I haven't been feeling well the last few days.
Cramps.
Feeling like an army of little people are trying to force my insides outside with a crochet hook through my bellybutton.
Belly cavern, okay, but it still hurts.
A lot.
At these times I just want to crawl into bed and stay there until everything feels better.
Not stand in front of a classroom full of students, while trying to keep the pain inducing grimaces from my face.
Yesterday was yet another day of shits and giggles in my film class.
Monday the sound cut out 30 minutes into the film, and I had to replace it with another film.
Tuesday I excitedly open the case containing my copy of Dirty Harry only to find that the case contains no such film.
Or any film for that matter.
Leading me to ponder where the hell my Dirty Harry went.
Again, a replacement was called in.
The Enforcer.
Another Dirty Harry film, where Harry is paired with a female inspector, but not as good as the first one.
None of the Dirty Harry films are as good as the first one, but they are all good.
After class, I immediately went to the mall and purchased another copy of Dirty Harry.
But I know someone out there knows where my original dvd is and I am waiting, not so patiently, for it to be returned.
You can remain anonymous.
I just want my film back.
And to know why you have the film and not the case.
I can't wait to see what today brings.
12 Angry Men is on deck.
And if things don't work the way they're supposed to, there is gonna be one angry woman to contend with.
Cause I've had enough already.
Further reinforcing my theory that mothers are retrofitted with child initiated GPS, we are getting ready to depart from the mall when my cell phone rings.
Mer.
Who else?
"Where are you?" she asks, after greeting with me her standard, "Heeeyyyyy."
"In the mall." I reply.
"Really? Where? Cause I was let off work early and maybe you could drive me home."
One day, one day I am going to locate the offending GPS embedded somewhere in my person and I will remove it, and stamp all over it, obliterating it until it is nothing but dust. (which should sound like "dust" as it would be said in Little Britain).
During our forced confinement at the hospital Monday morning, I experienced a rather interesting event.
We were sitting in the coffee shop area, as it was close to the evil blood removal station, and even more importantly, close to the coffee.
Of which I needed plenty.
In the 90 minutes we were sitting there, lots of people came and went.
In part because the coffee shop was close, and because a bank of elevators was directly in front of me.
I love people watching.
A lot.
Perhaps to the point of being invasive and bordering on illegal.
Drives the kids nuts.
And there were plenty, plenty, plenty of people to watch.
Including one little boy.
Approximately 4, maybe younger.
I like small children.
Uninhibited, they do what they want, when they want, usually what adults want to do, but don't because socialization and confining rules governing behaviour prevent them from doing so.
This little guy was with his somewhat older sister, maybe just a couple of years older, and his mother.
They sat at the table in front of me, but a little to the left.
Waiting.
For their Nana.
Nana's arrival caused quite a flurry of activity and excitement.
Including the little guy yelling, "NANA! NANA! Can you do this!!!????"
And he proceeded to roll his tongue.
Nana, indeed, could roll her tongue.
He continued to roll his tongue, while looking around.
He looked at me.
And I rolled my tongue.
And scared the crap out of this little boy.
He almost fell off his seat.
When he regained his composure, he looked at me.
And rolled his tongue.
So I rolled mine again.
This time Mum and Nana caught on that the lady sitting with the grumpy teenage girl was making faces and rolling her tongue at the little man.
He kept looking at me, so I did the only thing I could think of.
"Did you know," I said, "that not everyone can roll their tongue. My husband can't. He just ends up sticking his tongue out at me."
Well.
Sis stands up, marches over and rolls her tongue.
Mum turns around and informs me that not only can she roll her tongue, she can turn her tongue over and flip it in half.
And then she did it for me.
I was suitably impressed and grossed out all at the same time.
Needless to say, the this-is-what-we-can-do-with-our-tongues conversation provided a nice interlude to an otherwise less than exciting time at the hospital coffee shop.
With a brooding and unhappy Emily.
So, can you roll your tongue?
Title Lyric: Rhythm of My Heart by Rod Stewart
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