Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)
Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.
This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.
Friday, August 06, 2004
Slept in VERY late--all the way until 6 a.m.! Hurray. Long night, full of disturbing dreams. I have those every once in a while. Not going to bore you with them, but it is sorta interesting the content--there was the delivery of a baby (with Reba acting as sort of an ad hoc midwife) in which I was called upon to suction goo out of the baby. Ewww. Then there was a peculiar thing dealing with an old car that I was driving all over the place, and there was a house where everything was quiet except for a television that still made noise even when it was unplugged. I hate nights like that; you wake up not the least bit rested, and creeped out for the rest of the day wondering if sometime during the night something happened to trigger all those things--was one of the kids crying in her sleep? Was there an intruder in the house watching late-night television and didn't have the courtesy to keep the volume down? Or was it just the parade of mouth-breathing ne'er-do'wells the teenage girl who lives across the street seems to attract--loaded up on Oxycontin and Zima, thumping bass coming from a rat-trap Chevy S-10, excited slurred yammering heard through the supposedly insulated exterior walls of the house--the sounds of a late-summer redneck street festival.
Who knows. I just glad those dreams don't happen all the time.
Anyway, got up and got Reba up, put on some clothes to take the trash can to the curb and WHOA! It's COLD outside! All that talk about August being hot? FUGGEDABOUDIT! Mid-60s and brightly sunny. Puts a hop in your skip, alright.
Back in, see that Cat has gotten up and is eating breakfast with Reba, go back upstairs and finish watching the Wendy Garner Show, Cat finally comes back upstairs and joins me on the bed, curling up on Mom's big pillow. We watch the first part of the Today Show, and then I hop in and get my shower, get all fixed up (as best I can), gather up the laundry out of the hamper, get my clothes back on, get Catherine dressed, get Boy awakened so he can go with us to meet Catherine's teacher (the girls are going to stay here--I hope they don't damage each other), and start a load of white cottons.
And now? Time to hit the road--school, then to the high school to drop off Ashley's band card money--she's sold 40 so far, only ten left to have her spring trip payed for--then the office for mine and Reba's hard-earned and quickly depleted paychecks, then the bank, then Nuncie's for some reeds--B-flat clarinet, size 2 1/2, then back home for more laundry and a promised excursion into Cat and Bec's room to help them clean up. I'm hoping I can find a way to avoid that. It's like a Toys R Us store exploded in their floor.
Anyway, time to go. See you in a while.
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