Attention must be paid, and notice given.

I just got back, more or less, from another pre-poetry-reading meeting with Ed, Ann, and Al, who as it turns out, may be my R.H.D for next year. We divied up T.S Eliot's The Waste Land into parts for the reading.

The biggest accomplishment, though, was Al's fabulous storytelling. He kept us riveted with tales of romance long after the poetry discussion was over, and, in short, rose greatly in my estimation. Which of course is incredibly important. A fun meeting.

The ride back, which I survived as you can plainly see, was o.k. Quiet. Restive. Not fraught with anything bad, like accidents or getting lost. Everyone slept for most of the way, though Helen and I discussed taxes and bonds for a bit, for some reason.

Back at Lawrence, I decided to wind down from the eight hours of travel. I missed the window for dinner at Downer, forgetting that our cafeteria closes earlier on weekends, and ended up grabbing dinner at The Grill with Jinx instead. The cosmic forces aligned to revealed that, just as my family has a urinal, Jinx's has a bidet. Spooky, I know.

Mother's Day. We made my mom breakfast and bought her presents. I hate the small holidays. So much compulsary emotion, simply because of tradition and, worse yet, society. It's obscene.