Just another Wednesday Morning

on 31 October 2007

I thought you'd all enjoy, yet another, slice of my daily life. (Note* Names and places have been changes to protect the not so innocent but I don't want to enrage the fates.)

I was sitting at my desk minding my own business reading blogs when my phone rang. so I answered it:

Me: Health Stuff and Accouterments*, this is Me*****, how can I help you?

Caller (with a thick Southern accent): Yes, ma'am, I found your number on the Internet. Is this Health Stuff and Accouterments*?

Me: Yes, ma'am.

Caller: Well. Let me ask you, how are you affiliated with the Centers for Disease Control?

Me (starting to be a little weirded out at this point): Ma'am, we're not affiliated with the Centers for Disease Control, the CDC is its own entity. We're affiliated with University in another State*.

Caller: Well, let me ask you this, I contracted an STD a while ago. I was messin' around wi' this man and he tol' me that he tested positive for Gonorrhea and Chlamydia and I KNOW my body! I knows I had Gonorrhea and I been goin' to my doctor and they keeps tellin' me that the tests is negative, they negative, they negative, but I knows my body! I knows I got something from this man I was messing with! I am a 57 year ol' woman and my doctors they just messing with me like I am some kind of guinea pig that they can jus' experiment on and it ain't right! And I am gonna TELL someBODY cause it ain't RIGHT!

Me: Ma'am, where are you calling from?

Caller: Atlanta, Georgia.

Me: Ma'am you've contacted the university of AN-OTHER STATE in Another City*. There's nothing I can do for you if you're in Atlanta, Georgia.

Caller: Well some body's got to do somethin' because this just ain't RIGHT!

Me: Well, ma'am, perhaps you should contact a lawyer.

Caller: Well, I got one of those but I don't trust him. And here I am I could be dyin' of HIV or somethin'!

Me: Ma'am, I'm awfully sorry for you, this sure is a difficult situation.

Caller: Yes, it sure is. I think I'm just gonna have to write some letters STARTIN' with the President and just goin' on down the line! I knows I gots to tell somebody if I has an STD and I know my body!

Me: Well, I think that's probably the best thing to do in this situation. You have a nice day now.

Caller: Well, okay, bye.

Yep. This is my job. Funtastic, no?

Thinking, optional.

on 26 October 2007

You know how when you go to parks or beaches where clothing is optional, there's always a sign posted that states: Clothing Optional. Sometimes I wish we could get fair warning from those people who live their lives as if thinking were optional.

I'd feel better about dealing with them on a day to day basis if I knew ahead of time that to them...Thinking Optional.

Boston, one more time...

on 23 October 2007

Okay, so here are the details of the trip.

We got in to town about 1pm and dropped our hud at P.'s. Lunch was, or course, the first priority.

Preface: The Husband and I are both youngest children (youngest of 4 if you want to know) so if you are an "oldest child" and it seems like we did a lot of wandering around aimlessly, it's because there was no one there to tell us what to do!

We walked down Massachusetts Avenue and found this amazing Greek place...And then we decided to walk to Harvard. It's a city, right? How far could it be? And it wasn't really that far...
So we did some wandering around Haahvaahd which was more than a little disappointing. It seems you need to have a Haahvaahd ID to get in to ANY of the buildings which I thought was a bit of overkill but maybe that's just me.

The sign itself wouldn't have been so annoying if it weren't for this:

Yep. You had to climb up all of those to even get to the lame sign telling you that your ass isn't white-collar, blue blood, old money enough to get in to even look at all the pretty books. And as much as I resented this (I borrowed your damn books, Haahvaahd! Anyone want to read my thesis? What's that resounding no mean?)...but it sparked a great discussion between the Husband and I on the control of information and the nature (and preservation) of power and existing norms...I know. We're dorks. It's okay.

The coolest thing we saw at Haahvaahd was this dog stalking a squirrel.

Then we found the Haahvaahd Natural History museum and saw much cool stuff--including a domestic Ass--who knew? at Harvard!

I know. We are both children...masquerading as adults...but we had a lot of fun together, which was nice for a change.

We walked through this amazing cemetery on the way to meet up with P. for dinner and saw all of these granite tombstones dating from the late 17th and early 18th century...it was so cool.
Friday came in grey. So we had some breakfast (Mr. Crepe!) and headed out to Boston Commons. We spent much of the morning wandering around aimlessly...we eventually found ourselves on the Freedom Trail though, and managed to meander past the Faneuil House and the Park Street Church and then we found the Holocaust memorial and we stopped and walked through and read and thought and took a moment to talk about all of those people who died so that they, in that moment, were remembered.

P. had said that he wanted to "do the Freedom Trail with us" so we saved the museums and Constitution for Saturday. uh-huh. We're pretty naive people.

Saturday came in with the Head of the Charles (which would be alarming except it's a rowing rigatta and not really as exciting as someone coming in with the actual head of someone named Charles...but maybe that's another story). P. had said, "We'll just stop by..." Which I innocently took to mean, 10 maybe 15 minutes. I like sports as much as the next girl--but I prefer them on the television, in my living room, in my pajamas, with me multi-tasking (i.e. reading a book). It was cool and grey which was lovely...but the wind blowing my hair every which way was not.

We eventually headed down town and towards the Constitution which was AMAZING!!! The Husband was like a kid at Christmas, his face all lit up and taking pictures of everything and absolutely in love with this ship. (I think the Husband has read the Aubrey-Maturin series by Patrick O'Brien one too many times, but maybe that's just me...)

By the time the boys left the ship and toured the museum, everything was closing down for the day. We headed to Mikes and ate cannolis and then headed back to Cambridge for the night. Needless to say, I was disappointed. There was much I had expressly asked to see, but only one thing that I told the Husband I would cry if I didn't get to see. And I didn't get to see it. And I didn't cry--I'm not a completely spoiled brat--but I was unhappy and he knew it.

We flew home on Sunday. I think we were both just happy to be home, in our own space, with our cats and back to our routine. Boston was a great city to visit, and I certainly learned some important lessons--please see the aforeposted list--I'll do it differently next time. If we get a next time.


on 22 October 2007

I really am working on a photo spread of our Boston trip...but in the meantime!

Pop over to The Creamery and congratulate Whimsy on her little Frijolita!

First things First

I am working on a bit of a spread of our Boston trip, because I knooow all of you are sitting on the edges of your wee seats dying to know all about it. But in the meantime...I have some lists for you!

What I loved about the weekend in Boston:

1) Spending time with The Husband. We were goofy and silly and sarcastic. We ate great food and had great conversation. He bought me an ice cream cone out of the back of a van and I laughed the whole time I ate it because I haven't done such a thing since I was a small small child.
2) I could hear 8 different languages in the course of a city block! It was like my version of heaven!
3) Lots of cool overcast skies. Beautiful!
4) Lights are optional for pedestrians, if you think you can cross without getting hit--go for it!
5) Piling up on P.'s bed to watch Everything is Illuminated.
6) Watching the Husband exploring the USS Constitution. He was like a little kid at Christmas--I have seldom seen him so completely and totally happy.
7) Cannolis from Mikes...ohmygoodness ricotta cheese x sugar + chocolate chips = BLISS.

Things I did NOT like about my trip to Boston:

1) Flying. We did not like it. Not a bit of it.
2) People honk their car horns A LOT. If you so much as hesitate at a light that is still RED but will be turning GREEN in the next millisecond, they will honk you to SHAME.
3) -----edited to protect the feelings of those we love.
4 ------edited to protect the feelings of those we love.
5) 3 hours at the Head of the Charles. It's a boat race, I don't get it.
6) NOT SEEING the Paul Revere House, the Bunker Hill monument, the Russian district, or the Irish district, or the immigration museum.
7) P. being so busy with work and others. We came to see him, after all, and it felt like we were just a hassle and in the way...and that's no fun at all.

That said, here's the last list of the day:

Things you should do if you ever go to Boston:

1) Don't trust your friends to show you what you really care about. They won't. They'll show you what they care about--which is fine if you have common interests--but if you don't, just by a Charlie Ticket and go and see stuff by yourself. Otherwise you'll end up missing out on the city you wanted to see.
2) Take an umbrella. Even if it doesn't look like rain. Trust me.
3) If you still persist in not taking an umbrella, take extra clothes to change in to when you are soaking wet from the rain that really didn't look like falling.
4) EAT. Where you want, when you want and what you want.
5) Know what you want to see, ride the T to that place and then walk--don't meander from Davis Square to Boston Commons. You'll be tired and grumpy and there won't really be any time to see what you wanted to see to begin with.
6) Pay for your own space, you'll sleep better if you can walk around naked for a bit.
7) Know how YOU travel. And don't mix vacation/pleasure/FUN with Friends or Family. It doesn't mean you love them any less, you do, it's just so much more efficient and you won't feel guilty for leaving them behind or resenting them in the morning.

Love and Hate

on 17 October 2007

We're gearing up for a trip to Boston tomorrow. Neither of us has ever been before and one of the Husband's best friends lives up there so we're popping in for a long weekend and a visit with P.

I love travel. I do. I love seeing new places and experiencing new things. I love the different faces. I love cities. I do. I really do.

That said: I HATE travelling! Why do we do this to ourselves and call it FUN?!? Seriously! The laundry and then the packing and the provision for the CATS and then the AIRLINES!!! Let us not even discuss the state of air travel! And then the hassle of not knowing where you're going and trying to navigate a CITY with all of your LUGGAGE! And I'm a LIGHT packer! And the people! So. Many. New. People. What was I thinking in my wee introvert brain? And then the COST!!! Please, can we not contemplate the amount of money that travel costs? I need to breathe into a paper bag for a moment.


Okay. I think I'm moderately calmer now. In a theoretical sort of way I am looking forward to this. After all 2 whole days off work! YAY! 2 whole days with the Husband! YAY! 3 whole days with P all to ourselves! YAY! But seriously...I still wonder why I am doing this to myself. I could feasibly hide in my apartment for 4 days not checking email, not answering the phone (not that I answer the phone that much anyway...), and not changing out of my pajamas! I know. I know. Travelling broadens the mind and enriches our life through being and experience and blah blah blah.

Alright, already! I'm going now. If you need me, I'll be in Boston.

Rules? Yeah, those don't apply to ME.

on 16 October 2007

For your Tuesday diversion, I would like to tell you a workplace story. Names will be changed to protect the guilty but still living and therefore able to track me down and scalp me.

I have kvetched over my job before. I am a run-of-the-mill administrative assistant but because of my background I do quite a bit of editing for professors and preparing their papers for publication.

The general drill runs like this: they email me the document and the journal that they want to publish it through; I check the formatting requirements and reformat the document accordingly; then I edit it for grammar, flow and style and then either shunt it back to the professor in question for additional revision, or send it on to the journal for review and (hopefully) publication.

Have you ever looked at an academic journal’s requirements for publication? They’re very specific, usually involving word count, source citation specifications, layout format, and table/figure/graph requirements. And the competition is fierce so they use these formatting requirements to sift people out of consideration. Trust me, in order to appreciate the humor of this story you need to understand these rules.

The professors I work for are as different as you can imagine. Sometimes I get papers that are formatted and polished and they just want a fresh pair of eyes to go over it and make sure that they didn’t miss anything. Sometimes I get hieroglyphs and a stack of articles for citations and I have to build the paper from the ground up.

So, DM asks me to format this paper for JAMA (you want some mind-numbing? Read their instructions for authors—it is a tomb of instructional material). It is the previously mentioned hieroglyphs, but I shaped it up and sent it on to JAMA. Where it sat. And sat. And sat for 3 months. It was finally (and cordially) rejected, so she sent it back to me with a request to reformat it and submit it to a different journal. I looked at the journal’s specifications and noticed that they have a strict word limit of 3, 500 words. DM’s paper was at 3, 858. I informed her of this and she said, “Oh that doesn’t matter, let’s submit it anyway!” Because rules? They don't apply to everyone! So I submitted it.

The very next day she receives an email stating that due to the high volume of papers they receive they are unable to review papers in excess of 3, 500 words. I can admit this here (because she will never read this blog—in all probability) but I laughed until I cried. It is a small sort of vengeance for administrative assistants when they know more than the people for whom they work. I took a sort of evil delight in the enforcement of this regulation…I know. I need to get out more.

So, Monday. Yesterday! She brings me her revised paper for me to trim down and shape up. Which I do. And I checked the word count. Exactly 3,500 words. I went in to her office, chuckling about the odds of this. She sheepishly pulls out a sticky note. She had kept track of every word she cut! (And people think that I’m anal.)

So, yesterday I resubmitted. Frankly, I’m hoping it gets published; it seems I can’t get rid of this paper until it does. And just remember, kids, the rules--they do apply!

Weekend Schmeekend

on 15 October 2007

We had a death in the family. Uncle Howard. He was this sweet old man, the younger brother of the Husband's grandmama. He was in hospice for a couple of weeks so we sort of expected it. But expecting doesn't make it less sad. We got the call last week and made a whirlwind trip to Savannah to be with the family.

I wish that I had wise things to say. Sorry. My heart is preoccupied with the family today.

How I knew.

on 11 October 2007

So, I originally was going to write an open letter to the Husband, thanking him for enduring the many levels of my dorkiness. And then, of course, I realized that the Husband doesn't read my blog...oh, he has good intentions and if I tell him to do it, he'll usually pop by, but it's not high on his list of things to read on the Internet.

So then I started thinking about how much and how varied the levels of my dorkiness are that he puts up with and I realized that, it was his capacity to endure and to understand my dorkiness that allowed me to know that he was the man I was going to choose to spend the rest of my life with. The Husband actually asked on of his four roommates at the time, how he knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with his (then) fiancee. And to this his roommate respond, "Dude. I don't know. She put up with my crap." So when the Husband proposed and I asked him if he was sure that he really wanted to marry me, he said, "Well. You put up with my crap." (Behold, the romance of the Husband!)

The truth is that, and this is (part of) my own personal marriage philosophy, we put up with each other's crap. There is currently, in our apartment 800 feet of army green paracord. Why? Do we scale mountains? Nope. Jump out of perfectly good airplanes? Nope. Boating? Nope, not a bit of it. We're home bodies mainly. But the Husband decided that part of being a good husband was being able to tie a whole mother-load of knots. And ordinary, manageable lengths of rope just weren't good enough. He's currently researching the kind of felling axe to buy. Why? Do we live deep in the woods? Nope, suburban hell. Do we live in a house with a chunk of property to maintain? Nope, apartment on the third floor. Is he planning to build an arc to save us from certain doom? Nope. He just wants one. Thinks it's a practical tool to have around. Okay.

It's funny. Well, I hope it's funny to other people because frankly, I have to shut myself in the bathroom and have a good laugh about it so as not to make him feel neurotic. But in truth, I'm just as odd, just as illogical. I have, at last count, four copies of all of Jane Austen's novels. I know. It's excessive. I really only neeeed three copies. I KNOW! I am a dork! No one needs more than one copy of any book at any given time! I couldn't help myself! I also have four different translations of Beowulf and I think four different printings of Lord of the Rings. What? I never claimed to be normal, there was no pretense, no liiiie from the beginning. I admit upfront, I am neurotic and a card-carrying member of geekdom.

In addition to the book "thing." I have no desire nor ability to decorate whatsoever so our apartment is institutional chic. 85% of my wardrobe is charcoal grey and I have the same design of shoe in 3 different colors and they're the only shoes I wear. I can't leave dirty dishes in the sink because it makes me crazy and I hate clutter so I compulsively clear surfaces. It doesn't sound that bad writing it out...of course, I'm giving you the slightly diluted eccentricities because we don't know each other well enough now for the hardcore neuroses. Maybe someday we'll get there, but for now this is all you need to know.

I knew that I loved the Husband and the Husband loved me when we were able to be the worst version of ourselves together and not run away. screaming in terror. needing therapy. or prison time.

Work? Is that really expected of me?

on 10 October 2007

I have one of those mind-numbing jobs. It's not what I set out to do with my life. I set out to become a great mind in the academic world of Comparative Literature. Which means I know lots of stuff that has very little practical value. YAY for me!

I ended up here because I happen to love the Husband. I've never been one of those Rose Colored Glasses kind of girls...you know who you are. You love the dating, the drama, the oooh it's soooo romantic. But it's not. The reality of a monogamous relationship is that it's a heaping serving of compromise, a side of sacrifice, and if you're lucky you get the ice cubes of romance in your slightly flat soda of domesticity.

The Husband worked crappy hospital jobs to put me through grad school. He cleaned up blood and vomit and poop. Adult poop. Trust me, he knows that adult poop is a whole lot grosser than baby poop. Now it's my turn. I work a lame administrative job to put him through grad school. You want the truth? I don't mind. Sure, I kvetch about being the copy girl. But I don't have to clean up any body's bodily fluids or excretions. And I have long stretches of time when the professors have their groove and don't need me. I have long droughts of work. You know. When I can read blogs all day long. And also wikipedia. And play with my ipod.

And then something strange and unforeseen happens. All of a sudden they all need me to do stuff for them. Lots of stuff. Stuff called work. It's pesky and annoying and requires me to use parts of my brain that have lain dormant for many, many seasons. The social parts of my brain that require me to make reservations and set up meetings and create working-dinners with multiple professors who have stuff to talk about.

The problem with this drought or flood scenario is that in the drought periods I forget how to work efficiently. So much so that this morning I spent a good fifteen minutes just staring at the piles that had strangely materialized on my previously clean desk. Don't worry. I'm so smaht, I figured it out all by myself.

I know people who wonder what in the name of Batman I'm doing, working this job that I'm over-educated and over-qualified for. I'll tell you. It's not a secret. It's love.

It's such a small word to describe the effect it has on a whole life.

The Ties that Bind

on 09 October 2007

I have parents. Good ones. Hardworking, decent people just trying to live their lives. Not perfect, but not dreadful either. I don't talk about them much because I have occasional ambivalent feelings. I have avoided talking about my parents because at some point I would like to feel safe enough to give the address to this blog and they could feasibly read everything that I've written. And while I am the token hippy in a family of rather staunch republicans, I have no desire whatsoever to alienate or injure my family.

That said, I read this today: "My parents, like a lot of people, successfully raised their child to be an adult they can't understand, in a city they find alarming, in a profession they find impenetrable" (Kadish, 81) and I thought. Wow. She perfectly explained my relationship with my parents.

My parents pushed us. Well, my Dad pushed us. My mom mostly loved us as much and as well as she could or we would let her. They haven't had an easy life. Hard work and lots of it. They genuinely wanted us to have a better or easier life than they had. So they pushed us. Pushed us to do well in school, to make good grades, to get an education, to work work work and to serve when required. The result (at least for me) is a bachelors degree with honors in a discipline incomprehensible to my parents, and a masters degree in the same subject. I used to go to great lengths to try to explain what I was studying and learning and reading and writing...and then I just gave up. I got tired. I guess I came to accept that I was just different from my parents. Not better or worse, just different.

I love my parents. But there are moments when that difference is a gaping maw, a conversational black hole, an untraversable no-man's land. I can't change who they are. I can't change who I am. I can't unlearn the things that have made me so different. And yet. I feel bad. Like I haven't loved them well enough. Like I'm not a good enough child. Not loyal enough. Not patient enough. Not tolerant enough.

I have moments when they're pushing my buttons (read: DAD) and I want to look at them and turn my heart off and simply say, "I am what you made me." Because I am. The workaholic, obsessive, driven, ambitious parts of my personality come from those years of being pushedpushedpushed to be betterbetterbetter than the next person. And yet. They are my parents.

I suppose it's an unresolvable problem with the universe...this tension between parents and the children that they've raised.


on 08 October 2007

Okay, so I got in to work this morning and I thought to myself, "It's Monday! I should update the blog!" And then of course, I stared at the screen thinking that I have absolutely nothing that is thought-provoking or original to say. So. It's Monday! And I am updating the blog by pilfering from A Quiet Room. I generally don't play nicely with the meme stuff, but it's so much of a Monday that I've got no where else to go!

Here goes:

Four Jobs I have had in my life:
-Music Store Clerk
-Office Temp. (I know. The glamor. Try to restrain yourselves.)
-Comparative Literature Instructor. (Undergrads do not scare me. That's not entirely true. Sometimes they do scare me. A lot.)
-Office Assistant. again.

Four Movies I can watch over and over and over again:
-Pride and Prejudice
-Our Mutual Friend
-The Matrix (I prefer 2 but I can watch any of the 3 over and over and over)
-Bleak House

Four Places I have lived:
-Athens, GA
-Oak Ridge, TN
-Durham, NC

Four Places I have been:
-New York, NY
-Galway, Ireland
-Frankfurt, Germany
-Halifax, Nova Scotia

Four of my favorite foods:
-nachos with black beans and white corn and Boca chicken
-malai kofta with basmati rice
-pad see yew with tofu and extra chilies
-falafel with feta cheese

Four sites I visit daily:

Four places I would rather be right now:
-at home in pajamas
-Paris, France
-in bed with a good book

10 Literary figures I would most like to snog:

-Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice: I know. It's so cliche...everyone loves Mr. Darcy, but with good reason.
-Mortimer Lightwood from Our Mutual Friend: smart, sarcastic, noble at heart.
-Sydney Carton from Tale of Two Cities: smart, sarcastic, self-destructive--what? I said snog, not marry!
-Roger Hamley from Wives and Daughters: smart, compassionate, and a naturalist...he's bound to be a good kisser.
-Thomas Bertram from Mansfield Park: smart, social conscience, Regency bad boy...lovely.
-Benedict from Much Ado about Nothing: I have to side with A Quiet Room, there's just something about witty banter and good conversation that's attractive.
-Count Almasy from the English Patient: incredibly smart, passionate, fierce. Wow.
-Patrick Lewis from In the Skin of the Lion: smart, a bit naive, gentle, but violent when wronged.
-Will Ladislaw from Middlemarch: smart, artistic, passionate...good for a smooch but I wouldn't want to live with him.
-Rawdon Crawley from Vanity Fair: a gambler and a soldier...need I say anything more?

Well, now you can all say that you know more about me than you ever wanted. For those of you who aren't up to snuff on your British slang, a snog is a smooch not the full montey! And if you're interested in sharing your list then by all means meme away, if not. Then go in peace and we will chat again another day.

Sister of my Heart

on 03 October 2007

I have two sisters. They are both older than I am. Decidedly older than I am. My eldest sister is 11 years older and my middle sister is 8 years older. I suppose the age difference is part of why we weren't particularly close growing up. As a child I idolized my eldest sister. We resemble one another and now that we're both adults we resemble one another in personality as well as appearance. My middle sister and I have never been close. I suppose that the mature thing to say is that we are both to blame, as a child I antagonized her, I know that I did; but as a child and as an adult she has been cruel to me. I am trying to forgive her and let it go, but it's a lot harder to undo programming than it is to program from the beginning. My middle sister frightens me. I know that that's probably unkind, but it's honest. I feel uneasy around her. I can not fully trust her. And the result is that I don't trust her. I don't call her. I don't make much effort at all one way or the other. Live and let live. The sad thing is that we live as virtual strangers.

For a long time I had a separate life from that of my sisters. They were so much older and had finished college, gotten married, started their families before I got really going in school. I felt left behind much of the time. And then this wonderful thing happened. I found Whimsy. Whimsy and I found each other at a time where what we needed was the safety of sisters. And so that's what we became for each other. I have long loved her as a sister. She has always accepted me as I am while making very few demands. She taught me the true meaning of forgiveness. And from her, I learned the power of letting go. We have drifted out and returned like the tide and things change around us but the love I have for this dear girl does not change.

It seems strange to me that as an adult I seek out the safety of my sister again. My eldest sister that is. She and I have come to a place at the same moment and here we've been able to see each other as we really are--flaws and all. We've been able to let go of who and what we have been in order to be who we are in this moment, in this place. Potok says that the Talmud teaches us that everyone must choose a teacher and then choose a friend. I am blessed by both. She is my teacher and she is my friend. I trust her. I love her. And it is not so simple as our blood, our DNA, it is who she is as much as it is who she is to me.

Once upon a time I hated my sisters. I hated that they were prettier and smarter than I was. I hated that every where I went people knew them and were expecting me to live up to their accomplishments. I hated myself for not being more like them. And then I grew up. And I learned that I am who I am outside of my sisters. And they are who they are. And it's not perfect, but it's still good.

Over-medicated Mondays

on 01 October 2007

I don't sleep. Much. As in, I average about four hours a night. A lot of people I know find this fact deplorable and wonder how I survive without coffee. I do. And maybe it is something to whine about, but from where I sit, it's not such a bad thing.

Which makes it all the strangers that I slept yesterday afternoon. For 3 hours. ME! 3 Hours! Asleep! Continuously! I must be coming down with something.

I got my groove back last night, though. I slept off and on for about 4 hours.

Why, The Wife? What are you thinking about while you are awake and the world around you slumbers? Thank you, Internet for asking, I am happy to oblige you.

Last night I was thinking about the show Heroes, since the Husband and I had watched (I think)3 episodes back to back to back before bed. I thought about what life would be like if I was like them and had some sort of genetic mutation that gave me super-powers and what I would do with it. I found myself more than a little jealous of that one girl with the power of persuasion...how cool would that be? Or the invisible man? All my life I've wanted to be invisible...alas.

And then I thought about The Husband and his midterms and how hard he works but he's not entirely sure why he works so hard.

And then I thought about Boston. It's 2 weeks from this Thursday that the Husband and I will be embarking on a real vac-a-tion! I am so excited. I've never been to Boston and it's Autumn and it will be beautiful and fun and I get to go with my most favorite person in all the world!

And then I kicked Agnes off of me 323 times in a row.

And then I gave up and got up and came in to work.