I was already planning tonight's blog post as I drove to school this morning. I was all prepared to go on an old-fashioned rant about my perfect Hubby being NOT so perfect last night. Mr. I-Have-To-Go-To-Bed-At-8:00-Every-Night brought his iPhone to bed and proceeded to text NON-STOP back and forth with one of his buddies. Every time I would doze off, that damn phone would vibrate and then make its loud, very annoying tone. He even uttered, "Leave me alone, Jason," after the first time, but then he KEPT TEXTING HIM BACK. I finally went downstairs but couldn't sleep there either, so I played Nintendo until almost midnight. I eventually went back upstairs, but it's hard to fall asleep when I'm angry. And my head was getting congested, wah wah wah wah wah wah. Suffice it to say that I got very little sleep the night before I had to return from a week off. But now I'm not going to rant about all that.
When I opened the door of my classroom, I was greeted with the stench of something dead. I was hoping (sort of) that it wasn't a student I'd left sleeping peacefully when we departed for Thanksgiving break. I don't go looking for the source of a dead smell, so I reported it to the custodian. Bless her heart, she found the little critter in the back corner of my room, a little mouse who probably died of a broken heart because we were gone all week. She disposed of him, and the smell was mostly gone by the time I left this afternoon. Either that or I got used to it. I won't rant about that either.
I won't even whine about the fact that my mother pointedly gave my sister an autographed copy of a book that she bought when the author of the book came to the OFH (old folks' home) before she moved. It's not that I WANTED the damn book, it's that she made such a big deal of presenting it to Nurse Jane AND made sure she read the inscription, with me SITTING RIGHT THERE. How can you do that? No explanation for the fact that she has three daughters, she bought five books, and she only had one of them autographed. I think subconsciously she's trying to turn us against each other, because that's the way HER mother operated. We're way smarter than that. But I'm not going to whine about that either.
Because some people have bigger problems than mine. One of my favorite blog writers is Evil Pixie. Her sister, Wicked Pixie, was burned badly in an accident on Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving, for crying out loud! You can read about it here. The reason I'm telling you about it at all is because Evil Pixie asked her readers to send get well cards to Wicked Pixie. So I'm sending it along to my readers too. You can address the cards to Wicked Pixie, PO Box 28442, Bellingham, WA 98228.
That way I won't feel quite so churlish about complaining, when I really don't have any problems at all.