I am so brain-dead, the brain-sucker the children planted on my scalp when the first one was born has just flopped off my scalp and onto the table. It’s currently twitching in postmortem little splangs across the table, and I’m just waiting for it to completely stop moving so I can feed it to the dog.
It’s been that sort of day.
First, there was key trauma…I don’t want to go into it, but you all may have noticed that the more exhausted I am, the more I lose my work keys. I’m sure Freud would go skipping through that statement with a flower basket and a set of super-shiny shears, but I just know my keys are misplaced (as a colleague pointed out, they can’t possibly be lost if THEY know where they are–Thanks, Leo!) and that not having access to my own room or the @#$$% bathroom when I felt so inclined was one of the most annoying things about my day. Considering I donated my 12th pint (for 1 gallon and a sparkly key chain!) of blood today, and the person taking the blood either rolled the vein or stuck all the way through or did something hinky so that a normally productive blood pathway suddenly glopped up like I-80 on a holiday, and I ended up zoning out through the first part of my first class with a big fat needle stuck in my arm and my life force dribbling out in reluctant little spurts before she fixed it, I think ranking the key situation first is saying something.
So there was key trauma, and blood trauma, and me zoning out during 5th period while they devoured my candy in handfuls and left trash over the floor trauma, and stupid kids throwing tantrums trauma, and dumb bitches sneaking out of suspension trauma…and me not getting the kids until an hour after their usual time because I was doing grades and (lets be honest) talking to an old student who makes me crack up consistently every time we chat…well, Thursday was trauma day.
That doesn’t even take into consideration yesterday, but my brain-sucker just heaved convulsively, reminding me that if I tried to explain why my own children were at school and my oldest son learned that “Mother pus-bucket, why don’t you eat the legumes out of my defecation” was mom’s response to little old ladies eating sub-sandwiches and going 40 miles an hour on the freeway, I’d sound really incoherent. Ooops. To late. I went there.
All that and the prickweenie is no longer the grand-royal prickweenie, (he’s moved to another spot in the district) and my favorite administrator is in place leaving me with terrible administrator-disappointment anxiety, and I’m not sure if that brain-sucker is actually death-twitching. I think he’s laughing hysterically and telling me that a glass of wine right now would be high hilarity for everyone involved. I kick him and laugh as he scuttles away, awaiting to attach himself on me as I sleep and wreak revenge!!!
And that really IS my cue to stop blogging–when reality is all fuzzy like that, you may need to wipe off the ol’ gray-matter with a little nap-windex, yes?
Tomorrow I post my teaser–so far I’ve got one vote for more Torrant and one vote for a new character, and I need a tiebreaker— go team!