School. Snow. State.

For the first time, I have a writing professor with whom I have previous experience. He taught my intermediate course in the summer wherein I saw legitimate psychosis and met someone and my life branched a little bit and I wrote a pretty good story if I do say so myself. He quite liked my work and I tried to pay attention through distraction and all that. And this fall I wrote a half-dozen stories and learned a lot in my bedroom and in airplanes and at Lucy's and became good friends with people here. And so now I've got him again and in the introductory sessions the class talks about how we define things like "Scene" and "Character" and all of that and I feel like it's really just him and I talking. And I've got more ideas than I'll ever be printing 15 copies of for this course, and though there's the usual roster I think this is going to be a very educational endeavor.But already: I have a low threshold for annoyance. Like there are homicidal chemicals wrestling with Buddhist ones in my amygdala and vas deferens.

Its snowing in Boise like it snows in Michigan in my dreams. And so I run back from class sliding on the pavement and jumping over things onto little dirt piles covered in snow and wish I had the youth or the BAC to take a good diving roll in it and stand up shaking myself off under the sickly orange sky.

A friend of mine in Texas now told me that she ran into a former MI resident that suggested, regarding Wayne State University, that "some of my friends went there . . they weren't very bright." I hope she gets to make him look like a dumb-ass. A lot of the people I look up to the most went there. And a lot of the people who were my friends and went to MSU or some privileged institution became conceited pricks and sold their souls. Motherfuckers never had to struggle for anything and then they have the audacity to tell someone that the name on their hardwork isn't worth a damn . . .