I’m really a person who needs projects and deadlines and therefore, teaching college is a good job for me. I have something new after 16 weeks of work…new students, new classes, new PROJECT basically.
This time, after 16 weeks, I have summer. I’m teaching an online class and an in-person class, but mostly my time is mine.
Mmmm, come to Mama.
I know I’m late, but I just found the font News Gothic. Oh, my my. It’s like my fav Century Gothic and the standby Times New Roman had a baby just for me to play with.
Here’s a particularly funny (to me) excerpt from 2007’s St. Patty’s Day.
“My sister and I found this out about two years ago when we realized that my grandmother was a redhead named Helen Patricia Moore who went by Patty as a kid and her siblings names things like Danny and other various Irishy things. We asked her, and she’s all “Of course we’re Irish” and then she stared into my soul for a while to determine why I needed to know such private information.
But. Who fucking knew, Grandma? No one shares this kind of thing with anyone in our family!
As far as Lindy and I were ever told, we were planted here by magical fairy princess witch gypsies.”
I’d like to tell you that this entire story is true.
I just need to update you on a few thousand things. Because I know you are on the edge of your RSS feed, waiting for words from me to drip into your parched mouths…ahem.
Daniel had a huge three day migraine, learned that he enjoys moaning for 40 hours at a time with no hope of birthing anything at all, shunning lifegiving food, and then staying home sick today as well without a migraine due to waking up puking in the same bowl he’s thrown up in all last week.
Brett turned 13!
Eileen, Scott’s daughter and my precious wecious new girl child, is 17!
They graciously shared a birthday party together so my family could arrive once and hand over presents.
I made each of them a personal, triple layer cake with ridiculous candles that leaned this way or that. Chocolate for Brett; Strawberry for Eileen.
Cupcakes are the greatest idea for birthday parties ever, I never knew this and now I feel stupid. You just set them out, people eat them, and you have no need to SERVE your guests or cut a cake. Win!
I’m teaching too many classes compared to time in a day; and probably not enough for my bank account. Adjuncting is losing some charm.
Next semester, I’m going to be struggling to get enough classes to pay bills. Why can’t I just have ENOUGH but not TOO MUCH? Or be supported financially with no expectations of knowing how I spend that money?
I want to write a memoir of my childhood. Partially because it was not normal, partially to help organize my thoughts about it and possibly move past some things. Also, I think while my childhood wasn’t representative of kids growing up in the 80s, I’ll bet some parts of it were. Selfish time for adults and parents are adults, you see. Lots more divorced families. A nutty, shifting time. So maybe you (Scott) had an idyllic childhood; my sister, Anne, and I were definitely wondering when someone was going to allow us to eat and if we could please leave the locked basement now. Or wondering when my mother would put on some underwear and stop vacuuming to Prince, because it’s 4am and we’re awfully tired. Or why God WHY do we have to watch our moms make out with random guys on the couch and play quarters off their naked breasts in front of 50 people at our house. And, seriously, Dad? It’s a book I think would be pretty funny, too.
Scott and I discuss getting married and I have made it clear that the onus of a proposal in on him. Mainly because he has a history with me of being wishy washy and then one day, all on board. He’s great, we’re great, but you know, I’m waiting, waiting, waiting for him to decide he doesn’t want to get married after all and choose differently and I want him to have that out. He says he is NOT going to do that, but you know, this is the first time I haven’t felt trapped in a relationship and the first time I WANT to get married for the sake of nothing else but love and I care deeply about it. We’ve already made a $200,000 commitment in this house here but there is something still to being a spouse versus a girlfriend. I love this man so much, so deeply, so much it’s freaking me out sometimes and I feel loved, genuinely loved for me that I am just waiting for it to go stupid on me.
On a positive note, I feel genuinely loved. Sweetly, positively, happily.