It's 8 PM EST and the man whose journal yer reading is getting himself ready for a night at the Goth club (a place called Shampoo). I met another woman on Saturday night and we got along swimmingly, so for our first date, I'm taking her dancing to the most gloomy, depressing music in Philadelphia. Her name is Amira and she seems nice enough, but I'm concerned that she's only 22 and that she chain-smokes. I've dated smokers before, but this woman is a two-pack/day kind of smoker and I don't figure that her breath will be all that pleasant. Working in my favor is that she just got out of a two-year relationship in December. Like all relationships that die slowly, their last few months together were spent moping and arguing. I stroll in like a breath of fresh air and even mundane actions are new and exciting.

The problem with being the rebound boyfriend is that my role is temporary. In retrospect, Missy and I felt strongly for each, but we lasted two months and now she’s California. Now, it could happen all over again. I'm just the pit stop on Amira’s way to her recovering her self-esteem and confidence. I'll be #1, until someone her own age (or her own smoking habit) comes along. Great work if you can get it.

Things look good for my staying in Philadelphia for another year. I'm interviewing for an adjunct professor position at Temple, which should carry a two-semester contract. I want to teach three sections of Intellectual Heritage; each section pays $2,750 so that could put around $2,000 a month in my pocket for four months. It's fucking slave pay, but better than slinging burgers or making coffee. Teaching three sections/semester will be a lot of work, but if I can do my work in the office, maybe I can spend my nights and weekends writing.

Future Plans: The plan is to go to Europe for five weeks, possibly go to the July Clarion reunion, and possibly go to the August 2002 National Poetry Slam in Minneapolis. During the down time, I'll see if I am motivated to write or if I just mope around the apartment like I did when I came back from Clarion in 2001.

What else is there in life, in the future tense? There isn't much else I want to do in life except be a writer, but, damn, it can be so frustrating at times. Especially when life derails the mental trains, like when girlfriends fuck you over or when money concerns strangle your muse.

But Rick, doesn't life fuel your writing?


SURE GUY, SAVE IT FOR THE LADIES