Too much

Lately there's been too much going on to blog about. I think I'd rather have too little and not know what to say, than too much and not be able to choose!

So, you get the Cliff's notes version:

It's art class time again. One of those things you don't have time for but do anyway. I figure that if my daughter begs to spend time with me doing this, it's important to do it. At almost 13, the days she wants to spend with me are probably somewhat limited.

Speedy died. We don't know why.

I have a lump. I can't get it checked until next Tuesday, though I'm pretty sure it's just a change in a cyst I've had a long time. During the daytime, I'm not really bothered. But at night I don't sleep well.

I have all sorts of great quotes from conversations with the kids that I can't remember long enough to blog about - bloggable moments that never seem to get put to words.

So instead I give you a diary of sorts. Sucks to be you.

Is it bad to hang up on my husband?

He calls me. Almost every day, during one of his 3 breaks.

"Any news?" "Anyone call or come over?"

I get that he's bored with his work. Unfortunately, I'm not. I'm swamped. It's not that I mind a phone call for a reason. It's just that I'm not here for his entertainment, and it annoys me.

What annoys me more is when he calls me to nag at me.

Today he asked if I had sent out a check he asked me to send. The address was in his email, which he can't be bothered to forward to me. I'm just supposed to log into his email and find it.

Quick answer: no, I hadn't.

Longer answer: I was going through some bills a couple days ago, and got sidetracked by some other items and hadn't gotten to that one. And he came and found me at my desk when apparently I was supposed to be packing up the garage sale leftovers. Even though he had also asked me to do these bills. I didn't realize the sequence was important, but apparently it was, as he got rather irate at me for not having the garage sale boxes all packed when he got home.

So today, when he called and asked if I had sent the check and I hadn't, I got the spiel about "what were you doing when you didn't pack up the garage sale?"

So I hung up. Which rather pisses him off, by the way.

But I generally feel better for not having listened to him ranting at me, at least until I get the rant about not hanging up on him.

An open letter to Yahoo..

Dear Yahoo!,

Could you please explain to me why I can delete my email with one click, but I have to confirm that I really want to empty the spam folder? Do you have that many people complaining that they accidentally deleted a spam message that they really needed to read?

Sincerely,
Lara

The Line Between Heaven & Hell

Wednesday morning, I was running late. It was for a good reason, of course - as a perennially tardy person, I never run out of good reasons.

But having to buy my U2 concert tickets before my carpool run was a better reason than most.

So I left the house at 6:49. Doober's bus leaves the school parking lot at Pumpkin's school at 7:10, and if we are late, I get to drive him to school too. Her school is 11 miles away; his is probably an additional 15 miles or so. So I try to avoid being late.

But for U2? I will make exceptions.

I will also speed, drive through orange lights (you know... the ones that are almost-but-not-quite red), etc. And fate was on my side, for a while at least. I hit EVERY light green. Well... or yellow. Or almost orange.

And I made it to the next town in near-record time. I was happily tooling down second street, thinking we might actually catch the bus, when reality struck.

Road closed. Sawhorses were blocking the entire road one block before where I normally turn, so I had to jog to another street a block early, wait for a red light, and then wait for oncoming traffic to clear so I could make a left turn. I was a bit confused, because the road was not under construction, and there was no sign of anything happening there. I couldn't see why they'd just close a 2-block section of a main street through town.

I should have known...

Turns out that the police found a meth lab in an apartment building the night before, evacuated the residents and closed the street. And I should have known because this same thing happened last fall too.

Except that time the lab exploded first and sent the lab owners to a hospital burn unit. Which we all pay for, through taxes, since you know these people don't have insurance to cover when they blow themselves up. And this is clearly a pet peeve of mine. I think if you blow yourself up doing illegal stuff like cooking meth, the rest of the population should NOT have to fund your medical expenses. Cooking meth in your apartment, or even smarter, the ever-popular front-seat-of-your-vehicle-as-you-drive, should be the equivalent of signing a release of liability waiver, allowing them to just let you be as they find you.

There, I feel better now. So anyway...

I watched the school bus pull away from about 2 blocks down the street, dropped off Pumpkin at her school, and happily drove on with Doober, still basking in the afterglow of my U2 tickets. It was as if I had died and gone to heaven, but still had to drive the angel-children to angel-school.

And considering where my tickets are, that may be an appropriate comparison, because while I am in heaven at the thought of GOING to this concert, I will also be sitting way up high, about as close to the angels as you could be.

Which brings me back to the aforementioned meth lab.

Because the best part of the story is that the lab technicians who ran this lab were very careful. They didn't just risk going by memory when cooking their meth; they wrote down their recipe.

In their Bible. On the final page of the book of Revelation. But I guess, if you're going to use your Bible in that way, it is probably the most appropriate place.