BioSteven

I need to check my biorhythm chart. Never mind that I haven't done this in nigh on...oh...let's not measure time in years. Let's just say that I haven't consulted the biorhythm chart since my #1 son was born. You see, I used to ride to work in St. Louis with a guy who fiddled about on his computer, and printed out biorhythm charts for all his co-workers. It was a good way to pass the time on our government job. What else were we supposed to do, serve the 250 people we had waiting on the unemployment line during the Old Bush years? And the internets were still a novel idea back then. I must say that I saw a connection with those charts. Even when I saw them after I knew what kind of day I'd had. It was no self-fulfilling prophecy. It's a month-long chart, with lines that show if you are low, or high, or in-between in the areas of physical, emotional, intellectual, and intuitional qualities. The time to look out for is when the lines cross, especially if they are all low at the time. It's like a quadruple whammy.

This morning, my child made me 10 minutes later for work. Within 100 feet of entering the county road from our gravel road, a car crested a blind hill right in the middle, with its lights on high beam. I jammed on my squealing LSUV brakes, and did a little tightrope walk down the edge of the pavement. That sent a rush of jetsam flying from the console onto the floorboards. I did not regain my sight until 20 minutes later. There was a big black circle where there should have been sight. Lucky for me, nothing got in my way. When I got to school and tried to carry in my things, the LSUV went nuts and started screaming with his car alarm. The chairman of my department (you know who I'm talkin' 'bout, Mabel) was just going in (which says how late I was) and closed up her cell phone and said, "Can you keep it down? You're giving me a headache." To which I silently in my mind replied, "Paybacks are such a b*tch, by cracky!"

I rushed around to get things done enough to start first hour. I figured that I could eat lunch in my room and get the rest finished. Oh, but NO. I got called to a meeting at 10:00. I had to stay until 11:15. Which meant that I missed my lunch that runs from 10:57 to 11:20. So much for that idea. I figured that I could grab a bite and squeeze that work into my plan time. But NO. We had an assembly during my prep hour. And in this building, you are expected to attend, even though you have no students under your supervision that hour. When 2:56 rolled around, I was mighty glad to be reunited with my Devil's Playground turkey-and-swiss-with-tomato-on-a-croissant. Oh, and to rub a fly in my ointment, it was suggested at the meeting that a reward for a kid might be to have lunch with me, since he likes me. Umm...since when did I become a commodity? I wouldn't mind giving up my lunch time once or twice, but not every day. That's not how I roll. I am not one of those warm, fuzzy teachers who want to spend extra time with the students. I'm all business. Don't even think about coming to my room in the morning to shoot the breeze. I have work to do. And it's NOT babysitting you!

My computer grade system thingy would not work today, so I had trouble taking roll, not to mention that I couldn't enter grades until 4:00. Oh, don't worry. I was there until 5:10 anyway, trying to catch up. The Pony stepped out into the hall and declared, "They've already turned the lights off down at Mabel's end!"

On the way home, HH called to say that on his way past the boys' land, which is a mile up a forking gravel road from the Mansion, he saw that somebody had bought the land next to it. And had dumped a garage door, various assorted ripped out fixtures, and paint cans onto the only land we own free and clear. Oh, and the paint cans were all around the WELL. Don't go picturing a nice wishing well, or even the well that Nicole Kidman bent over backwards for in Cold Mountain. No. Ours is a modern, funtional well, a well that increases the value of the property by about $5000. Unless it is contaminated with something like...oh...I don't know...perhaps...PAINT! So HH did what any hillbilly worth his corncob pipe would do, which was leave a note on the door of the being-renovated double-wide manufactured home. A note which declared that they needed to move their junk back onto their own land, or he would be forced to pile it in their driveway, or perhaps set fired to it, since it was trash on our property. Keep in mind that their living structure is about 20 feet from our property line, which is brightly marked with glowing orange paint. Oh, and HH signed the note, and left our address. WHAT WAS HE THINKING? I don't want these people coming to my Mansion for revenge! Why couldn't he leave his name and cell phone number? Oh. Because that would be the LOGICAL thing to do.

And adding salt to my wounds of today...HH bought a $10 scratch-off ticket, and won $10. Which is something I haven't done since last week. My luck has cooled. Steven has returned with a vengeance.

Oh, and just so you know, I had finished this post, and had gone back to hook you up with a link to a free biorhythm chart site, and as thanks for this selfless deed, my New Delly crashed. You're quite welcome. I was only trying to share my knowledge. My knowledge for which I have a thirst, and for which I yearn. It's not even fun to end sentences with prepositions tonight. So I had googled some biorhythm sites, and had perused the page for the very safest-looking link, and the minute I clicked on it, 60 minutes exactly from the time I started this post, my Firefox went kablooey. I tried to restore the session, quickly closing out the offensive offender by right-clicking, and got back my New Blogger creating page, but not my precious words of non-wisdom. New Blogger does not have that recover post thingy. Thank the Gummi Mary, by going to the edit posts laundry list, I was able to find this masterpiece again.

Some days it doesn't pay to get out of bed. And even if it did, Steven would snatch away the paycheck with his hot little hand.