. . . okaaay.

I just woke up (having missed my alarm) from a long, elaborate, and internally consistent dream which culminated with John Kerry confessing on national TV that many years ago, he had gone by the name Caspian while riding with his brother-in-arms Howard Dean, aka Death on a Horse.

Clearly I need to stop with the fanfic right before bed.

I've just come back from sitting in on the literary magazine meeting.

"Sitting in" as in curling up in the back reading Keats and Byron and Shelley for over an hour and a half while they elected editors. There were 18 people, including myself and Laura, at the meeting; and this was the first meeting, before mid-semester apathy sets in.

They elected *14* editors.

I really think I can tell them why they have trouble getting organized and getting people motivated. Also, I am not a democrat. A Democrat, yes, but not a democrat. When I ran the lit mag we chose editors- three editors total-- in a secret oligarchical caucus meeting, and all the other positions were appointed by the editors. Sure, we still didn't get anything done, but that would be because *I* was editor-in-chief, not organizational flaws. And at least the meetings weren't excruciating to sit through, and there were people available to do things whenever I got sufficiently motivated to actually exhibit leadership.