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Tuesday, March 16, 2004

I'm sitting in the Santa Rosa JC parking lot (one of many, actually) writing in a spiral notebook. It's a good thing, too, because if I didn't have to get here so ridiculously early to get a place to park, I might not have found a quiet time and place to write.

Usually I'm not alone in my car on these Tuesday nights, but Suzanne had a school function (at the one where she works, not here), so we're meeting in class this week. I was sort of hoping she'd pull her red Mustang into one of the spaces next to me, but so far it hasn't happened.

Oops. Here she is. Yay.

14 March 2004

At last, new leaves on the birch.

Okay, class is over and I'm home. I must have looked bad, because the teacher asked me (in sign language, of course) if I was okay. I told him I was just tired, because I don't know the sign for "my boss is driving me crazy by trying to make the company profits look better than they are for the bank and worse than they are for the IRS, so I'm worn out from working at cross purposes with myself all day long." I know "IRS," but that's about it. So I settled for "tired."

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In class tonight, we had to make up new identities for ourselves, so that we could give different answers to the same old tired questions we've been asking each other for the last month. (Where do you live? Who do you live with? How do you get to class?) So now I live in a hut with two giraffes and an elephant, and I come to class by boat. My name's still Michael, though, and my hobby is still cooking.

Recent recommendations can always be found on the links page.

One year ago: Uprooted
"Next time I'll know better, but you have to suffer to learn these lessons, especially when you're your own teacher."

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