My membership to Blogstop got accepted. Before long, our German student toppled over pathically. Phillip came up with three terrific acronyms this morning, and we spent the afternoon trying to top each other with even more acronyms for "Blogstop." Unfortunately, when Phillip tried to submit his, we discovered that Blogstop has stopped accepting new members for the time being - a victim of too much popularity from being a Blogger featured site. Because love outlasts greed, seasoned teachers often prosper.

I sumitted my first Blogstop entry tonight. The last word of the previous entry was dervishes, and I came up with "Don't email 'Russian virgins' - instead, stay home entertaining sweethearts."

Bringing leftover orange gelatin stifled the office party.

Tonight, I sent in my three acronyms to Blogstop. It might be fun. It might be a burden. It might be both. Or maybe I won't even be accepted. I'll see what happens.

The song stuck in my head today is "Babylon" by David Gray. Today, I know exactly where it came from - it was playing on the radio as Phillip drove us into work. This is a wonderful song. This is the type of music I'm most fond of - songs with strong, honest-sounding, introspective lyrics. I can hear the lyrics to a song like this and imagine the author writing in a burst of inspiration.

I also like music without lyrics to get in the way - instrumentals or sung in a language I don't understand.

(Great lyrics or no lyrics at all - does that make sense?)

Man, I am in trouble. I've been curbing my spending, as much as possible, in order to save up for a new sugar glider cage and the license tabs coming up in January (although the green vehicle tax break will help with that). Now, here comes Putumayo, tempting me with its new American Blues CD.

I realized today that my answers to patients' questions have become automatic. I sound like a robot. The idea hit me this afternoon that I could easily set up sound files on my PC and answer questions with a mouse click. The result would be the same.

"Where's the restroom?" (click) "out in the hallway the second door on your right" "Is this Radiology?" (click) "no go out to the main hallway turn right then turn left" "How long is my scan going to take?" (click) "about two to two and a half hours" "What does PET stand for?" (click) "positron emission tomography"

I like where I work (except for the one person I have to work the most closely with). I don't hate my job. I'm just burned out.

How so like Kelly to show up at a time like this. She and I have a bond.

It's the middle of the afternoon on the last day of our extended weekend, and Phillip and I are both feeling restless and unmotivated. That's an awful combination for one person, but a lot worse when two people feel it simultaniously. We both feel like we should go out and do something, rather than sit around all day, but we can't think up anything interesting to do, and the other person can't come up with any suggestions.

Last night would have been a good night to attach some sort of dream recorder to my brain. I kept waking up from dreams all night and all morning. Chuck walked by a window, without his limp, and smiled at me, and I was surprised that he was still alive. I had to drive a school bus - for something other than taking children to school - even though I didn't want to, and I couldn't get the inside mirror to stay up straight, and a female friend laughed at me and told me that as long as I could see behind me, it would be fine, and just as I started the bus, the busses in line in front of me left, so it was my turn, and I pulled away from the curb and made a u-turn. I was in a train station, in a foreign country where all the signs were in English but I still couldn't read them, and I couldn't remember where I'd left my suitcase.

And I know that for every dream I remembered, there were probably twenty that I'd instantly forgotten.

Nancy has sat behind us in church many times. This was not the first Sunday that Phillip and I have shown public displays of affection, nor are we the only couple to do so. (I'm talking about mild PDAs - head on shoulder, arm around neck, shoulder leaning on shoulder, etc.) So it was quite a shock this morning when she told us, kindly but firmly, to knock it off. It was so much of a shock that I don't remember exactly what she said to us. It was something along the lines of "I love you both, but maybe church isn't the appropriate place." The only thing I can figure is that this has been bothering her for a long time, and she finally worked up the courage to say something about it.