You have to be wrong Today has about knocked me on me arse. Me first class went well, except for Ghetto Superstar automatically assumed t'was me that sent in the letter to our professor that stated "the rest of the children in class seem to be more intelligent than I, and would you mind explicating things a little slower for me and more simply?" Not that I didn't sympathize with the person that wrote the letter- BUT, I wasn't having problems following the class, just with the paralysis that grips me arms and me voice box at inopportune times. This Irishly inflected entry has been brought to you by someone upset over the amount of class we passed today on not too much of anything. However, there was a nice segue (not the scooter by the way) by The Likely Gang Member that served to save about twenty-five minutes of class.

And since I'm sort of on topic, the coffee with I-Pack-A-Nine went really well. I was only an ass a few times. And of course klutzy and a little daft, as I later realized (eight blocks away, an hour and a half later) that I'd left my scarf at A & W. The Cat Lady and I went and fetched it after we convened to Second Cup to chat about all my problems.

Grandma made it through the biopsy ok, but spent a while in recovery due to some respiration problems, so I didn't get the phone call that caused me to relax a little until the middle of English. But, so far, she seems ok. She just got home, and my mom is exhausted, so I'm gonna go make her dinner.
  ¶ 9:31 PM