Spring Break is great! Although I mostly just continued the aimless roaming through museums, coffee shops, and neighborhood cinemas that I started over the weekend, the city just feels different on a Monday. Especially the Mission. There are a lot of kids here and they make me laugh.

Here are two good things, two bad things, and one reason for alarm

-I am in the best biking shape of my life. On Thursday, I biked to the top of 17th street, just to see if I could. My drug test doctor said I had a pulse of sixty, an 80/50 blood pressure, and nice quads. Then he felt my balls. Nothing can stop me! Except for probably even the smallest car ever made.

-In her prime, Emmylou Harris was what could be the most beautiful woman who ever lived. I have a retroactive crush on her.

-As of today, I am caught up with my 2007 resolution of averaging one movie a week in the theater.

-In a single night I scored and lost a press pass as a photographer to the most anticipated San Francisco rock show of Spring 2007. Technically my name is still on the guest list but there’s no way I can show my face there.

-This is not a joke:

-It’s surely a sign of insanity, but I am getting used to the horrifying sound of my car. I find myself putting off the repair and not just because I am lazy; I am turning heads on the street and I secretly like it. This is what school counselors for years described to my parents as “bad attention.”

It’s good that Spring Break back in my life. This year it arrived not a moment too soon, as by Friday afternoon I don’t think I could have taught students my name. Technically, this is a faculty work week, but we have been encouraged to work from home. So I leave everything at the Academy in limbo–my future, my class, my drug test–while I take a few days to disentangle.

I am a bit disgusted with myself today. Apparently my particular brand of disentangling entails tearing people apart. This is especially effective in the event that the person in question is one of the few who has shown a genuine interest in me. At the very least, I hope Indy Sarah has finally learned to stay far away from me; she will never be fucked up enough for me to be truly attracted to her anyways. I don’t have the right to feel sorry for myself. I don’t have the energy to laugh at myself. I don’t have the motivation to fix my muffler. What I do have (besides, you know, the privileged existence that most people would toil their whole lives for their children to have) is the prospect that in a few weeks I will probably be cast to out sea, where it will be difficult for me to continue hurting myself and the people around me.

Since I can’t stand failure (beyond the point of fault and to much unnecessary personal distress), I reprinted my jellies postcards. The results, which were mixed, don’t quite stand on their own since I got rid of the labels. Either that, or this is the best one yet. If you look carefully, you will notice it’s actually a three layer print, the third layer being a light halftone pattern over the jellies. Maybe I will send them.