...In which our heroine thinks karma is a cruel mistress.

Good news, bad news yesterday. Bad first - it makes the good that much better.

Kara told me yesterday our advanced studies teacher from grades one through five at Sharonville, Mr. Pat Bowes, has mouth cancer and is not doing well at all. He's had his tongue removed, can't speak or eat, is on a feeding tube and weighs 85 pounds. None of us know exactly how dire the situation is, but it isn't good. It just is not fucking fair that he, one of the most caring, warm, and genuinely kind individuals I've ever met gets dealt such a shitty hand in the game of life. There's no explanation other than it fucking sucks. Paige and Kevin are organizing a book of letters from all of his former students, with pictures of us now, and an update on our lives. As much as anything, I feel really guilty for not keeping in better touch with him - a lot of my thought process and most crucial skills as a child came from time spent in his classroom. I had a good cry last night as I was writing the letter, and I wish Mr. Pat only peace, whether that means life or death for him. Maybe that's rude, and I certainly cannot speak from any kind of similar experience, but I know such a devestating illness would make me question my quality of life. I dunno. Makes every other worry in life seem trivial.

So good news. Although I don't know her very well, one of my co-workers, April, announced yesterday that after trying for eight years, she is finally expecting a child via surrogate. She was so happy, and I've seen her with kids, I know she'll be a great mom. The office had such a warm reception towards her - I really felt a sense of family with my co-workers. It was an ironic counterbalance to the bad news of the day. Sorrow and joy, it's how life works itself out.

Otherwise, school and work, that's about it. I've settled into a nice, rigid routine of balancing homework, errands, and even a little fun. Like tonight's thrilling plans of A History of Violence, the graphic novel for class, and music, and solitude. I got a screenplay idea nailed down as well, now I just have to write the damned thing. My roommate called me an advocate of the devil this week, and pulled out her bible to compel my sinful friends out of my room. She hasn't been home since, except to take shower. I hope she stays gone.

And then there's this. She's with Matthew Weiner, the creator of Mad Men, but I mean really, who cares. Love that dress and her most epic cleavage ever:

And this, which I dreamt about last night. Zach Galifianakis and this wonderful gent were at the lost children's tent at Lollapalooza. I hugged the gent, and we drank coffee and Andre and I think we were in love, but I woke up. That was terribly disappointing. Let's hope it happens in real life - tickets being purchased tomorrow. I recommend all of the From the Basement videos, they're great quality.