It’s 70-80 degrees out. I don’t have to go to work. It’s a beautiful day.
Time for a great debate. For great debates, I turn to Facebook.
Status update: Felix is debating between painting toy soldiers and doing actual work.
The next time I check Facebook, there is already a rebuttal.
My buddy A– turns thirty four, so he invites us out somewhere for drinks on a Friday night. Friday night is playing video games on the computer night, so I decline and suggest instead we just hang out at the game shop like we normally do.
–Whatever, he says, you’re worse than my elderly parents. I’ll see you at six.
So we’re at the game shop and J– and I decide to get A– a present, but we don’t know what. A– is the kind of guy who builds multiple armies and spreads himself thin trying to customize each model and paint them all up at the same time.
What better way to say, hey we’re not drinking together, than a toy soldier?
This is my second follow up appointment to see the doctor. He gives me threats and ultimatums, and I try to walk a little more and cut down on the chicken wings. Today he heralds a new stage in my life.
Medication.
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I imagine new reasons to stay inside the Hermit Cave all the time. Today I get my hair cut, which is always an endeavor to get me to do. It’s really easy to call I–, but something inside stops me, or I find something to stop me. I used to think that the feeling was laziness, but hermit vision strikes again.
And my attempt to purge them from my system by writing about them.
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My wife works with children. Specifically, she works with children in the library.
Today she gets to hold the pinata over their heads and help them tear its skin apart so that they can gorge themselves on its candy organs.
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It’s the end of the day, and I’ve escaped International Night practice with a shred of dignity still intact. The building is warm and my sweat makes it feel warmer with the lack of a breeze, so I’m ready to go.
I stop at my mailbox to see what items need to be ignored until tomorrow. Instead of a random assortment of unfiled papers, I find delicious looking brownies wrapped onto a paper plate.
Who put this here, I think, and what do they think I did to deserve it?
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My plan is as perfect as it’s convoluted. Work, stay after work, travel northeast to game, travel southeast to pickup my wife, go home and sleep at 11-12.
This way, my students get to rehearse and makeup exams, I get to play Necromunda with some new fellas, and my wife gets a ride home instead of riding the trains for 24 miles.
It’s my early prep time at work, so I head to the lunchroom to get some paperwork done. When I pass through the door the sight on the table stops me cold.
A blue container with a sticky note on the lid.
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I have a deadline, and several dead lines.
24 weeks of lesson plans due by Friday, even though I’ve submitted at least 20 of them previously, give or take.
Progress report grades due this week.
Want a new idea for the next week.
Barriers to completion:
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