September 28,
Teaching three courses on Tuesday and Thursday, and one, three hour class on Wednesday really is a great teaching schedule.
Monday and Friday for writing and research.
But. . .and there is always a but. . .
Tuesday and Thursday, after work, I don't even have the energy to drive.
So Em does.
And supper?
Made in the morning so all I have to do is sit down and eat when I get home.
After greeting our beleaguered canines, forced to stay within the comforting walls of home all day.
Last night, after supper, I was upstairs reading fiction by 7.00 pm.
I have no idea what time I fell asleep.
Or when Stephen came in and removed glasses and book from my grasp.
Imagine my surprise when I woke up to go pee, and it was 3.00 in the morning.
That's tired.
I love Mondays.
I've said it before, plenty.
And I know most people are not fond of Mondays, and I get that.
But for me, Monday means kids returning to school, and alone, writing time for me.
And this Monday was a doozy.
For whatever reason, Keith was C-R-A-N-K-Y.
Really cranky.
Em, the same, but at least she had a reason.
Dentist appointment.
And who loves going to the dentist, let alone at 8.45 on a Monday morning?
Saturday and Sunday had been unusually warm, so Sunday night was uncomfortable.
Sticky and hot.
For all of us.
Including Frankie.
Who had spent prolonged time in the Frankie Hut during the day, a result of Quaker meeting and the family dinner.
Even with a long run at the farm, he was more than perturbed with us.
But he wasn't so upset that he refused to sleep on the bed with us and Sunday evening, he jumped onto the bed with us, as usual.
Stephen and I, even with two fans, were miserable and experiencing difficulties getting comfortable.
Shifting around, turning from side to side, back to belly, and with each twist and turn, we were annoying Frankie, who grumbled each and every time we forced him to adjust his position.
Finally, he was so disgusted with us that he launched himself off the bed in a huff, and threw himself on the hallway floor, just outside our bedroom door, and emitted the most I-am-so-disgusted-with-you sigh.
In reply, Stephen said, "Good!" and finally went to sleep.
So Monday morning Frankie was feeling somewhat repentant for his less than friendly demeanour of the night before and followed me incessantly throughout the early hours of the morning, as I was trying to get ready to take Em to the dentist, get Keith to class, and get the hell out of the house.
But for some reason, in an unprecedented fit of four legged creature solidarity, all of the other fur bearing creatures thought it would be a good idea to also follow me around.
I stumbled and tripped through my foot hugging fur pack during the course of my morning and by the time I was ready to leave, I couldn't get out of the house fast enough.
Once I made my way through the pack.
Enlisting Stephen's help was a necessity.
Someone had to hold on to Dibley and grip Frankie so he didn't bolt out the front door.
Two cranky children, six separation anxiety filled pets, and me.
Happy Monday to me.
By the time everyone was everywhere they were supposed to be, which didn't occur until around noon, I was ready for a little alone time.
More than.
Staying on top of your finances in a culture of materialism, greed and getting what you want without considering the consequences is not easy.
In an effort to live within our means, Stephen and I have made decisions that would be unpopular with lots of people.
No credit cards.
If we can't buy it with cash, we don't.
Tight budgets.
Trying to account for each and every penny that goes in and out of this house.
Yesterday, in my daily assessment of our bank accounts, I noticed I had sixty dollars more in my account than I had earlier that morning.
Additional money in your account, unexpectedly, is never a good thing.
Turns out, it was a cheque that had been returned for insufficient funds.
Hmmmmmm.
That didn't make sense.
I made certain there was enough money in my account to cover that cheque.
Hmmmmmm.
Further inspection of my account revealed that when the cheque went through, I had $59.23 in my account.
Meaning I was .67 cents short.
And the cheque was returned.
Really.
And the bank thought that they would charge me a $42.50 NSF fee for a measly .67 cents???
I.
Don't.
Think.
So.
Calling the bank informed me that cheques are now dealt with electronically, as few human hands coming into contact with them as possible.
So if you're one cent short, the cheque will be returned.
Fair enough.
But I still wasn't paying the NSF fee.
Luckily, the person on the other end of the phone, representing the bank, agreed.
And as a "courtesy" they agreed to remove the fee.
Courtesy, hmmmmmmm.
No wonder the economy is in such a disaster.
Everything can fall apart because of .67 cents.
Title Lyric: Dollars and Cents by Radiohead
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