it could always be worse:

greetings, dear blog readers (all 2 of you!). i've been noticeably absent lately, and i whole-heartedly blame this on a number of things-- including the typical "i've been busying updating my facebook status... isn't that enough to appease you people?!" excuse-- but i also point the finger at the increasing emo attitude that has sunk into the return of my purple eyeliner and 3 skimmer shoe purchases lately.

(the shoes are cute though. one pair is black with blue and purple stars on them. not at all emo. stop looking at me like that.)

it seems like any post that i wanted to start would probably detail how miserable grad school makes me right now (including no literature classes...it's sooooo great that i'm pursuing a degree that doesn't offer any interesting classes at the right time for its students!), or how i die a little inside each day i walk to my 101 classes, or how much i hate being single and i'm becoming increasingly convinced that i am utterly undesireable and destined to reign domestically alongside 10 ferrets and closets full of ed hardy shirts.

but, in all reality, school is much better than i thought it would be. and my students are actually fabulous writers with incredibly rich backgrounds and beliefs about writing. and my love life would probably improve if my choice in boys would likewise improve.

so, you ask, what is your deal? can you find nothing to celebrate?

boise's rapid descent into winter has begun with the threat of rain, chilly mornings, and almost overnight change of leaf colors. this morning after i woke with a killer hangover (from my attempts to drown my emo outlook with blue boar beer and season two of "arrested development"), i made a special trip to campus to print and deliver an article for a student (i care too much, even though i said i wouldn't). on the way there, i selected p!nk's new song "so what" to blast on my stereo, slapped on my hot pink aviators, and slung my left arm over my steering wheel like a bad-a from mo-town in central cali.

i floored it. so what? i'm still a rockstar. i've got my rock moves, and i don't need you. and guess what? i'm havin more fun. and now that we're done, i'm going to show you tonight: i'm all right, i'm just fine, and you're a tool. so... so what? i am a rockstar. i've got my rock moves. and i don't want you tonight. p!nk is surprisingly therapeutic.

as i rounded the corner, i passed a lady in a light blue tank and sweats walking a large brown dog. her head whipped around to look at me with scorn as i passed. so i backed off on the gas. it's probably not a good idea for retired women with a penchant for punishing reckless driving youths to know my car and where i live.

as the corner straightened out, i slammed on the brakes so hard my ipod flew off my seat and landed on the floor.

at least 10 squirrels.

frolicking on the asphalt.

chasing, ducking, tumbling, chattering (i suppose). playing. gathering. together.

i sat there in my car watching their friendly tag. i realized how much i love boise at this time of year. if i wasn't teaching and had a "real" full-time job, i would have missed this sight. if i wasn't a student of writing, i may not have the right skills to present these miniature experiences so that you, dear reader, might appreciate it too.

oh, autumn. let me fall with you.

whilst most turn to their religious book of choice, i turn to moby-dick.

"Again: as the profound calm which only apparently precedes and prophesies of the storm, is perhaps more awful than the storm itself; for, indeed, the calm is but the wrapper and envelope of the storm; and contains it in itself, as the seemingly harmless rifle holds the fatal powder, and the ball, and the explosion; so the graceful repose of the line, as it silently serpentines about the oarsmen before being brought into actual play-- this is a thing which carries more true terror than any other aspect of this dangerous affair. But why say more? All men live enveloped in whale-lines. All are born with halters around their necks; but it is only when caught in the swift, sudden turn of death, that mortals realize the silent, subtle, ever-present perils of life. And if you be a philosopher, though seated in the whale-boat, you would not at heart feel one whit more of terror, than though seated before your evening fire with a poker, and not a harpoon, by your side."

We try to live honest lives, but like the seamen on the Pequod, death circles us-- often unbeknownst-- like a whirlpool in my coffee cup or a steady wind from the east.