You know, I have no fucking idea where—or if—I’m going to be working a year from now, but I have to admit, life is good. On Saturday night, I’m going to Purgatory (potentially NSFW). I did promise. I’m only mildly—very, very mildly—disappointed that I’ll not be hanging out with tired, sweaty teenagers at ASU. I’m sorry to miss it. But I think I’d be angry at myself longer for missing the other.

For the record, Starla did understand that a condition of the evening—negotiated long ago—was that I got to write about it. I may.