Laundry. Some cleaning. A Confirmation mass to sing yesterday; a First Communion mass this morning.
Spring is just plain old busy.
I finally landed on the decision side of Wiscon. I definitely won’t be going this year again. I’m sad, because the people I don’t see anywhere else will be missed. It’s also going to be a non-con year. I can’t make it to WorldCon–not with the start up of school. (Thirty-three kinders. No aide. Eeesh.) I won’t get to World Fantasy either–it’s too far for a four-day weekend.
And next year’s Wiscon? Um… I’ll make a room reservation, of course, but I’m going to have see how next spring goes. My belief in a happy-ever-after has taken a hit this year, and then there’s that whole we-should-pack-up-and-move-to-the-new-school for a few years next summer.
I’ve been in this classroom twenty-two years. I am not looking forward to packing it up.
I was mugged by a character this morning. I wish I knew why I’m so preoccupied with tattooed characters–although this one carries a cittern or mandolin, wears studded armbands, and his soft boots have a border of small bells. A musician, certainly, but a bald one who does not blink at or hide in the face of violence. So therefore, older and experienced.
I have no idea who the hell he is or what he wants. But he’s shiny and new and I would far rather write him rather than the novel.
However, my goal tonight is sleep. I had that goal last night, but the small, yappy dog that lives behind us and Harley had other ideas. At least four times both dogs were out barking at something invisible, and each time, I got up and dragged him in. Unfortunately, he would wait until I had dropped off or was almost there before he would run off to meet his partner in nighttime barking.
And the cycle would start all over. I slept the first hour, but I didn’t get sound sleep again until after 2:30A. I am tired and cranky. And guess what? There’s school tomorrow.
In other news, we’ve acquired more furniture to dust. My daughter will be SO pleased. Not.
(My latest ploy in how to get children to leave home permanently–acquire a load of oak furniture and hand them a dustrag weekly with the admonition to dust it all. I haven’t quite convinced her, however, that picture frames are wood. I am a rotten mom.)