Panic.

Overwhelm.

Anxiety.

No time for this blog or sufficient stretching, breathing.

Resentment of those who have time.

Between the piles of student papers, the endless prepping, the time on the subway lugging my heavy wheelie backpack, trying to get ready for my reading on the 19th which probably only seven of my friends will come to anyway — why do I bother?, struggling to write a song for said reading, going to belly dance class and all the de rigeur cultural events (I shouldn’t complain but… it’s too much), trying to keep the house together (we have no groceries, the cats are mad, got to buy toothpaste and soy milk), and then hearing that I’m supposed to buy PLASTIC SHEETING and TAPE to make a SAFE ROOM to keep out CHEMICALS and NERVE AGENTS. FUCK YOU BUSH et cronies.

I never liked America, not as a child and not now. With the possible exception of jackalopes.

No time to return phone calls, write the necessary e-mails.

Anyway I don’t even have time for the therapy of this. I have to scan in some student essays. And then deal with my jittery hypoglycemic hormonally screwy pain-ridden human condition.