I have somewhat recovered my good spirits, due in large part to my eggs ripening on my ovary, soon to depart in a waste of a cycle, leaving me just with another pitted scar on my little grey prunes. Ah, cycle of life, you are so beautiful to me (imagine Joe Cocker Voice on that last line please).

Also, if my worst-case scenario for next year means fulfilling some aspect of one of my long-held dreams - can I really get too depressed? Really? Please get over yourself, self. Thank you. No plans have been solidified, but I have said No to several schools and felt immediately better. They are out of the picture. Time to move on. And I will likely say yes to one next week, maybe. We will see. But it is better. Though I am still considering blowing up Oregon.

Also, yesterday Mr. Fancypants writer J. Lethem came to talk to my writing class and my school and there was maybe 60 of us in there as he held court and though I don't like his fiction writing especially much, nope, I admire his mind and his reach. He was discussing his latest Harper essay on plagiarism, which I highly recommend. He was a good speaker and despite his crushed velvet royal blue blazer, managed to look ruffled and a little afraid of a bunch of readers from a 2nd rate state university. Most importantly, no one asked a question that made me want to curl up and die. It was a massive leap of courage for me to take my Writing class and Publishing class this semester and I only did it because I am soon to graduate and it was a last chance. What the hell was I afraid of? These other "Writers"? Lord, an MFA does not save you from having nothing to say, that's what I've learned. It does not make them better than me. I am shocked. And now I wish I had been doing these classes all along. I've even pitched something, this very week, independent of class and have 2 or 3 other things on deck to pitch next. And I don't care if they reject it or not. It occurs to me that I haven't pitched one thing since moving to the States - have I been finding my way, been afraid? Maybe. It is a thrill to change that, at long, long last. (Please don't judge my writing by these unplanned, unrevised, un-spell-checked ramblings - it's not the same thing. I am no genius, but I can string a proper sentence together and not use "also" "very" and "well" every two seconds
,I swear.)

Also, I am reading Lolita for another class and am in awe, awe, awe. (Special Topics in Calamity Physics pales pales pales in its homage.) Did I tell you I just finished Richard Powers "The Echo-Maker" - disturbing, odd, funny, thought-provoking but as I finished it I wondered out loud "Who the hell is this book for? What odd hybrid is this? Who's depressed after reading it? (that would be me)What a strange, sad, beautiful book". And then I Googled it and found it has recently won the 2006 National Book Awards. Ah, I see. It is for the critics. I would have to know you to recommend it, but if I know you, I would likely recommend it, if you know what I mean.

I haven't been visiting someone or hosting visitors for 5 weekends in a row now. Man, do I look forward to this weekend.