Quickie-pants update:
I've been running around half-dead this week, trying to keep ahead of a nasty cold that peeked around the corner on Monday after a prolonged afternoon in honour of my uncle. I'm not ezzactly sick - I'm just the next thing to it.
Work continues to gallop on at a frightening pace. This Monday Mid-Term marks go in. The only - and I do mean, only - good thing about this union pre-strike is that we don't have to provide comments this time around. This doesn't compensate for the fact that I'm always rushed in the morning & I can't apply to the Gommorrah Board until sanctions lift, but it's something.
My evaluation is next Wednesday. I really don't know what to think - or what to fear - about that. At least it'll be over in a week's time. Will they stop riding my ass in a week? I sure hope so, but I wouldn't put money on it.
Speaking of money, we have none. I paid for my mother all through Europe, and she's just written me a cheque. When I brought up the issue and mentioned that we'd have $40 to our name once the rent cheque cleared, she wanted to know when I was going to pay them back for the plane ticket. Biting back the retorts that wanted to form, I dropped the matter and got ready to eat a lot of noodles in the next few weeks. The cheque helps with groceries, but it doesn't seem to help with the on-going issues that seem to have sprung up on vacation between my mother and myself.
I'm trying very hard to follow the doctor's advice and cut my dosage, but as soon as I started to go down, I stopped sleeping through the night. When I do sleep, it's full of absolutely horrible returns to SuperTeacher's classroom in Wolfvegas. I'm hoping to ease up a bit when my evaluation has passed, but if I have to choose between 25 extra pounds and lack of sleep/lack of appetite/terrifying nightmares/nasty mood swings, I'll choose the former every day.
My trainer, however, is pleased with my progress. We're doing 3 sets instead of 2 and my push-up technique has radically improved. Still not losing weight, but I refuse to care. That is, I refuse to care every time except when I'm trying to put on familiar pants that feel like they belong to someone else entirely. It's not that they're tight - it's that they're so far from closing that I feel like I'll never wear them again. This is, as you may guess, not a cheerful feeling. Right now I'm trying not to let the dilemma (fat or depressed) take up too much of my mental space.
On Saturday we decided to give the opening night of Panic a miss so that we could visit with my relatives the next day. We did, however, wander by Little Spider & Spike's house to hang out for awhile. Little Spider was almost comically ill, but being Little Spider, she wouldn't think of missing the party. After an hour nap that really should've been longer, she was so run-down and disoriented that she let Coraline and myself dress her up like a doll. I got to rip the collar off her white Bauhaus shirt - I think there might be some issues there. When we were done, I was green with envy - she was perfect. Sick but perfect. I still think we were right to go home early, though.
The memorial for my uncle was fine. My parents took what I wrote and posted it on Bristol Board. I wouldn't have minded so much if I hadn't made several edits between then and now. A number of people came up to tell me how touched they had been by my writing, and although I had wanted to create that effect, I was squirmy with embarrassment when it actually happened. Mostly I made small talk, looked at the photographs and staked out the chip dip. I ate left-over egg salad sandwiches for a week.
