I haven’t felt very post-y this week. Jut wrapped up finals week, which is an annoying week for him because of the hundreds of tests/papers/portfolios he must grade in three days, while simultaneously giving the tests.
Meanwhile, it has been an up and down week for my family–the new nephew was given the He’s Fine! declaration from the doctors. Then yesterday the hospital said, “Oh, wait, maybe not, his last blood test was contaminated with something mysterious and we’re not sure what it means and, you know, there’s a 90 percent chance it’s no big deal, but…you guys have to stay until we find out if HE is contaminated and what he is contaminated with.” So that was stressful for the new parents, but last night they were told likely the container was contaminated, and maybe they could all go home Friday after all. I’m ten hours away and am hearing everything third or fourth hand, so this could be fairly muddled and all wrong. But it sounds like he’s okay. Also, I saw pictures and heard him cry over the phone. I can verify that he is one of the most pretty babies I’ve ever seen, and that his cries are lusty and bleatish like a sheep, and that my brother is so. in. love. with his first child. I can’t wait to meet him, and I feel very proud of my brother and his wife.
Finally, I have my own stuff going on, that I don’t post about and that I barely even mentioned to Jut, silly worky type things from this week have been gnawing at the back of my brain. Also, I’ve felt particularly crazy and weepy this week, and it’s been hard to get out of bed/shower/go to work/not cry at inappropriate times. I’ve felt panic rising several times, at work and at home, and it has made the most trivial of tasks difficult. I feel very much, right now, that putting in my contacts and getting into the startling wet of the shower, that finding a pair of shoes and putting my laptop in its bag and driving to work are insurmountable tasks. That is stupid, and it is embarrassing to even admit these things. They are there, they are real.
But. It’s Friday, which is jeans day. I have a growing collection of perennials to plant waiting on the deck (this never ending rain is cutting into my Weekend of Planting plans), including a creepy black viola, a bleeding heart, and a butterfly bush. Jut is finished with all his grading and things are turned in, I got a haircut yesterday from a new woman who understands curly hair and got the haircut from hell reshaped into something likable. (That last haircut was getting worse by the day, and Monday I caught myself at the bathroom mirror with scissors, so I decided it was time to get some help for the disaster on my head.) We have plans to relax this weekend, my new nephew is good, I finalized a huge t-i-l-e job yesterday, I heard from someone else that a co-worker really likes working with me, Cab guards the bedroom at night which is weird and hilarious, our resident bunny isn’t shy anymore which torments the leashed dogs, the blackbirds quit being angry at us and stay close by when we are outside, our little next door neighbor’s knee is healed enough that she can bend and pull up each dandelion out of her yard, the bigger blackbird and the squirrel bicker, Monk’s ears are soft, the cats are squishy, my husband is a safe warm universe lying next to me, in the morning, as I slowly wake.
Questions? Yes. Questions.
What is your favorite writing utensil? Which is worse: the bottoms of your pants legs getting wet during rainy weather, or stepping into something wet right after you’ve put on clean socks? How do you feel about those colored plastic clogs everyone in the whole world seems to be wearing? What did you have for dinner last night? What was the last thing you laughed at?
My answers: I have three favorite utensils. Two at work, one at home. At work I have to use pens AND pencils, and my favorite pen is a white and purple ballpoint pet from a vet’s office. It’s ugly, thin and simple, with no annoying foam pad or gel ink. It writes in black, which I prefer to blue, and the ink comes out pleasantly and with only minor clumpage. I feel very irate whn I can’t find this pen at work. My favorite pencil is a green mechanical pencil, a cheap Bic that uses .5 ml lead (.7 is too fat! too thick for small drawings and lettering!). The eraser is white and awful, so I put a yellow eraser on it. I haven’t been able to find that pencil all week, and have moved on to a red one from the same package, with a blue eraser. At home, I have a pen I got from the grocery store. It’s black, writes perfectly, and I am in love with it beyond reason.
Although a wet sock is AWFUL, I HATE having the hems of my jeans wet. It feels gritty and cold, and takes forever to dry. And if I forget, and curl a leg under me, it means the back of my thigh gets damp. I HATE wet pant legs, and it is a problem because I have short legs. UGH. HATE. IT.
I have to say, those clogs/crocs/whatever they are annoy the piss out of me. I think they’re pretty ugly, and they seem unsanitary, and I don’t know why people wear them with outfits that clearly need a regular shoe, and not a rubber gardening shoe. They ALWAYS look dirty and seem to be falling off people’s feet, and, I don’t know. I don’t get them. I just don’t understand. Perhaps someone can explain them to me.
Last night we ate a pork-and-salsa thing I made in the crockpot, with tortilla chips and cheese. It wasn’t very healthy, but it was good and nacho-y. And easy.
I think the last thing I laughed at, hard, really really hard, was during a drive to work one morning last week. Several kids were walking to school, and one of them was bouncing a basketball as he walked. He was tiny, so the basketball seemed gigantic. He kept losing control of the ball and having to chase after it, but was insisting on dribbling it instead of carrying it. This struck me as funny and I had a good belly laugh. He looked so tiny, but the bouncing of the ball as he walked was obviously so! important!
I knew how he felt, as I was a rock-kicker during walks home from school. We’ve all been there, and I’m pretty sure the ball was bigger than his head.
Go!
black sheepe
