Wednesday

Ah, Wednesdays. They are, in theory, my day off. I don’t have class, and I generally don’t have the same kind of obsessive-compulsive need to do something productive like on Mondays because it’s Monday! And people work on Monday!

(Dave? Anybody? Nobody? Honestly. Hilarious movie.)

Of course this usually means that I am available to run errands, shuttle people to and from school/work/whatever, I don’t ask and as long as there’s not a sign that says “crack den” on the door, I’m good, just tell me what time to pick you up, and do massive amounts of school work that I’ve scheduled myself to do because Wednesday! Is your day off!

So yeah, it took a couple of weeks to sort that stuff out, but today is pretty free and clear. I’ve organized the errand running, am way ahead of the game on the the whole thesis thing (Dude. Yesterday I was all about that thesis. Seriously. Paul VI would have been proud. Probably not about my use of the word “dude” in conjunction with his life’s work.), and just have to reformat footnotes for a paper.

Can I just say that I’m horrible at footnotes? They slow me down, and so I rarely have them formatted correctly for a rough draft. Or worse, I just write from memory and then have to go back and spend a week citing everything I should have cited in the first place because I myself have very few original scholarly thoughts on Vatican II except ew, I do not want some priest sticking his fingers near my mouth so yay! for Communion in the hand!

And that’s not very scholarly. Or even really related to Vatican II, because it was strictly a whiny-American phenomenon but whatever. I am. So on board. (My guess? They are too. Seriously. It’s gross.)

Anyway. I forgot where I was going with this. I know I wanted to publicly urge John to BUY AN ALARM CLOCK. Wednesday is late start day at GHS. It has been for about three years. This is not new.

And yet every Wednesday there is some alarm clock malfunction that prevents the child from rising at the appropriate hour and then he’s pissy and rushed and not at all pleasant. When I urge him to a.) buy an alarm clock or b.) tell someone like me or Dad to wake him up, he says that a.) he doesn’t need one/his works fine/he can use his iPod and b.) Dad tells him he’s 17 and should be able to organize his own life.

To which I reply a.) yes you do/no it doesn’t because once again it’s 8:05 and you’re still eating breakfast/are you frickin kidding me you have full conversations in your sleep you are definitely not going to be roused by a tinny verion of Freebird that I’m pretty sure is constantly playing in your head anyway and b.) YES THAT WOULD BE LOVELY BUT OBVIOUSLY YOU CAN’T AND I’M THE ONE WHO HAS TO DEAL WITH YOU RUNNING AROUND LIKE A CRAZY PERSON AND FUMING IN THE CAR THANK GOD IT’S ONLY 1.8 MILES AWAY.*

*I’m being facetious. He’s rarely fuming. And I like being able to take him. Since he didn’t pick me as his confirmation sponsor, I feel we need time to bond.

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