First quarter grades are done, two days of “staff development” are finished, we had a hard rain and the roof didn’t again leak in the library, and I think the school may have finally turned on the heat for the winter. A student I knew as a kindergartner walked into my office as a senior yesterday reliving the trauma of elementary and middle school bullying. She talked. I listened. There were hugs. Why would anyone ever bully this gentle child? I am mystified. I made her stay for book club. There are other students there who have walked in her shoes.
The kids in the book club/writer’s guild are excited about November being NaNoWriMo. Some of them are actually giving it a go. I envy them. I’ve been stuck with my fanfic for months, which was noted by one of the kids who wants me to publish another chapter. Maybe this weekend. Maybe. Just as soon as I quit banging my head against my thousand page copy of the Oxford thesaurus.
Today the registrar asked me if I could give emergency housing to a Spanish speaking grandmother with a two year old grandchild, both abandoned by her son, and both about to be kicked out of the apartment the son had rented. I have pool that is not fenced in. I could take an older child, but a toddler, a pool, and a big bouncy puppy together in close proximity terrifies me. The school counselors were trying to find immediate shelter for the woman so that family services wouldn’t take the grandchild. I don’t know the outcome, but I’ve worried about it all day.
One of our faculty passed away over the weekend.
In other words, a typical week at the school where I work.
At home, sometime between Sunday night and Tuesday, Jewell and Thorin Oakenpuppy ripped apart an outdoor couch cushion, a pool leaf bag, and a knee pad. It took me an hour to bag all of the bits of foam rubber strewn across the yard. Jewell also found a roll of paper towels upstairs. It looks like snow in the loft.
Now both dogs are sick. Not enough to take to the vet, but when Jewell doesn’t spend the night on the bed beside me, I notice. Thorin is eating, but he had diarrhea today. Jewell is not eating – unless it is a potato plank from the deli – and occasionally throwing up – but so far the potato plank is still down. Thorin is bouncing around like the happy heathen destructo puppy that he is. I suspect that Jewell might be pouting because I yelled at her when she stole a loaf of zucchini bread off the counter on Tuesday. She was happy enough to go for a walk when I got home today.
Glen may or may not be dead on The Walking Dead. I keep trying to like The Leftovers (it’s not working), and it finally occurred to me that although I like the cast and Lady Gaga can act, I’ve kind of had it with the amount of gratuitous violence on American Horror Story. That’s an admission I never thought I’d make, after all, Game of Thrones rarely makes me flinch. The jury is still out on The Bastard Executioner. I’m leaning toward the gratuitous violence argument with that show, too. I’ve cried enough over the funeral at Erebor, and the sad realization that there really is no further Middle Earth to look forward to, ever again.
Damn you, Peter Jackson! Write an original trilogy about the battle for Moria! That is unmined, virgin storytelling territory, except the end where Balin and Ori die. How about a three movie story arc about how the dwarves survived after being driven out of Erebor? I would hand over my paycheck to see three more movies filled with Thorin looking either magnificent or
shirtless and sweaty at the forge filled with smoldering angst.
My current internet provider goes out of businesses tonight at midnight. The new one won’t be installed until Monday. My weekend Internet fix will have to be provided by Starbucks. Payday is five days away. Daylight savings time is over. It gets way to dark way to early.
In other words, I am glum.
So imagine my absolute surprise at the mail box this afternoon. A package from Ireland? Could it be? It was! A carefully wrapped, shiny little RAPS from Guyty, featuring
a shirtless and sweaty John Proctor! It was the perfect end to a very gray day.
Thank you, Guylty! You really didn’t have to, but I’m very glad you did. My mother asked if I could hang it on the Christmas tree. Um. No. It gets a place of honor on the fireplace mantel, out of reach of heathen destructo puppies.
Now if only one of the Richard Armitage films that are in the can would be released. Anyone of them at all. I fear North America will never get to see “Urban” on a big screen and that we might have to resort to black market DVDs or huddle together in the houses of those who own DVD players that can play European formats. Sleepwalker? No distribution deal yet? Pilgrimage? Brain on Fire?
2016 is too far away.