March Pointless Lists

March. It was the coldest of times, it was the warmest of times. (Sorry, Charles.) I went from wearing three layers and wishing for a fourth to wearing a tank top and wishing for open toed shoes.

Spring is hilarious.

I'm not sure what else to say about March, except that it was long and busy and filled with Lent. I was tempted to mention this a time or two, but anyway, I gave up desserts and pop. I didn't think the pop would be that big of a deal because we never buy it and the only time I have it is at my parents' or if we go out to eat, which doesn't happen often. But those six weeks? I had like 50 opportunities to drink a soda, which is kind of amazing because there are only 40 days to Lent. Maybe 46 because I kept up the cause on Sundays too, even though those totally do not count.

Giving up desserts turned out not to be so bad, except for the no chocolate part. That sucked. But I thought, well, I'll just lose some weight, right, and that will make it all worth it. Except when I went to the doctor I learned I had not lost ONE OUNCE. This seems terribly unfair. Unless it means I can eat all the dessert I want and not gain weight. Unfortunately, I think it just means my sedentary lifestyle is pathetic. (What? I've had a viral infection, jeez.)

Um... I kind of forgot the point of all this, but anyway...

Pointless list time!

Movies watched:
No idea. Eric watched a few religious themed movies for mass consumption, I guess, but they were cheesy and poorly acted, and honestly, not really worth a mention. I'm not against Christian movies, but at least cast them properly, okay? That's all I'm saying.

Books read:
I'm still rereading the Outlander series because I can. I'm not ready to let Jamie and Claire go (that's been the theme of the last three months, whatever, it's my time, don't judge me). I'm thinking, though, that it might be time for a little Hunger Games reread. I miss Finnick.

(Where's Finnick? Odair he is!)

(That's a joke from Abby.)

Most read post:
Let's hear it for navy blue. Apparently people enjoy reading about other people's pain, or maybe there was just a lot searches for navy and that post came up.

Things I've learned:
Pink eye is disgusting, and also, there is NO WAY you can reasonably expect someone inflicted with that crap disease not to rub their eyeballs the hell out. Man, it's itchy.

P.S. Happy Easter!

What I Did On My Spring Vacation

My goal in life is to not look creepy for Easter, and at the moment, it seems kind of possible. No traces of pink eye left, but I'm kind of afraid to put makeup on just yet because last time I thought that would be a good idea, I ended up back at Square One. And when you've been so far as Square Three, backtracking really sucks.

I have no idea what I'm talking about most of the time, just FYI, but anyway, here's hoping my pink eye posts are at an end.

I've been working full time lately while one of our secretaries is out on spring break. Someone asked why I didn't take spring break off with my children, which made me laugh. I have my reasons, people:

1. Deb in Reception (not to be confused with Deb in Sales) is married to a teacher. I'm married to a planner.
2. I can't remember our little family EVER taking spring break off.
3. What's the point? It's still cold and crappy out there. Give me summer!
4. Also, two receptionists cannot be off at the same time or chaos results. I guess. That's what they tell me, anyway.
5. ...Um, I'm okay with picking up extra hours and letting the girls spend quality time* with their grandparents.
6. *That sounds much better than saying, "You want me to listen to fighting ALL DAY LONG? No thanks."

And it's actually been pretty fun this week. It's been busy. I've gotten some extra writing assignments (always a plus) and the phones have been ringing off the hook. There's been a lot of coffee going on too, which, now that I think about it, might be most of the reason.

Except yesterday this old guy comes in and he's just kind of... well, he's old, and he's lonely, and he thinks I like him. So he's telling me some story that I wasn't really following for about fifteen minutes (about help that Eric rendered him two years ago. He has a little crush on Eric), then hands me a letter to the editor with a smile because I'm really going to enjoy reading it. Um, probably not, but I smile and thank him and promise to pass it on. We are so far apart on the political fence that we can't even see each other, except he doesn't know that, and since his letters are always political in nature, and always written longhand, it's kind of more than I can take, transcribing them.

OH. But then he's telling me that he's not a natural writer, but a "real writer" gave him a list of all her best tips, to which he's added: Keep a pencil and pad by the bed and in the bathroom. "Because that's where I get most of my gems," he adds.

You don't have to tell me everything, people. Also: I need to hook him up with my fossilized dinosaur poop friend. They'd get along just fine.

Well, anyway, that's what I've been doing. The end, I guess.

Bored, border, bordest

I won't lie, people, I'm thinking of going all King Lear and plucking my left eyeball the hell out. "Out, vile jelly! Where is thy luster now?" I totally still remember that from senior year AP English, probably because it was the most disgusting thing I'd ever read. But I guess I should point out that it was Lear's daughters who orchestrated the whole eye removal, not Lear. He didn't do it on purpose. God, I really hate Shakespeare. Don't even get me started. Ain't nobody got time for that.

Where was I? Oh, yes. My pink eye seemed rather under control this morning, so I got all vain and decided to put on mascara. About mid day it felt like there was a needle sticking in my eyeball, and I couldn't keep from rubbing it. Now it's all slimy again. You can insert a whole string of very bad words here. I just don't have the energy.

Gah! It's nice to know that I really can get more disgusting. I thought I'd reached the limit. And P.S. That mascara is in the trash.

I kind of forgot that I was upset about Daylight Saving Time, what with the pink eye and the fact our school district is thinking about repositioning boundaries, which would send us to another school ten miles up the road. Since we're not even two miles from the school we go to now, damn right I'm fired up. Hell no, we won't go! I keep chanting that. Eric thinks I'm being silly. Don't look at me, I didn't make the protest rules.

In conclusion, I'm spending Friday night folding and putting away laundry. Things can't get that much sadder, can they?

Wait, can they?!