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The Little Things

Today is Friday. It's felt like a Friday from the moment I pressed snooze on my alarm. I dozed for 10 more minutes with a large dog barking in the background. He, I assume a he because of the deep baritone, barked on and off all night. Internitingly in my sleep I kept wondering how his owner couldn't hear him and if it would be really bad if I could kick him. The owner, not the dog, because only a man could ignore such incessiant barking though out the night.

I went to school and taught my class. Today we played a game called English 1301 Feud. I created a Power Point with common mistakes and definitions and each group competed against each other. They had fun. I had fun, and more imporatantly they learned the difference between passive and active voice. (She was killed by zombies. The zombies killed her.)

The rest of my day has consisted of conversations. Conversations about writing and publishing, students and teaching, all over coffee. Conversations about Sami the dog and our days all while strolling around the block to a choir of hello's and goodbye's sung by neighboring dogs.(I kept an ear out for the bark from last night, but I think he was finally sleeping.)

Now, I have this conversation, with myself, and the people who read this, and I think, if only all Friday's were like this. Calm, the pace dictated by the conversations and not the clock tick tocking, tick tocking.
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