So i was lying in bed this morning, with a completely unnecessary week-long break from school ahead of me. I call it unnecessary because spring break was just a week back, and there's only two more weeks of class before final exams come. Why we have a break now, i do not know. It's just stupid, but i can't change it, so i might as well try to spend the time constructively.

My schoolwork isn't really behind, so first thing on the docket is obviously going to be non-school related. I have been agonizing over how to time a visit to my e-mail buddy in Texas (We only met one time a few years ago, so i've been quite excited about this for a while). This trip seems to have taken FOR-EV-ER [note "Sandlot" movie quote] to plan. I have no idea why.

Anyway, i'm just about to get out of bed and load my car, and an insurmountable road block comes to mind: Jessica's not at home; she's at school in New York. Only i could be dumb enough to spend so many hours planning such a trip, only to forget something so obvious.

So then another road block, this one more comforting than disturbing: I'm in my dorm bed, not my bed at home. I have class today. My school, an American institution though it may be, isn't stupid enough to schedule a break like that. Oh, well.

In my months as part of the Rinkworks community, one of the most enjoyable things i've found is the Rinkdream phenomenon. What follows has little to do with this phenomenon, except that it involves me, a Rinkperson, and my dream.

I've never expected to get involved in any Rinkdreams (at least none of my own--you people may feel free to dream about me all you want, for then it is your problem), because i virtually NEVER remember my dreams. I can literally count on one hand the number of dreams i can recall from throughout life. I will not, however, bore you with even that paltry sum here.

The previous account actually took place this morning. Please forgive my writing style's inablility to allow for a Howardesque ending. I read to many non-American authors (mostly dead Brits) to write like i talk; therefore, i am mostly unable to write a believable first-person account in jest.

Penny*So does hating American writers make me unpatriotic?*stamp