RIDE A TIRE DOWN RIVER EUPHRATES
 
This is the week the hammer fell. The kids were kind of fucking around this week-- lots of flirting, lots of fooling around, not a whole hell of a lot of actual writing. Of course, they got their wagons fixed yesterday when Dave, the fiction instructor, locked them out of the classrooms and told them that if they didn't want to work they should call their parents.
 
In other news, we've made it to the weekend. Tomorrow morning we're taking all the writing students to Barnes and Noble for a field trip. Imagine this: 20 opinionated, indie hipster 17-year-olds jacked up on mochas and desperate for approval from Sarah Smith, resident Actually Cool Grown Up Who Has, In Fact, Heard of David Berman, Madvillain, And All The Other Super Cool Stuff You Like To Namedrop. Can I handle three hours of that? OH, can I ever.
 
 

I'M LIKE A COAL TRAIN NO BRAIN ROCK-A MY SOUL

And we continue to teach the children. Of course, it's much easier to teach them when they don't say things like, "I don't see the point of talking about stories because it ruins the magic of them," or "I don't think workshopping is useful," because, fuck, maybe you're a lot better than I was at that age, but what else in the world can you do? How else are you going to learn how to write? Good luck, 17-year-old savant; I look forward to reading your stories in the New Yorker in the next six months.

Here's how teaching is for me: some days I feel like I'm riding the crest of a wholesome instructional wave! I am able to turn water cooler conversation into productive classsroom discussion! No part of the world is too small to contain some illustration of my ideas! That, or I keep on drinking the coffee and bottled water in the hope that I'll sooner choke than let myself say, "LISTEN UP, YOU LITTLE SHITHEADS!" the way I want to. As with all things, it ebbs and flows. (Don't worry; I would never call a student a shithead. But sometimes I really, really want to.)

I've been finding a way of working out every day, which makes me feel a lot better. Erie is a weird place. I could imagine all of my flesh rotting away while I'm here. I mean, it wouldn't be a stretch.

I only have two and a half weeks here. Today is the halfway point for the entire program. I need to sneak around and smoke a cigarette. I miss you. Write to me.