This, I believe, is the Stinky Ass Tree. Some call it the Cum Tree, but my friend says that's an insult to cum. So we'll call it the stinky ass, or butthole tree. That's an insult to buttholes, but they're used to it. These things can ruin a nice spring walk. There's one down the street from me that I have to hold my breath past. Why, oh why, would nature do this? And yet, I have to say, these nasty trees are in perfect harmony with my cranky mood.

I always come home cranky from the workshop I'm facilitating. I think last night I finally became the overwhelmed first year teacher sitting with her head on her desk while the rest of the class threw spit balls and talked shit. I try and reign them in but the off-topic, everyone-blathering-at-once nature of the group is largely uncontrollable. I feel badly for those trying to politely, and calmly get something out of it. I feel badly for me.

Good news is, next week in my absence, it will be in the hands of a professional, one of the directors at Write Around Portland who is wonderful and sweet and experienced with unruliness. I hope they give her all they've got and that she comes back at them with the perfect spell to keep them focused and calm. I will know when I get back whether it's just me or if I've simply been dealt a rough hand.