It's burning me to hold on to this. . .

May 25, 2011


Almost finished Intersession!

One final exam, tomorrow morning.

Half of yesterday's final exam marked.

Making me wonder if the students who sat in class and listened to me talk about crime and film for three hours, every afternoon for almost a month, are the same students who wrote the exam.

Or pod people.



A couple of weeks ago I had to stay home, cancelling my morning class to deal with cramps that essentially rendered me incapacitated.

In an effort to quell the pain enough for me to sleep, I hauled out our heating pad.

Clearly, desperate measures were needed though.

All was well and good.

I recovered.

But a couple of days later I came out of the shower and noticed, just barely mind you because I was sans lunettes, that I was in possession of an angry looking, fairly large red spot.

What this angry looking red spot was remained to be determined.

At least until I dried off, got my glasses from the bedroom and returned to the bathroom to check it out.

A blister.

More specifically a burn blister.

A burn gleaned from the use of the heating pad.

The burn is only part of the issue.

The real question is how come I didn't feel that I was burning myself with the heating pad?

Intense pain?

Nope.

Pamprin induced unconsciousness?

Nope.

Stupidity?

Um, maybe.

The kids.

Yes.

It is the kid's fault I didn't feel the heating pad burning my skin like a chicken on a bbq.

How can I blame such an asinine thing on my children?

Easy.

C-sections.

Each one of my children arrived via c-section.

And each cut occurred on exactly the same spot.

Meaning that by the time Em came around, I had lost all feeling in that part of my body.

It's true!

And weird, really, to know that you're pinching yourself and can't feel it.

Hence the burn.

Which is taking forever to heal.

But really, who burns themselves with a heating pad?????






Today I do not have to teach.

I will mark exams and papers.

Prepare tomorrow morning's exam.

Flesh out an outline for an article I've been contemplating about the film Hard Candy.

Which means watching Hard Candy again, not for it's entertainment value, but for it's critical commentary about good and evil.

Bask in the sunshine we have been blessed with for today, and possibly tomorrow.

Who knew two sunny days in a row would happen?

I've already got a load of Keith's laundry in the washer.

Hanging it out later will provide me a much needed Zen experience.

So, what does one do when they have a full day of no teaching, sunshine all around them and Zen opportunities for later in the day?

Purchase new keys for Mer.

In addition to being challenged in holding on to wallets, keys seem to be Mer's kryptonite.
She can't hold on to them.

Misplaces them at every turn.

She can get into her building via some hook up with her cell phone.

But, she can't access her mail.

Which means she can't access her income tax money.

Which she didn't realize until I mentioned to her that her return would be going to her address, not mine.

At this point, getting the keys became a priority.

I think the mailman coming to her door and telling her that there was no way he could get one more piece of mail into her already crammed and overflowing mailbox may have had something to do with it, as well.

This morning, then, after I drop Em off at school, and instead of going to work as I had planned, I am traipsing over to Mer's apartment to pay for her keys to be replaced so she can get her tax return money and repay me for getting her keys replaced.

Nothing, and I mean nothing is simple with this child.

My parents made me wear a glasses chain when I was six because I kept losing my glasses.

Did nothing for my self esteem to be called Granny Gump in grade one.

But I didn't lose my glasses again.

I am contemplating stapling Mer's keys and wallet to her forehead.



Title Lyric: Burn by Usher