May 14, 2011
Finally feeling better.
Or at least not wanting to throw myself under a bus because of hormones, anyway.
Other things?
Maybe.
Thursday, suppertime, my cousin's husband and her son came by to pick up Em's car.
Causing Frankie to react with such ferocity I almost dropped the large knife in my hand, narrowly missing my toes.
But who needs all ten toes, right?
The battery in the car was dead, so the first thing they had to do was move our car, and then get her car into boosting position.
This poor car.
Whoever was the mechanic for my brother, he should be put out of business.
The car, somehow, had been running on the wrong size battery.
Kat must have been watching over Jer when he was driving it.
That's my only explanation.
Nonetheless, the car is actually in better condition than it looks.
As we were informed last evening.
Making Em a very happy girl.
Now she just needs a driver's licence.
Teaching two classes every day, meaning in the classroom from 9-4.00 with an hour break at lunch, means Friday have become THE day for getting anything done.
Hence Friday is the-day-I-have-to-do-all-my-errands-because-there-is-no-other-time-to-do-them.
And yesterday was a doozy.
Paying bills that could not be paid on line took more than a few minutes, followed by my weekly visit to Simply for Life.
No change.
Which could be construed as good, as it means I have neither gained or lost.
Nonetheless, I was not happy.
Hormones taking charge this week meant I spent the entire week starving.
No matter how often, or what, I ate I was always hungry.
So not gaining in this instance was a good thing.
But I am at least 100 pounds away from my goal weight, if not more, so slowing down and enjoying the 70 pound loss is not an option.
To my office for an hour to answer emails, download assignments sent by email and charge my Kobo.
Home to collect Keith and Stephen for our bimonthly visit to Norma-the-most-amazing-hairdresser-in-the-world at Klub Soda.
They needed haircuts desperately, and I am not yet willing to celebrate the gray.
I would be more than happy to celebrate the gray if it wasn't so scattered and sporadic.
Mostly framing my face.
While Stephen and Keith were getting their locks lopped, I was at Service New Brunswick to set up appointments for Keith and Em to write their driver's test.
You would think this was a simple, easy task.
However, we also have to take into consideration that any service provided by the government is going to be as convoluted as possible.
The man at the Information-Please-Take-A-Number kiosk grabbed a card, circled a phone number and thrust it at me, when I stated the purpose of my visit.
Okay.
Leaving Service New Brunswick, I hauled out my seldom used cell phone and dialed the number.
Seldom used because if I had used it more often, maybe I would have taken into account my surrounding.
Downtown Fredericton at lunch time, me standing smack in the middle of Queen Street trying to maneuver the touch menu and speak with a "representative."
In addition to the din of my lunch seeking sidewalk companions, there was, directly outside of Klub Soda, on the bench I had planned on parking myself throughout the course of this phone call. . . .
. . .which was bound to be long because it was the government. . . .
was a man, his guitar, case opened at his feet expecting change from passersby who were enjoying the music he provided during their one break during the work day.
Which would have provided lovely ambiance for the one time yesterday the sun actually came out if. . .
. . . .he hadn't sounded like he was shaking a box full of angry cats.
I had to walk up and down Queen Street trying to both hear and respond to the woman on the other end of the phone who was asking me all sorts of questions about birth dates and name spellings etc., in order to make this appointment.
The earliest they can write their test is June 2nd.
Which gives Keith time to study.
And how come I didn't call from inside the salon?
Have you ever been inside a hair salon?
Especially a nice one?
Music, hairdryers, ringing phones, conversations. . .
On the street was actually more private.
Em mentioned I should have called from the bathroom.
Yes.
Because nothing makes a conversation with a government employee more enjoyable than doing so from atop a toilet.
After we picked Em up from school and deposited her at work. . .
. . .which is a 10 minute walk but if I hadn't actually picked her up I wouldn't have seen her until today, plus her uniform was in the car and she always carries 100 pounds worth of books with her. . .
we headed to the Community Kitchen.
Commitments had kept us from being able to go for at least two weeks in a row, so it was very, very nice to be able to be there.
The menu consisted of high end sandwiches, which looked like they had been donated by the Delta, coleslaw and soup.
Four different kinds of sandwiches on several different kinds of bread meant for each person I served, I had to give them my spiel:
Tuna, roast beef, egg salad or turkey? Coleslaw? Soup: pea or spicy beef?
I think I was saying that in my sleep last night.
Finally, finally home. Happy puppies joyfully greeting me with wagging tales and all-over-face-kisses.
And at 9.00 I could take it no longer and had to succumb to the call of my bed.
Because this weekend isn't going to be much better.
In one hour, I am leaving for the nursing home, to pick up Mum, and take her shoe shopping and out for lunch.
And we can expect some entertainment from that excursion.
I'd bet my life on it.
Home to get Stephen so we can go grocery shopping.
Because if we don't do it today there will be no opportunity until Tuesday, by which time the kids will be competing with the dogs for kibble.
Later this evening, honouring plans that have been made for quite a while.
Tomorrow, Quaker meeting and then. . . .
Convocation.
Honouring the class of 2011.
Which isn't without it's controversy.
But we'll save that for later.
Unfortunately Convocation will have to be held indoors at the Aiken Center as it is supposed to rain tomorrow.
Surprise. Surprise.
And after Convocation, home for supper and probably collapsing into bed
At some point during this weekend, I have to mark papers, begin my sabbatical application and start filling out a grant form that is so complex they give you until August to do it.
And then back to classroom Monday morning, upon which getting into my office before class, I will ask, "was there a weekend?"
It is indeed a sad comment on your life when work is more relaxing than the weekend.
Title Lyric: Weekend by Billy Joel
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