Elle-one, again.

Published March 21, 2017 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

Batman is undergoing his transformation into Blackbeard halfway across the country and I am here with the cats.

Bat-cat Frances just sneezed on my hand after drinking half of the water in my glass. (She picked up this habit from my cat, Samantha. )

I am on spring break and am slowly remembering why I need specifics on my schedule and occasional supervision. I’m meandering around the world, kind of higgledy piggledy.  I have gotten a few things done, two workouts, a mammogram, feeding myself, the purchasing of nourishing food, etc . . . .

I’m a bit unfocused and that’s ok. I am setting a few small goals for myself and I do have something to do each day. These somethings are allowing me to sleep a lot, read a lot and watch movies.

I’m trying to overprogram so I don’t go into a Missing Batman downward spiral. I’m trying to enjoy my days off because next week we go into STAAR week and many, many other things that will cause me to rage and complain that I don’t have the time.

There is something that I find concerning, mainly because I’ve never really noticed. It seems that I am completely and totally clueless unless I have a specific task. (I know that was a very clumsy sentence; that just proves my point.

Today as I interacted with actual people, I heard myself not making sense as I ordered my coffee, purchased my cheetos, and went through the steps of my mammogram. (These were three separate errands, not just some fabulous dream complex.) I essentially relied upon the kindness of strangers as ordered my iced latte backwards, fumbled my way through the pin pad and deeply pondered as I tried to remember if I was wearing deodorant.  (Bonus points if you can match up the fumble to the correct errand!)

I’m trying to make myself do something fun each day. Today’s fun, going to the library and checking out an actual book that has nothing to do with what or whom I teach. It’s a non-fiction book that I just wanted. (Creepy urban legends)

In the synchronicity files (World’s worst tribute band) the locker I was assigned to house my clothes during my mammogram was named Dolly Parton.  This is amusing not just because Dolly’s hooters are her meal ticket (that,too, was an awkward sentence.) but because Dolly is the executive producer of Batbeard’s show.

And we’re back.

 

 

 

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