While not excited about it, I have been rather curious to get the Census in the mail. I don’t recall ever doing one before. Since I like to talk about myself so much, I thought it might be kinda fun. Was it going to ask my favorite color, sexual position, Cold Stone mix ins? I thought it would be fun, even though I figured it would take about half an hour to fill out.
It was in the mail when I got home tonight. I pulled it out and immediately wanted to stuff it in the garbage disposal. In big (blue, I think) letters on the front, it said I was required to fill it out by law. I don’t like people telling me what to do. I don’t like police telling me what to do. I don’t like my friends telling me what to do, and I for damn sure don’t like an envelope or my government telling me what to do. I know that I have issues. Not new news there. However, curiosity won out and I opened it up. It took three seconds. All it wanted to know was my name, age, and if I owned my house. It also had fifteen thousand options to tell it I was some form of Hispanic. Which also irritated me. It didn’t have options for all the mutt blood I am made up of. Why are the people of Hispanic origin so much more special? Then I thought how I’d feel if I were Hispanic. I think it would make me paranoid. Why was the government asking me so many Hispanic questions, was it preparing some type of concentration camp? Just because my race would be different wouldn’t mean that my paranoia and distrust of our government would alter in any form. I really don’t get why that is so important for them to know the race anyway. Regardless, it was a much more boring experience than I had hoped for—even though there were spots for up to eleven other people to live with me.
I can’t even get one person to want to continue to live with me, let alone eleven. Shesh! Thanks for rubbin’ it in though, Uncle Sam.
I was excited to get back to work today now that CSAPs are over. Each year I give those, I hate them more, and see (more and more) how they do not provide any relevant or accurate information. I thought it would be so wonderful to be back on the normal schedule. Not so much.
One of my little forth graders, who has literally been perfect all year, flipped his switch today. Literally. There was no trigger, nothing. One minute he was my adorable sweet little man, the next, he was out of his mind and literally not with us. About thirty minutes later, after the paramedics, police, and mom had come and gone, I was finally able to doctor the multiple cuts and scratches his he left on both my forearms (I have perfect fingernail gouges through my skin), and check to see if there was a knot on my skull from where he head butted me. And to think that I wasn’t sure if I should wear my thermal under my shirt today or not (it looked really cute, but I was afraid I might get too hot). Yeah, bad choice on the thermal…
The rest I really want to talk about and have for quite awhile, and it’s not really my story to tell, even though I really need to write about it and hash out some of the crap in my head. Here’s what I will say, my family has had to take issue with the bank and as a result, has to move, and be out by the 30th. I guess that I have been in some type of denial, and I didn’t truly catch on till tonight what they actually meant. I didn’t realize whatever wasn’t packed and gone would no longer be ours. Needless to say. I canceled every massage appointment for the rest of the month that I had scheduled, and I will be spending every waking moment (until the 30th) that I’m not at work at my folk’s house. Except for next Saturday’s date. I am going to take that day for myself. The rest are gone. It’s all a very surreal experience. (For those precious few of you who read this in Missouri, I would request that you not repeat this to anyone [including your folks]. It’s no one’s business and I know it would really hurt my family for that to become a topic of discussion or prayer requests in church. Feel free to make it an issue of prayer of YOUR OWN if you so desire. Thanks so much! J )