perspicacious.org

Screw this week. I'll be glad when tomorrow is over. I'll be away for the weekend. Be back Sunday.

Till then.

Words are scary things. Once you let them out you can never really have them back. Thoughts are only snapshots, but once in writing they exist frozen and solid. I choose my words carefully, measuring what I say based on potential reactions. Rarely do I end up feeling like I stated exactly what I meant or thought. There are too many variables and too much room for error, and I'm often not completely certain about how I feel, anyway.

What am I trying to say? That I need to stop overthinking what I write and say. That I need to stop worrying about how I come across. That language is imperfect as a means of communication, but it's the only one we've got. Body language, anyone? I'll mime for you on the webcam.

I'm done overthinking this. There are too many preoccupations filling up my head tonight. I'm going to find something simple and straightforward to read. I'm done thinking.

Today? Drugs in a 6th grader's backpack, apparently. Posession with intent to sell. Police and handcuffs. Expulsion (obviously). Spanish class was cancelled. I didn't get to use the restroom all day. Dismissal was at 12:30, and there was an open house for prospective families. I shmoozed a little in between being preoccupied and hungry and tired, and grinding bleary-eyed though a 6 (OK, maybe 3) inch stack of math papers.

We did a fun (really, it was) lesson on unionizing today. (In the midst of handcuffing and missed Spanish and who knows what else.) We read about coal miners unions in the early 1900's, and then did a simulated union meeting. I love citizenship simulations. I have the kids write responses afterward, and I'm always impressed by how much they learned. The mass-production lesson (kids assemble structures with toothpicks and marshmallows and compare the quantity and quality working individually vs. in an assembly line) was fun, too.

I can't wait for this week to be over so Kate and I can head out of town for the weekend. I'll be glad to get away. Here's hoping next week's a little less crazy.

When other people get hurt or sick I worry about them, certainly. But eventually I always end up worrying about myself. What's going to happen to me? How will I be affected by this situation? What can I do to prevent the same thing from happening to me? I am much more self-centered than I'd ever let on. Yes, I spend a lot of time and money and energy on my job, but in the end my life is tailored to me and to my needs. What's more, I don't feel especially guilty about that.

The reason for my self-centered "what about me?" thoughts? A woman I work with had a heart attack yesterday. She had emergency angioplasty and is "fine" now. Not my definition of fine, perhaps, but she'll be all right and will probably be back to work in a week or so. All of this makes me wonder about just how much control any of us have over our lives and our health. Barb is in her mid fifities, eats well, walks every day, watches her weight, etc. She's never someone I would have expected to have a heart attack.

We have so little control. You can plan for a million scenarios, but the one you don't plan for is what will eventually transpire. If I believed in a higher power I suppose I'd say something cliched about my life being "in God's hands." But don't believe there are any hands, just you and I driving our bumper cars, blindfolded, waiting to see what we'll crash into next. (That's the best analogy I've ever come up with.) You can tense up or relax, but that crash is still coming. I find that almost comforting, in a way. Go figure.

As a kid I had a whole set of book and tape sets. I loved them more than any other toys, even my Little People farm and my musical instrument set. I wore out the pages on Peter Pan and Robin Hood, memorizing the text up to and including the "ping" sound that meant to turn the page. I listened to all of the books over and over, all except The Fox and the Hound. It made me cry every time. I stuck it in the back of the toy box and mostly forgot about it. I'd look at it occasionally and think about how sad it was. It still makes me sad, though I'm not sure I even remember the story.

I also had a set of Little Thinker tapes. They were amazing. A narrator told a story, something simple like a trip to a circus or farm, like you were a main character. There would be occasional breaks with some kind of music where you were supposed to draw what you imagined. I never did, but daydreamed about what my life would be like if I were a farmer or a lion tamer or a trapeze artist. I remember telling my mom that I was going to be a tighrope walker when I grew up. She mumbled something about needing to be born into a circus family. I remember being disappointed, but wasn't I born into a circus family after all?

I made some fantastic stir fry last night. (Yeah, who needs a segue?) It was one of those recipes that seem simple but actually end up taking 6 pots, 7 bowls, a cheese grater, a pastry cutter, a food processor…you get the idea. Let's see. I cut diced tofu and stir fried it in sesame oil, added shredded carrots and chopped garlic, and scrambled in two eggs. I also made rice noodles. I mixed everything together and added snow peas, bean sprouts, hot sauce and crumbled peanuts. If I didn't know better I'd swear I was Thai. Well, not really, but it was pretty good. Now I'm too exhausted to cook again for at least a month.

I need to go buy toothpicks and marshmallows for a lesson on mass production. Yep.