This has been a week of ups and downs, to the nth degree.
Work went from good to challenging to really crummy to excellent. My oldest daughter announced she’s finally paying off the biggest bill in my name, the one that’s been Damocle’s sword hanging over any chance of buying a house. Long story, but as of a year and a half or so ago it actually has been her responsibility.
G (in typical, maddening Cancerian fashion) buried himself deep inside his shell, then popped back out like a frigging jack-in-the-box.
We were told at work that there will be mandatory overtime starting next week – good for the wallet but sucketh mightily for my health.
Tonight my youngest brought me home cash AND arrived with the news that she’s been approved for financial aid to start nursing school asap, probably enough to fund both school and a vehicle.
Anybody got a neck brace? I think what finally caused my whiplash was G getting up in the middle of the night and sitting on the table to eat a piece of cherry pie, swinging his feet back and forth like a five-year-old kid. If ever there was mischief afoot, it was glimmering in his eyes last night.
That kind of behavior is the antithesis of the staid old fart I married.
Yes!!! I’ve corrupted him at last!!!
See what I mean? Just a crazy, crazy week.
I started and finished a moderate-sized novel today, and tomorrow I’m going to record some more voiceovers for my oldest son. I might seriously have told him to take a flying leap, but given that it’s the first part of February and I still haven’t even been able to deliver Christmas gifts to his family (including my grandson,) I decided I’ll kill two stones with one bird.
After this week, getting stoned sounds pretty good, even for somebody like me who doesn’t touch the stuff, hehe.
I’m too tired to really put anything interesting together. I wish I had Poolie’s capacity for striking the common chord of humor from the most mundane and universal things. I’ve absolutely got a warped sense of humor, just too tired to go dig it out of the closet. Besides, I think last time I used it, I got a big stain on it.
Mustard, I think. The stain on my sense of humor has to be mustard.
Mustard is the absolutely most un-funny condiment. It’s baby-pooh yellow, it’s sour without a trace of sweetness, and has its own peculiar texture. You can argue that mayonnaise isn’t sweet. It still isn’t the sourpuss that is mustard.
Even the name “mustard” invokes an Ick-Factor rating of maybe 1 or 2. Nothing profound, just a mild revulsion felt by a few people. For the rest, it’s just there. Not particularly good, but there.
I can’t figure out what the most glamorous condiment is. Catsup is too homey. A1 is probably my choice, though I also like melted cheese, which is a condiment when poured over another product. (Yes it is! I say so and I know everything. After all, I AM a mom.)
But never, ever mustard. It’s just not glamorous.