The rain, it is gone.
But it left wind in its wake.
I'm not sure where my brain cells stand, so let's not look too too closely there.
Today feels like a day of wind-whipped irritation, tho for no truly good (meaning worthy in my book) causes. So the scary true cause must be hidden deep. Or simply hormonal. Every female (and possibly male, depending on his life education) knows either could equally plausibly be true.
It was a day bursting with irritation for my neighbors and the trash situation. Have I vented about the trash situation before? Surely I have. So I decided I simply couldn't deal with their towering piles of trash (wet trash, mind you) and the other tenant's bags of lawn clippings (also completely sodden). So I didn't. Even tho it means I likely simply have to deal with it next week. I get it. No martyrdom here, I have choices; today, I chose to abstain and refrain (and only minorly screamed in my head).
In our generally silent walk to the classroom (not for lack of effort on my part), I tried various lines of inquiry with Mauricio (the one success: handing him the book choices, which he insisted on carrying, at last proudly pointing out he could carry four books at once. Indeed. Tho I kept a close watch on his fingers to make sure none were going to fall off.). So I finally made the point/comment to him that I didn't see him last week because it was a school holiday. He queried me about this, and upon entering the classroom, made a beeline for his teacher to ask about last Wednesday being a holiday. Which she confirmed. Not sure what-all that means. I guess if nothing else, I didn't lose credibility.
Little children are so darn mysterious. They're like little animals, familiar and beloved, but you just really don't know what's happening inside their little heads, and they have limited means to tell you. Anyway, he quickly rejected an ant book (think it was way too much text), but did let me read Stellaluna -- about a bat, but a story. So that was different. Then, while finishing up the spider book from two weeks ago, he informed me he wanted a pet spider to eat the flies in his house.
The kid is smart, there is no doubt. Just quiet as all get-out. After reading three books, we wound up with a few minutes at the end, and he pulled out the book he was reading -- it was about tornadoes, which kinda made me feel better about book choices -- he really does like nonfiction science-y things about the world.
The [insert favorite swear] pain-in-the-ass injury
Then it was a short attempt at erging but after two ominous pain slivers that reminded me of my three prior SI joint injuries, I stopped, frustrated but glad I was on my way to my chiropractor. Who confirmed, yep, my SI joint-area-thing was all outta whack. Deeply frustrating. Reminds me of how being in the throes of an injury is so, so emotionally different than being outside such throes, even if they were recent. When my body's whole, hearing someone injured talk, I nod sympathetically and think "that sucks" but it's all devoid of emotion. Being on the inside side of one, I feel the tears and frustration and lack of information and limits they impose -- and this is just a minor-injury-in-the-making, caught in time. Nevertheless, grrrrrrr.
The yes-still-working and money
In between those pieces, it's working on a grant (a new one) with another freelancer, a cool and new experience. Not much money, but some + good experience to be putting a grant together, instead of simply editing.
Onward to Night 3 of Outing Week -- to a writer's group in Cambridge. We shall see. Friday, I'm staying home and diving deep inside a book. Dammit.