Nothing Specific

Thanks to all who have expressed condolences. It's been a tough week that has gotten worse, but I know that this too shall pass. I'm trying to look forward with optimism, if tragedies would just die down long enough to let me gain some positive momentum.

Finals are here and I find myself not concerned with the exams as much as the papers and projects that professors pack into the final two weeks. I dropped off my revision of a paper on Nissei, Sansei, and Yonsei generational poetry today, wrote out my to-do list while the professor droned on about Jewish law, and left at break to race the blizzard home. Monday I have a paper, exam, and presentation, so this weekend is major cram time. Thanks to the weather, I will probably have no choice but to glue my derierre to this office chair and WORK.

Prior to class, I stopped at Meijer for a fill-up. I departed with more than petro, though, nabbing a few goods to tide me through the afternoon--jerky (of course), Inside Out Junior Mints ("new" and on special, what the heck), a diet cherry coke (forgot one from home, AUGH!), Spearmint Freshen Up Gum (with the gooey center, my favorite gum of all time, can never find it anymore), and a Key Lime Almond Joy (no clue why I grabbed this). I'm not sure why I had such an insatiable appetite for junk food, though I'm sure once again the weather has something to do with it. At least, I'm hoping it's just the weather, because the alternative possibility floating in the back of my mind right now is enough to make me consider diving into a snowdrift permanently. Er, until it melts anyway, which, from the ones around these parts, doesn't look like anytime soon.

While snagging some snacks, I saw this great bumper sticker I just had to jot down: "A working man who votes Republican is like a chicken that supports Colonel Sanders." I refuse to associate with any particular political party (ha, say that five times fast) but the sticker was a nice chuckle. *I'm sure you will appreciate this one, Meg.

I caught myself singing, "I wanna be a gangsta" this morning. I don't even know the song, but it's in the movie, Office Space, which I haven't watched in a year or so. It just came to me while I was picking up Matchbox cars this morning. Analyze that.

A guy came to check our windows this morning to install something so they won't fall down when we put them up in the summer. This is only a ten year old house, but apparently something's been wrong with them for 9 1/2 of those years, thus resulting in us shoving two-by-fours under the sills to keep them up in the summer. The guy is going to have to come back to put the parts in, which I don't look forward to in 10 degree weather. Since the landlady is on her high horse about getting tax exemptions before the end of the year, we also had an appointment to get the carpets cleaned tomorrow. The guy was relieved when I called to cancel, saying he had to scoop snow for some local folks anyway. Whew. I wasn't that thrilled about moving three rooms of furniture tonight, either!

Moving has been postponed, at least until after the holidays or when the weather improves. I did tell Steve last night that I made arrangements to move in with my dad. He was quite unhappy, but is now attempting, in a small way, to make things "better." After I got home from church last night--went by myself because he got home three hours late, which is the factor that led me to blurt out that I was leaving--he tried to engage in "conversation" since communication has been such a problem for him, us. But his idea of communication is telling me intricate details of his work and co-workers, not content with emotions. Last night he rolled over and halfheartedly threw his arm over me, which is more affection than I normally get these days. Tonight, he came home with "an idea" to make me a wreath out of the pinecones I collected this summer. All these little things are signs that he wants to "do better," but I'm obviously not into it. The damage has been done, and now so am I.

I got a call from my mother last night, which is the first time she's called since she came home from the hospital. I'd tried numerous times to get ahold of her, but she doesn't believe in answering machines and says her caller ID is messed up. Whatever it is, I was starting to think she had taken a one-way trip on the Bipolar Express and wouldn't come be back for a long time. She had made Steve a pumpkin pie for his birthday (which was Sunday) and wanted him to come pick it up. Mom does make the best pumpkin pie!

It appears there's a super flick on USA. I'm yawning and that's not good, so I guess I shall retire to the living room. I give myself six minutes before I conk out on the couch.