(no subject)

I talked to Pete last night, and he's apparently started drinking again. So that's not much of a surprise. He'd quit because of a girl--also not much of a surprise. He says to tell you all hello. (Sarah, he send belated positive lung-related tidings, also.)

Anyway, the entertaining bit was that he kept marveling about how much fun it sounds like I'm having, and how happy I sound. And why wouldn't I have sounded happy? I'd had a fabulous French lesson and an unexpected phone call from a knee-weakening deep gravely voice that was debating coming over. I was sitting at my little table looking at Seattle with Mike Doughty tying up perfect little bits of phrases with bows on my stereo. I was writing letters to kick-ass people on kick-ass stationary. And I was full of Bitchin Potato Leek Soup that I'd made my own self. I'd have to be stupid to not have been so happy you could probably see me from space.

I am so glad to be so far away from Florida.

I'm still happy today, even though I had one of those workdays that make me want to poke people in the eyes with forks.

I hear Mt. St. Helens exploded again. I still can't get over the whole volcano thing.

Les chaussettes de l'archiduchesse sont-elles seches? Archi-seches! Oui, les chaussettes de l'archiduchesse sont seches--archi-seches.
I (heart) French tongue-twisters.