Fricking huntsman spiders.

So I get home from work and go to check my email.
No internets.
Nothing.
Nada.
Irrational panic.
Hubs left home this morning and will be gone eight days. EIGHT DAYS? I can't live without internet access for EIGHT DAYS!!!
I mean, what will I do if someone emails me and I have to give them my bank account details in the next thirty seconds or SOMEONE ELSE gets the thirty million loonies (canadian dollars)???
How will I check the weather and know what density jeans to wear? And if I should be wearing a singlet top underneath stuff (for brrrrr layering) or OVER stuff (because it'll warm up later and I am SO sick of myself wearing the boring of boringness)?
HOW???

In desperation I turned my computer off and on again. Nothing. I mean it connected to the network and all, but the joys of wireless are such that when it works, it's great. Invisible internetty goodness within my house = happy days. Mysterious network-showing-up-but-no-action-in-my-browser = unhappiness. Sadness. Shouting at thin air no longer occupied by hubs (aka chief geek who can fix all computer problems known to man. And to me, who just has trouble plugging stuff in sometimes).

But then! Aha! Bright idea! I will go DOWNSTAIRS to the portal of internet (that would be the cupboard under the house that houses all our webby stuff) and stare at it, willing it back into invisible health, wellbeing, and the ability to scrape information off the internet and feed it to my screen.
Hmmm.
There's a very large huntsman on the staircase.
Hmmm.

The last time there was a huntsman in the house, suzukisinger and I inhaled more flyspray than it did. then,laughing hysterically, belted it randomly with a newspaper, mostly missing. I think it died from drowning in puddle o'spray rather than contact with any hard surface. I don't really like spiders.

Ok. Newspaper. Armed with cylinder, snuck up on spider. Realised that squashing spider was going to make one helluva mess. (I was planning on hitting it rather hard, yes. No-one ever wanders around chanting "Concuss....Concuss... It's exterminate or nothing.) THIS is the bizarre part. Put DOWN cylinder, trotted back upstairs, fetched large plastic container and lid, trapped spider and set it free.

Hubs, if you're reading this, I deserve a very special present (yes, another one) just for that humane act. Not sure what came over me... but there's ANOTHER miracle to report. No mom, I am not pregnant. Put that clucky-grandchildy-thing away already. I THEN proceeded to the Cupboard Where All Things Internet Happen, wrenched it open and stared wretchedly for a little while. Lights went blip and blink and were completely incomprehensible. Yargh.

Of course, things can't get any worse. I am already internetless, so whatevs. Detached a cord that was plugged into a socket that said POWER which may or may not have belonged to the modem, counted to five, plugged it back in and shut the cupboard. Stupid cupboard. Sulkily stomped back upstairs, flung self on bed, demonstratively because it's all-so-useless-and-futile poked refresh a few times and -

HALLALUJAH!

Internets!

Of course, now I discover that no-one loves me. Sigh. Oh, the cruelty.

Over the last week or so, I've become a little hyperaware that activities are made or trashed by the people you share them with. I've been feeling like the top layer of my skin is missing, and there's really only so much I can endure before running screaming for the hills (perhaps that's why I embarked on such a massive getting-rid-of-stuff  project).

Things I have learned:

Rollerskating is more fun when accompanied by someone who will laugh at you when you fall over and then, obligingly, fall over so you can laugh at them. Attracting a pygmy fan club (that's a fan club composed of pygmies not a fan club comprised of one regular-sized person) is not essential to fun and will in fact add a little pressure to the whole activity.
This may or may not be worth it for the wave of parental gratitude that comes sloshing toward you, as many uncoordinated and overweight parents breathe a sigh of relief and surrender their skates to the teenagers that seem to run the place.

There are some things that just don't change. Shopping with your best friend is an excellent case in point. At some stage there will be depression (WHY don't these FRICKING jeans WORK), euphoria (OMIGAHHHHD! My boobs DON'T resemble two pillows fighting for supremacy of my whole body)
hallucinatory hysteria and sushi. And coffee. Oh baby, bring on that coffee. Too much fun.

Dancing is terrific fun when you have a boy to monopolize.
It's very funny when he says
"I don't know this song!"
"How is that a problem? Aren't you dancing to the beat?"
"Yeah, but I need to know what song it is so I know what character to be." (OR SOMETHING TO THAT EFFECT!!! I'm sure I'll get a caning for misquoting. Whatever. It's still very funny.)

Onto question answering!

Mysterg: I would like to know about who your childhood hero was and why?

Um.... it was probably my mother for a significant portion thereof; she homeschooled me and ran her own business. I thought she knew everything and could do everything and it came as quite a rude shock to discover it wasn't quite the case! I also thought Nigel Kennedy was pretty awesome; when my uncle gifted twelve-year-old me with a pair of cherry Doc Martens I was a very, very happy thing. I didn't remove them from my feet for the next three years (made ballet a little tricky, but whatever).

Eternally Distracted: Is there a subject that you would never blog about? If so, why?

I probably wouldn't divulge specific work-related details, because I work with children and families and I feel that those interactions are quite privileged. It's one thing to describe a lesson with a student who is not identifiable from the post, quite another to be so specific that a parent - or child - might think "Oh NO, that's ME!" So... I think that I'm happy to blog about people in such a way that THEY know who they are but others don't. Does that make sense?

Kristine: of your 100 posts, which is your favourite?

The one after I fell through the decking, because now we have new decking. No, not really! Probably the first poetry-ish post, because that's stuff that hasn't seen the light of day in a long time and the creative writing stuff is a part of my self I have not indulged.


Extranjera: Would you rather be able to eat music or breathe dancing?

I don't think of music as edible;  whether I'm playing it or listening I feel ... flow. Sometimes color or texture, but not a tangible thing I can ingest.  On good days the breathing dancing happens. So I think that would be my preference, because that is euphoric! (And the dancing is triggered by the music, so maybe that's factoring into my airflow too!)  More good days please.

Any more questions? I particularly like the existential ones.