Stuff

• My at-home internet is out yet again. To begin with, it was non-payment. Got it paid, and now they don't know why the internet's not working. It should be, it just isn't. If you've noticed the Pistolero posting more often, that's why. I'm not around as much to distract him.

• I have successfully registered for Spring semester. Due to my dislike of taking more than one heavy course at a time--and to neither Microbiology & Pathology or Human Anatomy and Physiology having classes at a time I could take them--I am taking Intro to Chem a second time around, Intro to World Religions, Applied Psychology, and Abnormal Psychology. I am not a Psych major.


• Changing a tire is one of those things I think women should be able to do, but at the same time one they shouldn't have to do. Local readers know how nasty it was outside yesterday. I was changing my tire in that crap, in the parking lot of the Exxon at Fair & I-37. The one man who offered to help--a middle-aged Mexican fellow on his way to Beeville--said he couldn't believe no one else had stopped to offer help. Neither could I. It's not what I'm used to from my city, for sure. I was almost done by then, but it was, nonetheless, nice to not have to tighten the lug nuts & lower the jack. My thighs hurt today. Squatting down for half an hour will do that to you. When I told Erik the story of changing the tire, he said he'd do it for me. I told him "I wouldn't expect you to do that, but I'd think a lot less of you if you didn't."


• At the risk of sounding like a schoolgirl: 12 days! Squee!


• Creative Writing is almost over. I'm glad. This class has nearly destroyed my faith in humanity. For the first time ever, I regret being able to read. I actually wrote in the critique letter of one of the stories we went over today "Normally I'd give you a few ways to improve the story, but you obviously don't care."


• Speaking of Creative Writing. I turned in an excerpt from the novel I'm writing the second time around. The first group of critiques made me really not care. The second group was a hoot. My favorite? Juanita, who is an instructor (of Mexican American studies), saying she loved the way I addressed Latino culture in the story. Latino culture? Granted, my heroine is half-Mexican, but that's not apparent in the story at all--from what she read it was two white people going to interview a black person. On the east side, which is the traditionally black side of San Antonio. This woman manages to tie everything back to Chicanos. Can you imagine what would happen if I tried to make a living off the color of my skin?

• This shit? Not funny: