today's tip.

I finally worked up the courage to go to Spanish class today. I'd missed six classes in a row on account of exhaustion and sickness, and I hadn't contacted the teacher about any of it. Tuesday I basically didn't go because I was afraid of all the classes I'd missed. It's a theme I've got going, avoiding the problem while it festers. I never signed up for my oral test, and I have no idea what's been due or what dates are when. My participation grade is most certainly dead in the water. I'm probably going to fail the class now; a week ago I still had a shot.

My heart beat with anticipation this morning as I walked out of the library--I had to print out final drafts of the compositions that were due two weeks ago--and made my way to the main building. My eyes instinctively flitted to the big clock in the grand hall as I passed in front of it, delighted that I was on time. Two flights of stairs and a well-traveled maze of hallways later, I was stopped just outside of the wing were my class is, by a official in front of a curtain. Some kind of event, a lot of classes moved. Since I never got the memo, I headed to la oficina de la profesora.
I was even more nervous now, but confident too, because at least the one-on-one setting would spare me the embarrassment of explaining myself during class, and getting the Indian burn I deserve, too. I sat outside of the building for five minutes reviewing my lessons, in the event that she'd invite me to do an impromptu, unplanned oral exam--a true test. I finally made my way to the second floor, hesitated outside of her office, and elbowed my way in.

Nothing, she wasn't there. And, there was no word to a fellow teacher about whether the class this morning was canceled, or just moved. I went back outside and smoked a cigarette.

I practiced piano at Mao's this morning for the first time ever, while she took a shower. I'm not sure why I decided to ask her, but it felt good. I promised to write la profesora an email before I left for work, so I'd have some kind of instruction.

Instead, I fell asleep and missed my alarm. I finally got to work, a half hour late and looking all the worse for the wear.

Erin Express is this weekend, and I finally, officially join the great ranks of the maddened barkeeps. Unless the rain dampens the festivities. I laugh in spite of myself, because Katharine avoided me tonight, which she does now if she's infatuated with someone else. Last weekend she got pissy when I showed up to the Cube after work with Mewtwo for a drink: Katharine had been in and out of bars all that night, so she was quite drunk, but I know jealously when I see it. It's a shame too, we could have had a little fun. I know we both need it.

So much, so much. Busy, busy, as that one Bokononist says, and I hope he's right. I've been particularly sober the last few days, which is good, I think. I hope it's the exhaustion, and not some thick ooze of disinterest that feels like it's replacing my blood.

Oh, today's tip: Don't try separating steel wool with your bare hands, especially if they are wet, or soft from the dishwater they're always in when you're bar-tending. On top of that, don't separate steel wool with your bare hands if you're going to be anywhere near a lime, or some other squeezable, citrus fruit.

I'm making it up as I go along...