As random as turkeys in space...

Yup. I've got 3 days left before graduation. I am physically incapable of profound, and mentally incapable of organized. Hell, I'm not even sure I qualify as sentient! But I still have lots of crap floating around in my head, and so, in Cory's words, I'm going to unload some of that "shit into my yard" and see how much stinks, and how much is just random shit, right? Here goes:

* Walking around the neighborhood with feet that don't hurt is magical. It's like flying or teleporting or something. You know you're either getting old or fucking up when your body big time when you stop taking good health for granted.

* I'm typing this blog during my 6th period final, which, oddly enough, is at 8:00 in the morning. All year, I've been getting here at 8:45 in the morning--I'm so tired and disorganized, that I just gave my 11th graders the 12th grade final. They're so tired and disorganized, that they didn't recognize the mistake until question 66.

* I showed Chicken a passage from BMoon II last night that she really loved--she laughed AND cried at the same time. I tried to tell Mate about it, and he looked puzzled, said, "uh-huh" and went back to his WoW game. I took the ball of Schaeffer's Anne out of Chicken's hand before she could throw it at her father's head, and then I took the book she went for after that. Then I heard myself tell my daughter, "That's okay honey, he's a man...he's just not going to get it like you do." And then I felt REALLY bad. I think I just failed 'Parenting 101.2: gender stereotyping at it's worst.'

* I have a VERY talented, VERY flaky student in my 2nd period class, who put all of his grade-D eggs into a book report basket. And brother, was this book report epic--$250 in fake body parts, 40 minutes on dvd hastily edited to 16 on borrowed equipment, a script adapted from four best-selling novels about a serial killer who kills serial killers...seriously--this guy is an ubergenius w/camera, script, and vision.

It's unfortunate that part of the script involved a prostitute (played by his mother--who, btb, all the other kids proclaimed to be VERY hot) and a fake body part that only she could by from a store that only adults can enter. Oh yeah--it also included a big set of garden shears and about a gallon of fake blood.

And the thing that got me most about this masterpiece--besides the fact that it was one of the most disturbing things I've ever seen--is that I PREDICTED THE ENDING BEFORE I SAW IT. "Markus," I said, shaking my head, "There had better not be any amputated weiners in this magnum opus of yours, okay?"

"Don't worry, Ms. Lane--it'll all be kosher."

People, that hot dog was NOT kosher. But the kid still passed. What can I say? I"m a sucker for the classics.

* I left the short people with the tall people this morning instead of taking them to day care. What can I say? I had to be here an hour early, and they were SOOOOOOO tired last night. It's recital week--we enrolled Cave Troll for gymnastics and Chicken for dance, but we decided Ladybug wasn't quite ready to go do gymnastics for an audience yet. (Sue us--she's two!) Anyway, when Ladybug realized that the Cave Troll was going somewhere without her, there was MUCH WEEPING, WAILING AND CARRYING ON. And then the Cave Troll didn't get home for rehearsal until almost 9:30. Suffice it to say, that if all has gone well, the two of them are still sleeping while I type this.

* I tried to load pictures from the camera onto the computer a couple of nights ago, and the whole works froze up. (Fucking computer--just sayin'...) Anyway, I haven't forgotten that the blog is a terrifically handy place to put pictures, neither have I forgotten that I'm knitting, nor that my children are most certainly adorable enough to post. It just hasn't happened yet.

* I am currently working on 5 pairs of socks. Yes. Five. It's actually sort of a cool system. They're all completely different colors, and three of them have patterns--one set of jaywalkers, one pair of sport weight w/a basketweave, and one with a little cloverleaf/rib thing going on. Two pairs are two at a time on magic loop, and the others are on either two circs or magic loop, (I"m thinking of casting on a pair on dpns, just to round that out, btw) and NONE of them are in the same yarn brand. Not one. I've got Mountain Colors Wool Quarters (dark autumn colors), Meillenweit self-striping (antique rose colors), Cherry Tree Hill (spring iris colors), Louet (peacock colors), and this fairly obscure yarn called Rio Platas that's kind of hand-dyed uberfunky (sea shore colors)-- and I'm thinking of doing some earth colors on the dpns and then just... just... pulling out whatever sock strikes my fancy. It's the ultimate in process knitting! I"m serious. Whatever I want to knit, be it vanilla or chocolate/cinnamon/strawberry--it's there! It's all in the big yarn bag! I loves it... I'm nearing the end of one of the pairs and I almost resent it. I may never knit a single project again! (*snort* As if that would have happened anyway!)

* Bitter Moon II--I think I'm within 100 pages of completion, and I'm torn between frustration, because this is a BAAD time of year to be writing and I want to get it done, and...well...that same sort of feeling I've got with that almost completed sock. I don't want it to end. It's beautiful. I've been planning this book climax for two years. It feels so perfect I don't want to rush it. In fact, I'm AFRAID to rush it. What if, after knowing what I want to write for two years, I totally rush it and fuck it up. How bad a writer would that make me, fucking up what should be a perfect ending? So I love it, I'm exhilarated, and I'm terrified. Everybody--it's time for my prayer: Holy Goddess, Merciful God, PLEASE LET IT NOT SUCK!

Thank you, thank you all.