Long Day

That was yesterday.  It's not worth writing about in a public journal, but one of the things I've enjoyed about this process is taking a look back occasionally and discovering minutiae I had already forgotten, so maybe this will serve a purpose someday.

Oh. A momentary pause.  The cat and dog were just making frenetic dives under the computer desk.  I thought they were playing with each other, but a deep growl from our usually cheerful pup caused me to look up.  With no glasses or contacts I am incapacitated, but it seems that they had just deposited a newly dead mouse by the dining room door.  I have now removed said mouse to the brush pile outside.  It was a fully grown mouse; I guess I can hope that it just slipped in the door recently and is not part of an extended indoor family.  I'm not so terribly hopeful, though; there was a mouse upstairs earlier this summer.

Back to yesterday:

Early to work to complete a mammoth pile of copying.  No complaints; the photocopier did not break down.  The office has, however, made the rather bizarre decision to lock up all the paper, which requires that we track down a secretary with a key every time the machine runs out, which is a rather frequent occurrence and slows the entire process down considerably. I will never, ever, ever comprehend the bureaucratic thought process that takes place in the minds of school administrators whose minds SHOULD be occupied with ideas for enhancing rather than stultifying the efficiency of their operation.

Five classes with an unexpected meeting in between.

Attempts to complete student loan forms stymied by the need for my husband's driver's license number.  For heaven's sake.  My husband is, as usual, completely incommunicado for the day (which in his case, means about 12 hours).  The application will not be finished until after dinner, for which I won't be here.

My daughter skips yet another meeting with a college rep for a school which she would find intriguing  if she  would only take a look.  So far she has not: studied for the upcoming SAT-Round Two, checked to see if her teacher recommendations are taken care of, asked her voice teacher for help with a scholarship audition, completed her application form, started her second attempt at an essay, emailed college admissions reps whom she absolutely needs to email, asked her theatre tech teacher for help with a portfolio, or otherwise exerted herself in any way.  I'm not sure which is at a higher pitch: her anxiety level or my frustration level.

An ongoing monologue from my son-still-at-home, who goes to college on Friday (yes, the quarter system is for the birds) and is reorganizing his fall schedule for about the fifth time this summer. 

On to my own class, where I discover, over a two-and-one-half-hour period, that I have not understood one word of the reading nor anticipated one word of the discussion.  This is not a usual experience for me.  I am too tired to be upset, but I make a mental note to myself to remember that my bafflement mirrors how many of my own students feel much of the time.

The last half of Everwood.  Dies anyone else find this plot sequence in which Andy has lied to Ephraim about Madison's pregnancy utterly ridiculous?  The only bright spot so far this season is Harold's reaction's to the interloping young doctor.  He's not the star, and I imagine that he's frequently overlooked, but Dr. Harold Abbott is the most nuanced character on the show.

My daughter asks me to proofread a paper for her.  She has made that request approximately three times in her life, so I do it.  And then I go to bed and relax for a few minutes with an utterly frivolous novel.

I never did get to walk.  But here I am: another day for the animals, the mice, and me.