The Dark Side

I distinctly remember telling one of you to check my biorhythm
chart a couple weeks ago. I can see that you listen about as well
as my students and my own personal children. Apparently, the ol'
in-the-basement biorhythm cycle is repeating itself. Yesterday was
horrendous.

The #1 son started the day by making us depart late for school.
As he climbed out of the large SUV, I asked if he had his homework.
"No. I didn't have any..." He panicked. "Give me the phone! Grandma
will go out and get it!" I grabbed the phone out of his sweaty little
hand. I was parked in the middle of the road, already running late,
and did not have time to hear him wheedling his grandma. I sent him
in, and called her myself on the way to drop off the other boy. She
said she would drive all the way to the Mansion and look for it, and
bring it to him by 11:00.

The copy machine I needed was booked up until 3 minutes before
the bell. I remembered upon reading the announcements that my
info for the December newsletter was due by the end of the day.
I waited an extra hour to eat lunch because it was Turkey Dinner
day at the Basementia building. They had saved two dinners for
me and my aunt, but they had put brown gravy all over the turkey
and mashed potatoes. I am not a gravy fan. I ate it anyway, which
was a big mistake, because that gravy was saltier than a smoked ham
encrusted with sea salt garnished with Spanish olives and floating in a
pool of brine. Within 30 minutes of eating, I felt deathly sick. Like
vomiting sick. I held it in for the final two classes. I made #2 son
have the vomit bowl ready for the drive home. I think I may have
picked up a touch of what hit him after the flu shot.

On the way home, we had to stop by The Devil's Playground for
some modeling clay and supplies for #2 son's Native American
diorama. I also bought a large Wal*Mart cheese pizza so I wouldn't
have to cook. I'm not so sure, but I think the Wal*Mart checker
flirted with me. She was a woman. #1 son whined about the pizza,
but in begging for money for the gameroom, cut a deal to eat pizza
in exchange for a dollar. Extortion. He also wanted a slushie, which
I didn't even want to think about, so I gave him money and walked
out with #2 boy.

#1 arrived at the large SUV and proceeded to climb in, knock the
lid off the slushie, pour it into my purse and onto his new coat all
at once. Upon arriving home, he declared he was not eating pizza,
but the leftover Chinese that he'd had on Tuesday night. He swore
he could warm it himself, but with visions of sweet & sour sauce
coating my microwave, I caved and did it for him. HH called to say
he would be running late, so #2 had a large cheese pizza to himself.
He ate three pieces, the promptly pooped his pants before sitting
down on the toilet. Hey! He WAS sick the day before. Gathering
the soiled clothing did not make my queasy stomach feel any better.
Go figure.

I remembered the newsletter info, and emailed it to the sponsor
around 8:00 p.m. Hey! It was due by the end of the day. The day
was not over until midnight.

We were supposed to get 1-3 inches of snow on grassy areas last
night. I knew we wouldn't, because it was forecast. We only get
snow when the weathermen say we won't. HH whacked me in the
back after two hours of deep sleep. Right between the shoulder
blades, four or five whacks. I don't count whacks so accurately
when I am coming out of a deep sleep. I hate it when that happens.
I was in the middle of a dream, too, about the Lobster-Eating
Stuntman Association, who wanted to rent out the school for their
awards dinner. I told them they couldn't because they planned to
serve alcohol. Next thing I know, a woman stuntman in a dress is
sliding headfirst down a flight of stadium stairs, laughing her head off.
I was about to chow down on a stringy-looking lobster lung-on-a-
stick when a stuntman said, "I wouldn't eat that if I were you." Then
the WHACK ATTACK upon my BACK occurred. I got up to
check on the kids, and when I came back to bed, HH was spouting
cold air out of his CPAP blowhole again. I propped a pillow over his
face--I mean between us--and tried to resume my lobster dream, but
all I got was Mabel's husband renting me a house with a leaky roof.
When I called to complain, he cheerfully agreed to bring over his
shopvac and clean up the mess. He sucked up about 6 inches of
water from the sky-blue area rug over my hardwood living room floor,
and when I asked what he was going to do about the roof, he said,
"I don't see any reason to do anything about it." Mabel, you need
to have a talk with him.

The chewingest dog had spent the night gnawing a deer haunch
on various locations about the porch, thumping her bounty to and fro.
This did not assist me in stalking the elusive ZZZZs. I woke up at
5:00 to find (surprise, surprise) no snow, but a lot of rain. HH
denied the backwhacking affair.

We made it to school without incident, where I related yesterday's
joke about me being soooo old. And a kid said, "Oh. We were told
you're SO OLD that your Social Security number is ONE."

I am trying to see the bright side. I have a family. I have a job. I have
a Mansion. And this afternoon, a student told me she thought my age
was 32.