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Some Work Done, More to Come
Apr. 27th, 2007 12:24 pmSo...turns out, I have to put together 250 more trivia questions for, like, next Tuesday. And last night Steve and I began hammering them out, but it's moving pretty slow. I never thought that useless information could be quite so amazingly boring to process, but there ya go.
Still, I did do both BodyCombat and my Thursday training, and my neck didn't snap in the middle of it, or anything. Dona, my trainer, even says she thinks I look slimmer through the middle--which means a bit, since she isn't the sort of person to say stuff like that just because she's being nice, or some such crap. It almost makes up for the email from Dad, the one in which he conveniently skips over everything I told him about Cal's assessment, and keeps on using the "A" word to describe MY SON (no, I don't mean "asshole", though I certainly thought it a few times while processing his "helpful", "supportive" feedback on "my situation").
Small stuff, okay, yes. Very, very tiny, in context/the grand scheme of things. And yet the impression I get is that he's sitting around in my cousins' houses in Australia, watching them play with their perfect blonde children and talking sadly, in a high-colored, high-toned way, about Gemma's poor boy and his developmental problems...problems made all the worse by the equally sad fact that his stubborn, potentially also high-functioning mother doesn't understand denial is more than a river in Egypt, and refuses to call an Asperger's kid an Asperger's kid...
And what if I have another baby? Will he still be watching, off in the distance, to see if "the same thing" happens? If the curse translates? What if that kid's everything he ever wanted--bright, smiling, talking, affectionate even to people it doesn't see very often? Does Cal just get consigned to the ash-heap of family history for being high-maintenance, "difficult"? Like I should have been, maybe?
Christ.
It annoys me that he can make me think this way, question myself this way. That I continue to allow it.
But: Screw it. I did 400 words (give or take) on "Marya Nox" last night, along with 200 (give or take) new words on "Words Written Backwards". The questions will get done. The play will get done. We'll end up with fucking nothing left over by the end of the weekend, but the bills will be paid, and Cal starts going to Daycare every day as of next week. And so on, yadda yadda.
So there.
Still, I did do both BodyCombat and my Thursday training, and my neck didn't snap in the middle of it, or anything. Dona, my trainer, even says she thinks I look slimmer through the middle--which means a bit, since she isn't the sort of person to say stuff like that just because she's being nice, or some such crap. It almost makes up for the email from Dad, the one in which he conveniently skips over everything I told him about Cal's assessment, and keeps on using the "A" word to describe MY SON (no, I don't mean "asshole", though I certainly thought it a few times while processing his "helpful", "supportive" feedback on "my situation").
Small stuff, okay, yes. Very, very tiny, in context/the grand scheme of things. And yet the impression I get is that he's sitting around in my cousins' houses in Australia, watching them play with their perfect blonde children and talking sadly, in a high-colored, high-toned way, about Gemma's poor boy and his developmental problems...problems made all the worse by the equally sad fact that his stubborn, potentially also high-functioning mother doesn't understand denial is more than a river in Egypt, and refuses to call an Asperger's kid an Asperger's kid...
And what if I have another baby? Will he still be watching, off in the distance, to see if "the same thing" happens? If the curse translates? What if that kid's everything he ever wanted--bright, smiling, talking, affectionate even to people it doesn't see very often? Does Cal just get consigned to the ash-heap of family history for being high-maintenance, "difficult"? Like I should have been, maybe?
Christ.
It annoys me that he can make me think this way, question myself this way. That I continue to allow it.
But: Screw it. I did 400 words (give or take) on "Marya Nox" last night, along with 200 (give or take) new words on "Words Written Backwards". The questions will get done. The play will get done. We'll end up with fucking nothing left over by the end of the weekend, but the bills will be paid, and Cal starts going to Daycare every day as of next week. And so on, yadda yadda.
So there.
