The pack mule
I can't believe I go in two days...I'm so excited. But it also doesn't feel like it should be time for camp. July just sort of disappeared. I blame Harry Potter for that. So, anyway, I'm doing my final preparations--packing, laundry, cleaning my icky dirty shoes. I have one pair of shoes for the hike and they're finally too gross to just put in my bag. I took an old toothbrush to them and they're doing much better. I also practiced for close to two hours, which was fun, but my right hand/wrist/pinky especially were not happy when I was done. I'm not relaxed when I play because I do it so rarely these days. My poor pinky, grasping at my Eb key for dear life. It was pretty much numb by the time I finished.
Also, more from Sunday and the past couple days. I meant to do this Tuesday, but I just felt so awful that I said screw it. I discovered my ever-so-charming uncle also said a rude comment to my cousin. This would be the cousin with five kids. While looking at the baby, he asked, so, is this your last one? My cousin looked at Sammie, her fourth, and said, no, *she* was the last one. (What she could have said was, at least all my kids have the same father, unlike your grandkids...but my cousin't probably too nice for that. Wow. I can be really mean, can't I? Of his three kids, only my uncle's daughter has children. That we know of.) Later, when someone was going to go pick up pizza for dinner, said mother-of-five said she'd go, but nobody would want to watch all the kids. True.
And apparently my uncle's comments to my mother *did* trigger something. She starts Seattle Sutton next week. She's now the third person I know who's done it. One lasted a month and the other lasted for a while. I don't know what my father will do for food next week, as I won't be here and clearly mom won't be cooking, but he assures me he'll be fine. Knowing my mother's track record with diets and the like, I doubt this will last long. She also tried Nutri/System Nourish a year and a half ago (because it was Today's Special Value on QVC or something); I ended up eating about half the meals. They weren't that bad, but it's all shelf-stable food, so that affects some flavor and quality. Plus, if you're going to do something like that, it helps if there's no other food in the house. Whatever. But I'll probably have some Seattle Sutton meals to choose from when I get home on Saturday.
I freaked myself out the other day. I went to check on Kirby, so I opened my bedroom door and looked at my bed as I was walking in. I saw something whitish out of the bottom of my vision. Before I knew it, I'd accidentally kicked Kirby and he went flying back to his cage. I really wasn't expecting him to be so close to the door. I really thought he'd be on my bed, if anywhere. It really scared me, but he's fine. Now for the annual test of his endurance: camp. You must realize that my parents once tried to kill my bird. It was an accident, but I can't let them forget it. It was five years ago and I took a bus trip to Florida for ten days. There was a misunderstanding. I said I'd fed the bird and he was good to go, meaning for a couple of days; my parents thought I meant for the entirety of the trip, so they never fed him or gave him fresh water. That's right, for ten whole days. Poor thing. The only thing that probably saved him was that I hadn't cleaned his cage in a while and he ate whatever seeds he found on the bottom of the cage. So, yes, I think I'm entitled to harass my parents about not killing my bird while I'm gone. I think they've come to expect it.
Also, more from Sunday and the past couple days. I meant to do this Tuesday, but I just felt so awful that I said screw it. I discovered my ever-so-charming uncle also said a rude comment to my cousin. This would be the cousin with five kids. While looking at the baby, he asked, so, is this your last one? My cousin looked at Sammie, her fourth, and said, no, *she* was the last one. (What she could have said was, at least all my kids have the same father, unlike your grandkids...but my cousin't probably too nice for that. Wow. I can be really mean, can't I? Of his three kids, only my uncle's daughter has children. That we know of.) Later, when someone was going to go pick up pizza for dinner, said mother-of-five said she'd go, but nobody would want to watch all the kids. True.
And apparently my uncle's comments to my mother *did* trigger something. She starts Seattle Sutton next week. She's now the third person I know who's done it. One lasted a month and the other lasted for a while. I don't know what my father will do for food next week, as I won't be here and clearly mom won't be cooking, but he assures me he'll be fine. Knowing my mother's track record with diets and the like, I doubt this will last long. She also tried Nutri/System Nourish a year and a half ago (because it was Today's Special Value on QVC or something); I ended up eating about half the meals. They weren't that bad, but it's all shelf-stable food, so that affects some flavor and quality. Plus, if you're going to do something like that, it helps if there's no other food in the house. Whatever. But I'll probably have some Seattle Sutton meals to choose from when I get home on Saturday.
I freaked myself out the other day. I went to check on Kirby, so I opened my bedroom door and looked at my bed as I was walking in. I saw something whitish out of the bottom of my vision. Before I knew it, I'd accidentally kicked Kirby and he went flying back to his cage. I really wasn't expecting him to be so close to the door. I really thought he'd be on my bed, if anywhere. It really scared me, but he's fine. Now for the annual test of his endurance: camp. You must realize that my parents once tried to kill my bird. It was an accident, but I can't let them forget it. It was five years ago and I took a bus trip to Florida for ten days. There was a misunderstanding. I said I'd fed the bird and he was good to go, meaning for a couple of days; my parents thought I meant for the entirety of the trip, so they never fed him or gave him fresh water. That's right, for ten whole days. Poor thing. The only thing that probably saved him was that I hadn't cleaned his cage in a while and he ate whatever seeds he found on the bottom of the cage. So, yes, I think I'm entitled to harass my parents about not killing my bird while I'm gone. I think they've come to expect it.