Today was RUFF

por ejemplo:

[Actual Conversation]

interviewer: You have no experience with software.

me: I wouldn't say that. I designed and coded proprietary software for one of the biggest engineering firms in California. I may be an English major, but I can program in three different computer languages.

interviewer: What's a computer language?

[intense concentration needed in order to not bang my head against desk. cuz, dude. I'd like a full time job. interviews like this? not helping.]

I'm going to look over my marketing stuff. See if I can't pull a post off in spite of my ruffed up brain. If I can't? Come back in a day or two. Hugs.

Sometimes Having Psychic Children is Super Creepy.

Last night my kids were feeling pretty morbid. 

We were driving home from Auntie Barb's house and they kept obsessing about death and car accidents. Then Lily told me:

"You know what, Mommy?"

"What?" I said.

"I think you're going to get into a car accident tomorrow."

"Honey. That is highly unlikely. And not something you should worry about."

Lily's eyes filled with tears. "But Mommy. You've been in too many car accidents." (True enough.) "When you get in the car accident tomorrow, I think you'll die!"

"Lily. Really. I have no plans on dying. And I'm not getting in a car accident tomorrow."

Then Sam chimed in. "Yeah, Lily. Don't worry. When she gets in the car accident tomorrow, she won't die. She'll just mess up her pretty new car."

Lily started wailing. "But it's a brand new car! It's so pretty!"

Having an un-pretty car is apparently worse than death to Lily. But, yanno. She cares about fashion and stuff.

Well.

I guess you know how this story ends because my children already told you.

I got rear-ended on my way to school this morning. I didn't die (or even get hurt at all I think; I'll wait till tomorrow to tell you for sure).

But my pretty new car is not so pretty any more.

So I guess we should all mourn or something.

a strange thing has been happening to me ever since my second night in the hospital right after my skin graft

The first time it happened I didn't even know what it was. It was like... a vibration. In my throat? Where the air was coming from. It was soft, but it woke me up. Immediately, I freaked out and buzzed the nurse. "I think there's something wrong with my airway. What if I stop breathing--I've done that in the hospital before--what if..." When you're in the hospital and code blues are ringing all the time, you can get a little hysterical sometimes.

The nurse calmed me down by putting an oxygen monitor on my finger.

It happened again in the hospital, but I brushed it aside. If I was in danger of death, I was hooked up to the machines that would tell someone. This is a very comforting thing when you're in the hospital and it's all dark and you're all drugged and hysterical.

But then I went home. And... well... it kept happening. Sometimes the vibration would be really strong and sometimes it would even make a sound. Sometimes it would wake me up. Sometimes it wouldn't.

After about two weeks home I started to realize what it probably was. (In my defense, it took me that long because the sensation feels NOTHING like the sensation you get when you pretend to do it. And also, I was really out of it for a really long time.) I didn't tell anyone, though. It was something I had never, ever done in my entire life. I didn't want people to think I might keep doing it. Because I might not! It was probably just a temporary thing caused by the sedative effects of all the post-surgery drugs. Right?! It had to be that. Because I wasn't someone who did something like this.

But people. Oh, people. I took a nap again today. And three times--count them!--three times I was semi-awakened by "it."

So I can't pretend anymore. I have to confess. To come out publicly with an announcement:

I snore now.

I don't do it every time I sleep. But sometimes I do. I don't know if I'll ever stop. Or if when I finally finish healing from the super-annoying-skin-graft-from-hell (did you know it messed up my heart?! they just put me on beta blockers so I don't keel from a heart attack. I'm friggin 31!) I will magically stop.

But for now. In this place. At this point in my life.

I snore.

And it sux.

And I'm sorry.

Dear Word 2007

I know you think you are being helpful.
When you randomly add tabs and change the style of sections I didn't ask you to.
Or maybe you think that you're smarter
than people like me.
And maybe you don't know
that
is why
people come after you in alleys
with sticks
and torches
and various implements of torture.
Because that's what dealing with you is like.
torture.

ps: u suck

since when did my computer become part of my body?

I accidentally left my computer at work. (Borrowing my four year old's computer to write this. Tricky because the entire thing had to be sanitized before I could touch it. And even then...) Now, my work is an hour away, else I might just pop over and get it.

But, anyway, it's the beginning of a three day weekend. Four day weekend, really, since I don't work TTh.

And the idea of going that long without my computer...

ack. it's like I've lost the third arm I didn't know I had!

going to go hide under the covers now...

(5 papers+ 6 quizzes + 99 journal entries + endless pleas for mercy) X 56 students =

much.

much.

gloom.

Someone tell me...

If Lily is the one rubbing poop into her eyes, why am I the one who wakes up with the infection?!

Don't have an idea for a Christmas present yet? Here's an idea: Buy a book! Save publishing! (okay, it's not quite *that* dramatic/dire)

(or is it?!...)

New Sitemeter Makes me Cranky

Maybe I just haven't figured it out yet, but I used to be able to spy on my site MUCH better. And I really LIKED it. Now I'm just getting cranky because it's a whole lot harder to link IP addresses to cities and to track who's on the site. Good for you, hard for obsessive-me. ARCHGH!

Answer: 20

Question: How many dollars does it cost me to drive to work and back, based on the current price of gas and the specific gas mileage of my car?

Hopefully, this will be the next car I buy:

A Sad, Sad Thing Happened Today

I paid $70.00 for a tank of gas. Seventy friggin dollars.