All work and no daylogs make Pretzellogic a dull boy.

I haven’t written a daylog in weeks. I’ve been meaning to, yet the work I have is fruitful and multiplies when I'm not looking. Even as I write this I’m sure in the dark and private confines of my briefcase they are fucking and squirming against each other, spawning and breeding more papers and dittos and essays to write and poems to critique.

The past few weeks have been busy. Other interesting tidbits involve me being yelled out as if I were a child by an aging professor of mine because I disagreed with him on a point he made. Normally an instructor enjoys a distention in the ranks as it shows that we're thinking and not just nodding our heads and mooing quietly, but apparently I was in error. He caught me on it in class, asking me why I was here "wasting my money." When I approached him during the break he whirled around and got right in my face—well, not right in my face as I'm 6'2" and he's five foot nothing—and began to yell at me as if I were five, saying things like "You DO NOT contradict the instructor, that's how you get an F!" and "I've published thirty-six books, how many have YOU published?" When he was done, he whirled around and started walking away as I went into survival mode and attempted to be rational by asking if I could talk to him. At this we spun around again and said that he was ready for my apology now. Stunned, I apologized and then began trying to rationally speak as he turned again and started walking away! I repeated this process four more times: he would walk away, I'd say something trying to salvage the situation, he’d whirl around and yell at me some more before turning his back on me again. This is in a public place, mind you. Eventually I became disgusted and gave up trying to speak to his back, and returned to the group. As I gave up I watched him turn around; the bastard was just walking away from me, waiting for me to give up! I swear I am not making this up. I wish I was, I used to have some respect for this cantankerous old man.

At the time of the 'great revolt' I was defending the word choice in a particular piece in my writing workshop. Later that day she approached me and thanked me for what I said, as I was dead on in my interpretation. That made me feel better, and now we have a shared conspiracy to giggle over.

That was pretty much the only interesting thing that happened to me in these past couple of weeks.

Today was yet another stinker. I woke early, feeling like meat on a stick, and dragged myself around by the head in order to accomplish a minimal amount of errands and obligations. Went into town to get myself a hair cut and barely made it out of the barber shop alive. Apparently "just a trim" wasn't proper terminology, although it's what I always say to this guy. I ended up with a about a third of the hair I’m supposed to have and, as I have a Homer Simpson-esq head, I know feel like an idiot. Everyone does there best to tell me I look okay, although one particularly cute girl told me I looked like I was twelve. I will be wearing a hat until further notice.

Silver lining: today was beautiful. The Frozen North is no more. A lovely afternoon of sun and light breezes off of the dairy farms blowing through the remains of my hair-do. Shit, I have to wait a month before I'll look normal again. Clipper-happy butcher-barber jerk.

Tonight it is cool and quiet. People are leaving in droves as premature vacation bites them in the ass. I myself am stuck here until Saturday morning. C'est la vie. After that it's just me and my automobile; Pittsburgh or Bust. I could use some time behind the wheel of an automobile, any automobile. I really need to clear my head.