My self-congratulations on surviving the first week of school may have been premature. Week two has gone by and I'm not totally sure that there hasn't been some regression. I am literally falling down on the job--had a big crash in the workroom at school. Someone spilled water on the floor and as I rushed through to the copier, down I went. Landed on the same knee I hurt three days before. It feels as though a smallish black cloud is hanging over the collective Desruisseaux head right now. Physical ailments abound--Paul and Phil, too. I am hoping we will all be mended soon.
I have received a lot of support in this job. Not sure if my coworkers think I am about to go off the deep end, but I got two lovely notes and a big beautiful bouquet of garden roses on Friday that helped make it a more relaxed day. Of course, last night I was wide awake at 2:30 a.m. wondering how the cums should be organized--by grade, by teacher, alphabetically....Am going to go into work for just a few hours today to sort, hole-punch, file, alphabetize, recycle. Just reread the verbs in that last sentence--definitely need to spice things up with a few more creative actions.
On the plus side I started my new writing class on Wednesday night. Felt good to be back with the group--love to listen to our discussions. I even managed to meet the Tri-County SCBWI writing contest deadline. Polished up chapters and my synopsis and my favorite editor, Paul, hobbled into the Post Office on Friday morning, got the required 9/7 postmark and sent it off. I always have a glimmer of hope about these contests even when I'm not exactly sure what the benefit is of winning. It would be kind of fun. Maybe it would make me write a little faster...
Saw my real "Emelia" this week. She is in 8th grade now and looks beautiful. She moved with more energy and purpose, had subtly highlighted hair and showed a strongly featured face. Of course she has no idea how she has inspired me. My excitement at seeing her again was definitely out of proportion to her response. She must think I'm a little wacky.
Sitting with Paul reading all the Sunday papers is one of my favorite times of the week. Reading through section after section of newspaper (in my case it's often the lightweight sections) and the accompanying banter is always amusing. Today a pictorial recipe of flan prompted a discussion of our shared dislikes--flan (of course), science fiction and horror (books and films), USC football (plus USC in general). These aren't the topics one discusses when considering marital compatibility but they are a bonding factor. The sort of thing we mutually roll our eyes at across crowded rooms.
Sometimes newspaper sessions segue into naps on the couch. There is a certain series of sharp crackling sounds as the newspaper falls onto the lap of the sleeping reader. Paul is sleeping across the room from me now, arms folded across his chest, papers scattered on the floor by his feet. I love him.