bulletpoints

These are the bullet points:

• The kids have been out of the house for a significant amount of time--long enough that I actually miss them.
• I am still in school, still rockin' the four point oh. This has a lot to do with my absence on this blog.
• I got a nice promotion at my job.
• I also got a humble pay increase.
• I had a dream about that guy I like.
• It was a very nice dream.
• I don't have nice dreams. This must be a sign.
• I'm going to London in May for two weeks.
• Dr. Doty, who is leading our London trip, is not going to come back to WTAMU in the Fall.
• Dr. Doty got a better job.
• Dr. Doty got a better pay increase than mine.
• Dr. Doty deserves it. He's pretty brilliant, and could probably get a job anywhere he wants.
• I noticed I lost about six followers.
• It kind of hurts my feelings that people actually chose to give up on me.
• I'll be back soon.

My Life Right Now in Forty Words or Less

I need a new desk, but we all know I don't have time to shop. 

I don't even have time to write a new blog post.

(So please don't mention this to my professors.)

Everything in the fridge is moldy.

One O'clock

I'm frazzled. I don't know the time. It never passes here in the kitchen. The crappy little Walmart clock I bought for six dollars is stuck at five til one. The second hand is eternally twitching between forty-four seconds and forty-five seconds. Always ticking, never tocking.

I'm busy. I've set up a to-do list, and I'm not stopping until it's finished. I'll admit, I got far too carried away with the paragraph I was supposed to write for English. Somehow it became five pages of how I never had any faith in Southern Baptist preachers. It's supposed to be one paragraph about which story I like best so far from the class. Not a novel-length memoir. I need to calm my ass down.

Delete.

Delete.

Delete.

Sometimes I'll get so caught up in my work that I forget about the glitch on the clock. I'll look up, and depending on the light through the window, I'll either think, Holy crap! It's one o'clock. I'd better eat some lunch! or Holy crap ! It's one o'clock. I'd better hit the sack!

I need to outline Chapter Two in my Biology book. We've already moved through Chapters Three and Four, but Chapter Two is the one the really kicked my butt. (Organic Chemistry...not my strong point.) I need more intense review. I only have an 89 in that class.

Not ninety.

Eighty.

Nine.

History is pretty easy. Read the chapter, take notes in the lecture, pass the test. The teacher is great. He loves what he does. He knows we might not love it that much, but he still holds our attention. I had him last semester. I liked him so much, I scheduled all my other classes around his class this semester. He's a keeper.

Art Appreciation is all online. I wanted to take Drawing, but I couldn't fit it into my History-centric schedule, so an online class was an easy solution. I'm way ahead in that class, mostly because it's all writing. I don't know if you know this, but I can write a thing or two.

Earlier, around one o'clock, my phone rang. I was thankful for the break. I needed to rest my head from thinking so hard. Of course, it was Kim from Lab needing the data we collected Monday night, and could I help her with the answers to some of the questions because she's struggling in that class? (She must not know about my eighty-nine.)

Phys Ed?

Show up with a heartbeat.

Get an A.

Awesome.

I should get off the computer. I've been working since one o'clock, and here it is almost one o'clock again. That seems excessive, even for me. It's Friday night, and I should get a shower and go find a movie date. Or maybe I should just go to bed. The day seems stuck at eighty-nine points.

Always ticking.

Never tocking.

There They Go

I die a thousand tiny deaths every day...but I'm not dead.

My full-time job and all these classes I so cheerfully signed up for are keeping me away from the blogging world. I'm writing, I'm reading, I'm working my ass off, but I'm not blogging. (a tiny death)

I'm also not painting, not cleaning, not cooking, and not socializing. (more deaths) The children have wisely moved out of my house. I cannot describe what a difference it makes in my ability to get schoolwork done. They think this means I am no longer parenting. That might be true, but since I can no longer parent in the style to which I am accustomed, I have resorted to simply worrying. (a death) 

I worry that Sara won't be able to get back and forth to work because her car is broken. I worry that Jacob is going to get some poor, unsuspecting girl pregnant. I worry that David is sleeping on park benches, because he shows up here every once in a while to check the bus schedule on the computer. I worry that Matt doesn't have a clean uniform for work.They'll do their own things, though. They may not make the decisions I encourage them to make, but I can't control any of that (nor would I want to, they have their own lives).

 I worry about all the other things a mom worries about, and even more than I ever thought about before they were all on their own.

Tiny little things.

Tiny little deaths.
.
.
.

100 Words: Hunger

When Netherton reads to the class, he uses a melodic voice with just a little bit of a hum to it. I read silently  along,  but about halfway through, my mind succumbs to his lullaby and the words on the page swirl together into a chaotic whirlpool of letters and punctuation.

Class begins at seven pm, just fifteen minutes after US History ends. Supper is an unrealistic fantasy on school nights.

That is why you will often find me with my face pressed to the glass of the vending machine, begging a Snickers bar to magically leap into my clutches.