(It's like scrambled eggs with wet matzoh mixed in)

Say what you will about Jewish cooking--nothing but white starch with salt and schmaltz--but we have some damn fine comfort foods. Matzoh ball soup, hot pastrami on rye, potato latkes, chicken in a pot--these are seriously comforting foods, owing in no small part, I suppose, to the fact that so many grandmothers serve them.

Anyway, my point is, I'm having matzoh brei for lunch right now. I am in need of comfort. Fact is, I'm feeling pretty stressed out of late, and though the first item on my list of things keeping me up at night (quite literally, I'm afraid) is now done (give it up for my first historical fiction--albeit very recent history), I still have, among some minor items, this very difficult Wednesday night class.

I honestly thought I'd have it easy, as far as schoolwork, this semester. I'm only taking the one freakin' class. But it's a job of work, let me tell you. I missed the first test, which was last Wednesday, when I was already in New York. Well, last night the professor returned those tests. The results, since he announced them before returning them, were positively dismal. I have to take this test in the next couple of weeks, once I can figure a way to get down to his office without hauling Sam along with me.

Now I live with a fear I haven't felt since my third year at SUNY Binghamton, when I foolishly registered for a class called Vietnam in Literature, or something to that effect. The professor then was an angry, shouting man, with far more to say about the United States' policy in southeast Asia than about literature itself, of any subject. It frankly wasn't what I'd signed up for, but I learned this too late and got my only grade lower than a B in my whole college career.

Well, I'm rambling. I'll just be patient. Someday this pain will be . . . yeah, yeah.