stressed and frazzled. which is to say, i'm caught up with everyone else at last. at dawn, ben and i fought over the words to the tiny toons theme song. he finds out about the watson (the fellowship where they pay you to stay out of the u.s. for a full year. they should give w. an honorary one ...). such things are always nerve-wracking. no excuse, however, to get up at dawn.

it's st pat's day. who has time to drink beer and reinforce stereotypes? although the closest i come to irish is present assocations with a couple cute catholics, and past strong attachment to scarlett o'hara. presently i'm listening to billy bragg, worker's playtime. accidental but appropriate.

i'm stressed, so oversensitive. frazzled, so frizzy. i have to write a poem in quatrains. shit. -- er, shamrocks.