Call Stormier Bones, She Misses You

So, we had a meeting at work yesterday.... In which I officially discovered what I already knew unoffically. I'm getting out just in time. We have caved to the pressures of the free market in which we proprietary schools operate. We have admitted a young woman to the most intellecutally challenging program we offer. She reads at a second grade level. This place will exhaust her, and break her heart. I must, and will soon, stop putting a veneer of intellectual depth and acumen on this immorality. It's just awful. --- One kind of stacking.

I'm trying to keep it all straight, getting ready. When can I see X and how can I spend some good time with Q? Have I already sent letters about address changes to Ac. Orgs or not? When's the right time to inform my utlities, creditors? What bank am I moving my accounts to? How much valium will my cats require in order to survive this Ordeal? Do I have enough boxes for books and kitchen? Do I Really Need to be worried about that at this point? Have I re-edited that paper I'm giving in NY at the end of Sept.? My poor head. This moving thing is a bear, grouchy, recenlty emerged from hibernation, but eager to see what juicy berries might be just over that rise over there. To top it all of, today was Sleepy Low Ambition Thursday. -- Another kind of stacking.

I will be neck deep in school and organization this weekend. That means I would love long, loving, distracting phone calls from my friends.

Please, call me. Distract me. Tell me your odd, sad, or joyful tales.

Here's one that's predictable: Speed Racer was driving his lovely completed Shelby Cobra along the River Road when _____________________________. So Mom ______________________________. And then Dad had to ______________________. And Racer boy told me that ____________________________________. For details, to submit your guesses, Call Stormier Bones.