There’s been a lot going on that hasn’t really been mine to write about; then there’s been a lot going on that’s been so incredibly deadly boring that living it is soporific, let alone reading about it. Take today.
Today I learned that forgetting to run a load of washing for two? maybe three? weeks is a crappy idea. I also learned I have a propensity for scribbling random information (crucial stuff, mind you) on random bits of paper, then confusing those bits of paper with the bits that should have been thrown out weeks ago. That’s not to say that I threw out the important bits instead, just that I have a house littered with pieces of irrelevant and relevant notes that need collating, sorting, and filing. In the bin.
My ‘housekeeping’ was going brilliantly this morning, until I ferried a miscellaneous pile of cello strings downstairs and squelched across the floor. Oh no. Oh yes. Those flooding rains that struck Melbourne? They struck us, too. Rather stealthily, possibly through our gum-leaf-filled gutters at second-storey height.
Goodbye leisurely morning of picking up crap, hello panic stations treading towels into carpet and setting up blow heaters to try and dry the mat out pre-afternoon teaching. Loud, epiphanic curses when I discovered my little black book (a diligent effort at record-keeping, tracking each student’s progress in 2010 sopping, every page adhering to the other in a gloppy papier-mache mess. I haven’t yet reached a state of gratitude that my (mostly irreplaceable) teaching theses and workbooks were all safely stowed on shelves and have kept their ink on. Maybe I’ll get there when my carpet’s dry again.