Two months ago, as one of Jennifer James's acolytes, I attended a "water-tasting seminar" pitting Fiji bottled water against Albuquerque tap, was paid, then worked three hours for the amount of money I now make in a 12-hour day. Today, I'm facing a three-day weekend, and I'm psyched at the prospects: scrubbing mildew from the bathroom (a tile enclosure without adequate sloping is a terrible thing), combatting our growing ant problem, then trying desperately to think of ways to motivate my students (in some cases, to learn to read) as I question my worth as a human being - child's play! That, and maybe having a margarita with Ben. And sleeping past seven o'clock one day.
I know, this sympathy-begging tune is becoming tiresome. I am embracing my triteness.
And of course, today, I am listening to rain on the tin roof: not falling, like lame Norah Jones would describe it, but cascading, drumming. The rain will probably give way in a couple of hours to a glittering sunset, and maybe it will be cool enough tonight to sleep with the bedspread on, and I can curl up in it and feel all cuddly. That wouldn't have happened in Albuquerque. Take that, nostalgic yearnings!
I realize it is poor form to bliss out about rain when this benign natural phenomenon has created a living hell for millions of people. I'm sure I'll be punished for it in some way. But since I have no insight to offer, why not be happy for what I have?
1 comment:
Jill,
Should I add a blurb touting my blog, too? Naw. (I even tried not to hyperlink it here, but you cleverly banned anonymous comments.)
Instead, I just want to say that it is good to see you post again.
-D
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