on friday morning i turned in my papers, immediately discovered a mistake in one of them, and then went to la terasse with kinjal to try and drink it away. there will always be something deeply unsettling to me about imperfection, which is why i'm in grad school. LT has burgers with gorgonzola creme, which by my reckoning is the 6th most fattening thing on earth, and almost unbearably delicious.

the afternoon was supervision, and then a nap, and then over to nuwan/eranda/stephen/pavel's place to sit in the back yard and enjoy one of the first days of the year where one could do that jacketless without turning into an icicle. about a year ago, a bunch of us were in exactly the same spot when we heard an almighty rumpus coming from one of the adjacent yards, which turned out to be a bunch of stoners trying to kill a pheasant for dinner*. this year it was darkness and smoke and pavel telling stories about being solicited by prostitutes in sofia**, which happens on a not-infrequent basis. things were nice and comfy, and then the landlord's brother, who lives in jersey, showed up, drunk, and started a lengthy and very serious discussion on why psychologists are all nuts, and how middle-class america is being thoroughly squashed by the Man. awkward. by the time he disappeared for pizza, we were out of beer, and the night was ruined. went home and tumbled into bed exhausted only to be awakened at 3:30 in the morning by a drunken couple having a screaming match in the street involving multiple bottles being smashed, and florid conjugations of the word 'fuck'. waited a while to make sure there weren't any gun shots, then shut my window, turned off my alarm, and slept like a baby for a very long time.


* where does one get a live pheasant, anyway?
** apparently, and i may have been lied to, the bulgarian word for 'sex' is 'sex'.