So this morning I had a 7:00 a.m. IEP meeting at the high school, which means that I got up much earlier than 7:00 a.m. than I’m used to getting. Like, maybe even a half-hour earlier than usual. Anyway, I needed time to make everyone’s lunches and whatnot. (You might be wondering if “whatnot” would include a shower, but, gentle reader, I’ll never tell.) The meeting went fine. So fine I even made it back home before 8 a.m.

Well, after the usual morning rituals, I decided that I was going to sit down and finish this romance novel I’ve been reading, so that I could concentrate the rest of my day on getting the house ready for the housekeepers. Yes, it’s that time of the fortnight again. A better strategy would have been to make ready the house for the housekeepers, then reward myself by sitting down and finishing my book. But strategy has never been my forte. I prefer games of chance. Anyway, I’m reading and at about 10:00 a.m., I get a call from the high school saying that Princess Zurg freaked out during one of her finals and is in a bad place and should probably go home. This was not how I wanted my third-to-last day of school to go. Well, whatever. I picked her up and brought her home. I had a brief heart-to-heart with her and encouraged her to do something relaxing because I was planning on doing something relaxing myself.

Which turned out to be finishing my book and then feeling tired, so I took a nap. I only slept an hour, but I had the most stressful dreams. First of all, the house was covered in ants. We’d apparently redecorated the kitchen, and it’s too complicated to get into, but suffice it to say, the house was COVERED in ants. For some reason, my dad was there. I told him about the ants. He said, “Are they coming out of the electrical outlets?” I said, “How should I know? They’re everywhere!” He said, “Well, they’re probably not going to hurt you. Just wait for them to go away.” Which is so typical of him. Anyway, I grabbed my purse and keys and went to the Target to buy new ant baits/traps/whatever. I couldn’t find any. Apparently Target was also redecorating, and lots of shelves were just plain empty. I went home in dismay, only to receive a phone call from the middle school from Mister Bubby, saying that whatever his language arts teacher told me, it wasn’t true. I asked to speak to his language arts teacher, but he refused. I hung up on him and called the school back and asked for his language arts teacher, but they said before I could talk to her, I had to give my son’s student ID. I said, “How the #@#% am I supposed to know that?” And that’s more or less where the dream ended, but dang it, I do not feel well rested.

And now it’s time to pick up my other daughter from school.

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