My poor typewriter MacGregor...I tend to give him quite the workout in the morning.  Usually, he's a dashing fellow and capable of quite a great deal.  However, he gave me quite the fright this morning.  The typewriter carriage wasn't advancing, and I had to smack the spacebar just to get the carriage to move forward a space.  It was jamming, getting stuck, refusing to cooperate.  Entirely.  I gritted my teeth and vowed that I would finish the page, even if it was the last page I would ever write on the poor typewriter...and I told God that if he let my typewriter die, I would find him and kick his divine posterior all over the cosmos.  I might have been a little teary.  But none of you can prove that.  I don't have any deep, lurking, romantic secrets or inclinations.  None whatsoever.  Yes, I'm totally a convincing liar.  Really.  I am.

And those who insuate otherwise...don't make me come out there.  Wherever you are.

Incidentally, that page I finished had some of the worst prose I've written in a very long time.

Then, the typewriter ribbon split in two.  That was when I realized...oh, I've had the same ribbon in Mac since...well...July.  Of last year.  So I switched the ribbon, and MacGregor was his clickity clackity allegedly "silent" self again!  There was much rejoicing.  I kissed my typewriter, and I told Mac that if he weren't so rigid, clunky, and potentially stabbity, I'd have given him a hug!  So there I was, a moment of typewriter-y bliss, and the dragon puppet who lives on top of the rolltop desk, Mr. Growfen Spiel, stared down and said, "Mmm-kay.  Not gonna comment on this one.  Nope, not at all.  I'll just sit here and stare ominously from the top of the desk."

No, I don't have a typewriter fetish, so don't even try pushing those keys, 'kay?

And I "survived" workshop today.  I say "survive" because it made some of those SU workshops seem like butchershops.  Seriously.  They were afraid of eviscerating my story.  And really, it wasn't that good.  Everything I write is utter dreck.  Especially that novella.  Which reminds me, I need to get back to some bloodletting on that thing, too....

Also, I need to stop running up stairwells and hillsides.  Apparently, chiara_suzuka, I didn't learn anything during my stop at the BU library before I went to visit you yesterday.  My bad habits are going to get me killed someday.

Also, this Friday I'll be driving to Bellwood in order to pick up sheets that can fit on the tufon, to pick up my ironing board and iron, and to borrow the parents' inflatable mattress for the weekend of homecoming so there are places for folks to cuh-rash at my Garret.  I'm also hoping to find some new tweed at the Altoona Salvation Army.  It's usually pretty good about having a good variety of stuff.  If I can get some "new" tweed, it'll complete the formal kilt ensemble--essentially since sporran, kilt socks, Clan Campbell kilt pin, and Clan Campbell badge (a pewter brooch that will allow me to hang the fly plaid sash from my shoulder like a half cape) are now all on their way.

I'm going to go do my reading for tomorrow--half of The Odyssey and about seven or eight pieces of eres--for classes that I'm TAing, not taking.  Woot.  Also, I'm going to read because I'm feeling rather down now that frickin' Swissy McSwisserson has stopped poor Andy Murray.  Oh, Andy!  You were Scotland's hope!  Careful, Swissy--you don't want both the Murray and the Rafa fans after you, now do you?  Well, I'm going to go pout and read about Odysseus philandering his way across the Mediterranean.  So much for listening to tennis/reading articles about tennis on the BBC....oy.  Back to work.