Wings

You know, I love hot wings.

Love them.

Yet, when it's past midnight and I'm afraid to fall asleep because my bottom half is wracking itself with spasms and the sharp pains of gassy bliss, I feel somewhat betrayed by my passion.

I eat them, I cherish them, I lick my fingers clean, but here they are betraying me to the porcelain god and leaving a ring on my butt. I drink water, hoping it will dilute this raging beast in my bowels. No luck.

While I've been gone for a week it's been for good reason (I suppose). My teaching load is heavy this semester and I admit to being quite unused to self-imposed deadlines. Accordingly, when I have stacks of papers to grade and only so many hours to run my eyes over the bounty produced by my students, I'm afraid I let my journal gather some dust.

Other than work, life seems better than it has been.

When I'm not on the toilet.