't have to look forward to the weekends to take a trip to the beach because of the three-hour drive, I can just go right after work. The beach is the only place where I actually feel grounded; I see the sometimes violent convergence of two opposite elements, and it's completely awe-inspiring. The beach makes me feel awake. I asked Devin if he wanted to move to California and he said, "NO! I'll stay here and live with Travis!". No. Travis is Devin's best friend and he's evil, and unless they build a house on top of my grave, they will not be living together.

So it looks like Maryland it is, for the time being anyway, which is only kind of disappointing and depressing. It's fine from between May until all of the leaves have fallen from the trees, then I'll get that itch up my ass that can only be scratched by, getting in my car, and seeing how far I can go on a single tank of gas. Or the itch that can only be scratched by imagining that I can just get into my car and see how far I can go on a single tank of gas.

This day was shit. Work was extra boring. No one was there and they left me no work to do. It was hot, but not in a way that I like, so I was uncomfortable all day long. I used the extra time to do too many peer reviews for my class, smoke too many cigarettes, and get way too grossed out by my school book. Seriously. I was SO hungry, but no one was at work today to let me take my break, so I made myself a cup of tea, and snuggled up to The Omnivore's Dilemma.

All I have to say about that book is, "really? I mean, really?". I already know that food is disgusting and that half the shit we shove into our mouths didn't ever grow from the ground somewhere. I already know that people are greedy and are willing to be destructive in order to get the tiniest bit ahead. This book killed my appetite, forever. I felt like I was there with Pollan when he went to the feedlot to visit with his "beef". I felt like I was there when he described the cow's eyes being bloodshot from standing in its own shit all day and night. It made me think a lot, but unfortunately I'm not entirely sure how everyone in the house would take the news of my becoming a vegetarian other than vegan.

So there was all that. But then I got home and saw that the first school paper I've written in six years received an almost perfect score; 9.5 out of ten! That was the kind of news I needed to be sure that I'm doing it right. Sure it wasn't a ten, but it was GOT DAMN close, and I'm so fucking proud of myself right now that I think I might need an extra pillow for my extra giant head tonight.

Right after getting the news of my close enough to perfect paper, Annie called me and told me that a friend of her mother had two tickets to go see none other than FLEETWOOD MOTHERFUCKING MAC! I don't think there's a person in the world who is unaware of my deep and intense love for the Mac. They were my first favorite band outside of some "Rainbow Brite" and "My Little Pony" shit I used to blast. I'll never forget how the Chuck E. Cheese version of "Don't Stop" made me feel. Despite the creepy ass animatronic purple blob guy. What the hell is that thing supposed to be anyway?

So I went, and surprisingly the set was completely different from when I saw them in DC back in March. I cried at "Gold Dust Woman", I cried at "Stand Back", I cried at "World Turning"... ok, I cried the whole time. Music hits me harder after I've smoked, otherwise I probably would have only cried at "Gold Dust Woman". Stevie Nicks is my imaginary mother, and Lindsey Buckingham has NO IDEA about this, but he is my old man boyfriend. The hair, the face, the way he makes that guitar beg for mercy... oh lawd!

OK, I just watched some douchebag on David Letterman feed some chick spaghetti from a fork that was shoved up his nose. I think it's time for me to end this day on a rad note, I'm going to go to bed and pretend I didn't just see that. So, good night!!!

So far, and only because I'm managing to stay ahead of the course requirements, I feel like I'm busting serious ass in my class. Then I catch myself thinking, "well this is only English 101. Bottom of the barrel, there are much harder things to come. Doing well in this class basically means nothing." I really thought I'd have a much harder time with it; whether it be due to my age, my dislike of being told what to do, or the fact that I have Devin. I've read numerous articles about how our capacity for learning is greatly diminished at or around age 27, and as most of you know, I'm inching closer to that age every day. And it's always easier to blame a failure on external influences rather than accepting that your own lack of effort is what actually caused it. I'm pretty damn lazy. Lazy and self-defeating; a more lethal combination than bleach and ammonia.

At first I was worried that my early paper submissions would earn me some enemies amongst my classmates, that people would think I was sucking up. Then I remembered that this is college, this is college on the internet, and that the only important opinion is that of my teacher. I'm paying for these classes out of my own shallow pockets and if I want to turn my papers in early I will. Along with declining learning skills as I age, there has also been a decline in the skills that enable me to give a fuck. I've spent entirely too much of my life worrying about what other people think about me. From the things I say to the things I wear to the way I raise my child, I just don't care what other people think anymore. It's hard to go from trying to please every person to just worrying about pleasing myself, but I'm working on it.

As someone who sometimes likes to take personal time to write about personal shit, doing peer reviews is hard. Much harder than I anticipated. I feel dirty after doing them, I feel mean. I just try to remind myself that no one is going to improve themselves if everyone is just telling them that everything is perfect. At this point we should all know that there is no such thing as perfection, especially when it comes to writing. But some people just don't like hearing about themselves and those are most likely the people who will fail. Not even just in this class; in future classes, in relationships, in life.

So hopefully I learn from this class how to accept constructive criticism for what it is, not as a personal attack. Hopefully I'll be able to give good criticism to others without feeling like an asshole. Hopefully I'll come away from this with a good grade and enough of a sense of pride to keep me going until I'm done. And hopefully I'll also learn a good synonym for "hopefully".

Here is a perfect animated film plot that is somewhat based on true events.

-On a dark and stormy night, a Robin's egg gets blown out of the nest. The next morning a mother and her son find the egg, unscathed, laying on the parking pad next to their car. They take the egg into their house, place it into a bowl with some shredded paper towels and set the bowl on the stove to keep the egg warm. Cut to the egg's parents, desperately searching their neighborhood for the lost egg. Perhaps they're an older couple, or a couple with fertility problems, so this egg was extra important to them. The human family takes all the necessary steps to ensure the egg hatches, even though it's unlikely that it will because of the fall from the nest.

-A few weeks later the humans return home from their daily activities to find the egg has hatched and that there is a squawking, giant mouthed baby bird in the bowl on their stove. Excitement blah blah blah. Upon closer inspection it is revealed that the baby bird, which will probably be named Robin because these types of movies love the obvious, is horribly yet cutely disfigured. Think withered, gimpy wings. The human mother then tells her son that the bird will not make a great pet and that it will most likely die in the wild, and after her child goes to bed (on yet another dark and stormy night) she puts the bird outside. She wishes it luck and cries a little bit maybe.

-This part needs lots of details. There will be a cat; a fat, old, mean, black cat probably named Mortimer or Lewis Black who is stalking the baby bird as he hobbles around outside in the storm. Lewis Black is just about to pounce on his meal when he notices Robin's horribly cute deformities and is like "Dude, you're too fucked up for me to even eat. Let's be friends!". So Robin is all like "Bawwwww I'm looking for my family I'm so ronery and scared!" and Lewis Black says "I'll help you and be a source of humor so that grown-ups will enjoy this movie too!". So the next bits will be the epic journey. There's probably a rat that makes fun of Robin and Lewis Black is just like "Man, that's wrong, straighten your shit and help us find this gimp's family." So a rat named Pedro (in the interest of diversity) joins their gang.

-A whole bunch of other shit happens and the trio finally finds Robin's bird family and his parents are all like "Yeah right! This gimp? He's not our child! Baawwwwww OUR baby is dead!". So his bird family makes him leave and just as that happens, something horrible happens to the tree his family lives in, probably a fire or the tree getting cut down or some shit, and Robin (triumphing over his deformities) saves the day. Yay yay yay woo!

-I'm not sure how this part will work out, but near the end of the movie, Robin acquires some robotic wings. This is pretty key to the story because it'll be called "Robo-Robin" or something else that includes birds and robots. Maybe the little boy from the human family has an obsession with robotics and after his cunt of a mother expels the bird from the house, he takes to his room working on some prosthetics for the gimpy little bird. He tracks down Robin and his gang and fits them on the bird so he can fly like a real bird, but with more noise, and everyone lives happily ever after.

THE END