06 February 2003 - 4:49 p.m.

Chins seem higher today, in spite of the threat of illness and snow, and hangovers of every kind. My fellow assholes and I spent some time at Don Ho's before and after class, a debaucherous first for all concerned.

I was even inspired enough to write a poem which none of you will ever see. I will make sure of it, and have recorded the date and time of its composition at the top of that page in my notebook, so that I will heretofore be able to refer to that period of time as Rock Bottom.

I allowed myself to wallow in shame/unproductivity (I bet that's not even a word, alas) for the first half of today, though Are-Tee would have none of it, and demanded a turn in. "You can submit over email, and any time tomorrow, but I KNOW you have something," he said, cornering me with his burly vote of confidence.

Lesson learned? I should not spend so much time at the water fountain, where I am an easy target for demanding submissions.

Just kidding. Lesson learned is that tutorial is kind of like economics: Are-Tee demands, I supply, and bitching about it to D-land, Are-Aitch, and the other 'holes doesn't increase efficiency or cut production costs.

Did I just cheapen my craft? Nah. I'm in need of a working man's metaphor right now.

And a little tough love, it seems. I discovered this when someone who won't be named, knowing WW and I were well within earshot, speculated on how it was no wonder the turkeys hanging out in the grad lounge never got published, when they were only bright, creative and hardworking, but also apparently deaf and blind to miss opportunities to submit their work.

I never thought I'd be able to take encouragement from someone who 1.) staged an Iagoesque performance in an effort to get me and others to do something, rather than come out and say, "Get it together, losers," and 2.)refers to others as "turkeys." Though a spectator was good enough to suggest that we were more chickens than turkeys, given the circumstances.

I was not offended. After all, fowl is fowl and fowl is fair enough in love and writing, and this chick is off to lay some eggs.

Too much poultry metaphors? I blame it on the other Jenn, who betwoed this blessing upon me and my reading list: "May you find five chickens by spring."

Cryptic, but sweet.

What I'm wearing: White turtleneck, blue pajama pants with ducks (formerly red pencil skirt)

What I'm reading: My roommate cooking

What I'm doing after this: Writing (the real deal)