Catchin' Up is Hard to Do

I love it when I am almost out of stationery supplies, because that means fresh supplies are right around the corner. I started this post (*cough* several days ago *cough*) on the last few blank and partially blank pages of my spiral, and with the last smidge of ink in my pen, but by the end I’m sure it’ll be new paper and ink for me. Hoorah!

The last parent meeting for D.D.’s class was held at a local restaurant, back in the bar. The teacher opted for the more informal, comfortable setting (compared to the tiny desks in their classroom) since we were only discussing the logistics of their class xmas party. We started at 8 (so late!), and after an hour, another group filed into the adjoining room. It turned out to be a birthing class. A birthing class meeting at 9 pm on a Monday in a bar. Why wasn’t this an option when I was pregnant?!

D.D. and I have spotted Kujo the dog several times recently, and it is never a confidence-inspiring event. Twice we’ve passed him and his owner on their walk, and both times the owner only put the leash on him while we walking past them. It also was a bit unnerving that he turned his head to watch us go by, and also that his owner reminded him about 50 times to stay sitting. One of the times we saw them, D.D. had been scooping up snow as we walked and had a big ball of it in her left hand. I told her not to even pretend she was going to throw is while we were in view of him, because I did not doubt he’d interpret it as an attack on himself or his owner. Most recently, we saw the daring duo tooling by in their convertible (top up, this time). When we got to their house, Kujo was in the yard, snarling and snapping as usual. His owner was in the garage, and she yelled something at him that sounded like “Ray-bo.” D.D. thought it was short for “Ra-bies,” but the word for that in German is “Tollwut.” Good guess, though, kid.

There’s a business near my optician that I figure is some kind of nightclub, because its hours are listed on the door as “until 3 am.” But what I really like about the place is its name—The Loo. I wonder if they know what that means... Wouldn’t it be fun to go in there, all, “I’m in the loo! I’d go *to* the loo, but I’m already there!” You could keep it up all night until they ban you! Good times.

Sometimes I wonder what in the hell I’m doing back in school. (L.H. does not like to hear that since I bitched and moaned for ages about going back.) There are lots of days when the thought flits through my mind, how nice it would be to just stay on the bus when it gets to my stop. –

Enough pointless wallowing! I started it on Friday, I talked L.H. into joining my pity party on Saturday, and by Sunday we had it out of our systems.

I got to thinking in the shower (I do all my best thinking in the shower (1)) about my recent bout of angst and dissatisfaction and generally depression/bitchiness/moodiness/unpleasantness, and I realized that if my studies were childbirth, I’d be in transition. I had toughed it out until that point, but then I was all, “Just give me some medication and let me go to sleep, but wake me up when you’ve pulled my baby from my inert body, thanks.” That’s the point when the nurses say, “Too late!” Same thing with my studies. I’ve been through 3 hellacious semesters of Latin plus the exam; I took remedial German and have managed to make As and Bs in all my classes since. But when I start to think of my exams coming up next semester, I start to feel all panicky and overwhelmed. I’d like to hope I’ll end up with a bouncing baby ‘A’, but even with perfect pre-testing habits (which I don’t have), you just never know, right?

(1) My favorite boss ever once told me that a womb-like environment is very conducive to creative thinking.