I may have posted MLC #437 already. This might be MLC #492. It’s hard to keep track these days.
So my laptop is fixed. For now, anyway. Who knows what the future holds? If only I felt like blogging anymore. Ha ha. You know, I have a lot of thoughts during the day. Thoughts that I should probably write down. That’s what I used to do, back when I actually blogged on a regular basis. For a while I was thinking that I had run out of things to talk about, but the truth is that I have plenty of things to talk about, but I just can’t talk myself into the proposition that they are worth talking about. Worth the trouble of talking about, I mean. I don’t know if I type slower these days or what, but I can’t seem to snap off these blog posts like I used to. That is pretty sad when you can’t even toss off a blog post anymore. I mean, not being able to sit down for five minutes and toss off a novel or a coherent article or essay or whatever–that’s not such a big deal. Plenty of people can’t toss off that stuff. But blog-writing is not supposed to be that intensive. It didn’t used to be for me. That’s how I was able to blog just about every day. But blah blah blah another post about how I can’t seem to write posts anymore. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I AM BORING THE LIVING CRAP OUT OF MYSELF. When will it end???
The kids are back in school, but Wendell, I am not content. I am committed to taking Girlfriend to swimming lessons two mornings a week for the next…however many weeks. I don’t remember. Four, maybe? Could it be as long as six? I hope not. It shouldn’t be horrible. I won’t have any other kids around cramping my style. That has historically been the big pain in the you-know-what when it comes to swimming lessons–having to contain the non-swimming children for the half-hour that seems like half your life while the swimming children are learning to swim. And now there won’t be any non-swimming children to deal with, so this should be a piece of cake, shouldn’t it? My mind knows not to dread it, but someone forgot to tell my subconscious mind, which has come to associate “swimming lessons” with “living nightmare,” and so I just cannot stop dreading it, no matter how hard I try. The mind is a powerful thing, but the subconscious mind is the One To Rule Them All.
And before you ask, yes, swimming lessons are a thing people usually do in the summer, if they’re not married to someone who realizes during the summer that his five-year-old is totally ready to take swimming lessons but it’s too late to sign up for summer swimming lessons and so it becomes very important that his five-year-old take swimming lessons in the fall, before her readiness to take swimming lessons completely disappears. Besides, I need something to get me out of the house. (Or so I understand.)
I just don’t like having my life scheduled for me. I mean, this is why I quit working in the first place, because I was tired of being hassled by the Man. Oh, wait, that’s not why I quit working. I quit working so I could be there for my kids and do things like take them to swimming lessons. But nobody told me I’d be taking them in September and October! I was misled! But it’s too late to do anything about it now.
So I think I may have told you this already, back in May, but my tap instructor decided to retire from teaching tap at the rec center so that she could pursue other opportunities. One can’t blame her. Teaching at the rec center is a thankless proposition, financially speaking, and she’s a talented woman in her prime who should be pursuing the opportunities she would like to pursue. The only problem is that now I have nowhere to take tap classes. Well, that’s not entirely true. There is a school of dance on the other side (the FAR other side) of Portland that has a tap class for teens and adults every Tuesday during rush hour traffic. This would, of course, be totally convenient if it weren’t for the fact that I am already committed every other Tuesday to tearing out my hair and deciding I have no reason to live, in preparation for the housekeepers coming on Wednesday. I know, I know–why don’t I just move the day the housekeepers come and tear out my hair and lose my will to live on a different night? Because I fear change, ladies and gentlemen. I don’t like to trade the hell I know for some as-yet-unknown hell. It makes me very, very nervous.
There is a group of Mormon ladies who clog every Monday morning, or at least that’s what I’ve heard. They are on this side of Portland–the NEAR side–which is an advantage. Clogging is not tapping, of course. It’s similar, but not the same. I guess I am just in denial about the fact that I will have to make some choices here. Continue tapping, which will involve a great deal more money and driving and hair-tearing-out management, or take up clogging, which is not the same as tap dancing, but may be close enough for horseshoes. So to speak. I don’t imagine one can clog in horse shoes literally or anything like that, but since I know jack crap about clogging, maybe I shouldn’t shoot my mouth off until I’ve had a few lessons. Obviously, I could also choose to do both, but that would be like some…crazy super-choice or something. I think I should probably pace myself.
I should also probably go to bed because I’m tired now. I’ll save my whining about how I don’t have any friends for tomorrow.