I'm not sure what momentary lapse of rationality made me think that I could maintain any kind of project of my own with any kind of consistency through the mad rush of fall fund-raising events and class reunions. As you can see, I failed.
The reunions and the fund-raisers worked, pretty much, just barely, sort of, kind of. Well, maybe not as well as everyone would have liked. Money is tight, and everyone expects the axe is going to fall. I can only hope that I'm just cheap enough and just productive enough that they'll decide they can't live without me. C is nervous, though, and if she goes, her boss will do his part to turn me into a resentful old woman long before my time.
No more word about Provence. B. tells me that if that's where I want to go, I need to make it happen myself. Probably true.
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