Another timely post

Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.
- Marx (Groucho)

Time is a scarce commodity these days. My workload from now until August 1 will fill more than a 40hour work week. And for some reason I thought it would be a good idea to enroll in a 6-week summer class, since it only meets on Saturdays.

I haven't had time to figure out how I managed to screw up the layout of my blog, and push the followers, etc., to the bottom of the page. Ideas, anyone?

Anyway, I will try to post & read blogs on Sundays. If there's time.

Just in time . . .

. . . my sister dropped off my (belated) birthday gift - a gift certificate for an hour's massage. Ooh, yeah.

I used to regularly get rubbed the right way, but since 1) my raise didn't come through, and 2) child support $ stopped, I no longer have any "disposable" income.

I have tried to compensate by slinking around to all the local health fairs to get free 10-minute chair massages from masseusses- and masseurs-in-training -- but it's not the same as the real thing. I may have to contact the local community college to see if their massage therapy students need a willing volunteer to help them accumulate the necessary clinical hours for licensure.

In the meantime, however, I have an appointment to make . . .

Metamorphosis

But not the Kafka-esque kind.

I needed to post a little something lighter after my last rantlet. So I thought of butterflies. Even though lepidopterae have mixed symbolic significance, I choose to think of them always in a positive light. And the symbolism of change they represent is apt, in the context of all the changes happening 'round here.

To my darling daughter . . . I give you wings.

Image Source: Karen's Whimsy

Awkward position to be in

(Feel free to skip this post, which is mostly therapeutic in nature.)

My houseguests this weekend were intellikid's paternal grandmother and aunt, who traveled down from Pennsylvania for her graduation, and with whom I've kept in contact since my ex doesn't seem to want any sort of relationship with any of his own family (intellikid included).

As a divorced parent I've been in the awkward position of not wanting to paint a bad picture of my kid's dad -- after all, the divorce was between him and me, and shouldn't have affected their relationship. When all contact from him pretty much stopped a year or so after his remarriage, however, it became harder to portray him in any kind of good light. Still, when intellikid was old enough to start asking why I left her dad, I simply said that he didn't treat me very well, and left it at that. I thought it best for her to preserve whatever good memories she still had of him, in hopes that they would work out their relationship on their own terms.

This weekend was the first time I really had a one-on-one talk with my ex-sister-in-law, and learned that the ex is even more of a psycho than I previously believed him to be. It's no comfort at all knowing that his bastardly behavior extends to others, but it has confirmed in my own mind that my leaving the marriage was indeed the right, sane, and safe thing to do.

Still, I don't want to stop being angry at him. But I don't want to think of him at all, either. Bastard.

With practice

I decided to heed the advice of commenters and not worry about the tears of pride and joy that will inevitably prevent me from actually seeing my daughter receive her high school diploma on Saturday. And yesterday I had the opportunity to practice some discreet weeping at the Senior Honors Awards ceremony.

Intellikid has received a substantial financial aid package from her intended college (Boston University), but nevertheless it falls a bit short of meeting her actual need -- not to mention the travel costs! So it was wonderful news yesterday to learn that she received a scholarship from a local foundation that will make up the deficit, and hopefully reduce the amount of borrowing she'll have to do.

After hearing this fantastic news, I sat bleary-eyed through the rest of the awards presentations, so happy that my kid's dreams are coming true.

(And she knows not to date any med students while she's at BU!)

If you do it right . . .

"Housework, if you do it right, will kill you." -- Erma Bombeck

Woke up this morning with my throat all swollen, presumably from inhaling fumes from the stuff I used to clean my shower yesterday. So much for better living through chemistry. I'll just use elbow grease next time.

I have fallen out of several habits lately -- housework and blogging being two of them. Now I have less than a week to make the house presentable for the guests we're expecting -- my ex's sister and her brood plan to come down from Pennsylvania for intellikid's graduation. Yes, life . . give me more stress, please.

Of course, one of my favorite ways of dealing with stress is avoidance. To that end, I have picked up a new habit -- watching House reruns on TV. I am seriously addicted, and the prolonged rainy spell we've been having has helped justify my prolonged bouts of inertia in front of the tube. But I can quit any time I want to . . .

I just can't understand some people's compulsions, that there are actually individuals out there who iron their bedsheets, alphabetize their spice racks, and who wouldn't think of sitting down to read a novel if there is an unwashed coffee cup in the sink. I do know that the chaotic state of my domicile and my psychic clutter are somewhat related . . . but which came first?

I bet I can find a self-help book or Dr. Phil episode to help me figure that one out.

Question for mature readers only

(Mature, in this instance, means that you are old enough to have a child who's graduated from high school.)

My question is this: How do I keep from crying like a fool at intellikid's commencement ceremony next weekend?