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I fell down and hurt the same rib I cracked two years ago.

Ouch! Also: yummy!

Classes have started again. Tomorrow: Steal This Poem with Elizabeth Cross. Here are two poems I wrote in her class last week:

From Shakespeare's 'Sonnet 30'
(T x S^D) x W/E = P
Or,
T multiplied by S to the power of D, multiplied by W over E equals P.
In which:
T = Time
S = Sweet, silent thought
D = Dear time's waste
W = Woe
E = Sorrow's end
P = Present self

Lord Byron Was Lonely
Cuccooning – a verb: To be trapped within oneself, With only one's self for company.
1) Such can be caused by choice,
By pride in persecution,
By love for one's sad prison,
By taking solace in the stubborn mind that digs a lonesome dungeon.
2) Such can be caused by accident,
By social failures,
By faulted features,
By rejection of one's hopelessly awkward gestures.

All must lead to madness and
Death of heart and mind.

Stealing things is a great literary tradition!!!

I also learned that Alan Rickman reads a mean sonnet.

This is my Valentine's Day.

Weather's not getting warmer, but I've been keeping myself busy with the following books and magazines:
The Atlantic
Cosmopolitan
Mother Jones
Radi Os by Ronald Johnson (a 'rewriting by excision' of Milton's 'Paradise Lost')
The Cider House Rules by John Irving

Also, the Blackhawks are doing well again. Watched them last night, and during commercials watched some of the Winter Olympics. I have this to say about the Olympics: there aren't enough drugs in the world to make the luge interesting. They're trying by replaying the footage of that dude dying over and over and over and over and over, but it's not so much interesting as it is sad and enraging.

I have never sent or received a sext. Don't know how I feel about that. Good, I guess.