Thunder and lightning, very very frightening...pug!

It's stormy weather above our place; really and truly right above us. Hearing strong winds, I panicked and ran out onto our porch to prune the gorgeous yellow rose standard beside our steps. The other one blew over while we were away one weekend and I didn't want to lose this one too. Got absolutely soaked and decided to abandon my frenzied pruning efforts when I realised I was directly below some massive (daylight quality) flashes of lightning holding metal pruning shears. Hm. Yes, they have handles, but is that something I really feel like testing tonight? No. 


Hilariously, the same pug which was skittering across the floorboards barking in a panicky fashion not ten minutes ago has now passed out in her bed, sweetly oblivious to the world and subsequent rumblings of thunder in the heavens above. The rain is pattering on our roof but there are warnings of hail up to 2cm in diameter; no doubt there'll be human interest stories of families with their roofs blown off and clutching golf-sized hail preserved in the freezer for our intrepid reporters over at the HeraldSun.

Dammit. Spoke too soon. She's squeaking again.
Hubs is lecturing me just a little on the pool of cards we saw in tonight's Magic draft. Then apologising for speaking so much while I'm attempting to type coherent sentences. Then pointing out that he had in fact done said apologising. Ok, it's a mobius loop, enough already.

I now have three sore toes.
I carved a chunk out of my right foot's second toe when I put a large plastic tub on - well, I thought it was the floor. It wasn't. So my left biggie is sore, by right biggie is throbbing, and I may die from the blood loss incurred from my second toe. That I probably won't is an irrelevance and shall not be mentioned in the interests of garnering sympathy. And it's ridiculously humid.

Hm. Is there anything else I can currently think of to complain about? Oh yeah, it's Halloween tomorrow. Which, in Australia, doesn't mean a great deal. When all your friends are arty people it means a little more. I suspect dressing up may be in the air. This is totally my own fault for bemoaning the lack of frocking up in my life. Universe, if you are listening, this is not what I meant.

Merry Tuesday!

CHUUUUUUUUUGGINGTON!
Seriously, isn't this sweet? It's a welcome-to-my-house gift (I think) which is now blutacked above our phone. Uh-oh...must be getting clucky.....

Anyone who's spent too much time watching http://www.weebls-stuff.com and episodes of On the Moon will know exactly what I'm talking about. Don't you just love those semi-surreal days?

Yesterday no blogging. Turned out that while I was enthusiastically waving the garden-shears-made-for-giants about I jarred my right wrist or something.

So after teaching I casually wave my swollen appendage (wow, THAT sounded wrong) in front of my husband.

Him: OMIGOD! What happened?

Me: (casually waving wrist about. I AM the clumsiest person I know; these things seem to happen an awful lot)
Oh, I think I strained it or something. Impressive, hey?
(offering other weedy wrist for comparison)

Him: Did you bang it on anything? Could you have broken it?

Me: (with massive eye-rollings...I love my husband dearly, but I've just spent the last three hours teaching. Which means playing violin. Which means USING said wrist to manipulate bow. Which means I would have spent said three hours screaming. Or something.)
I don't REMEMBER banging it on anything (meaningless) but I think I jarred it.

Him: Well, that's very impressive. You should go to the doctor.

Me: Um, no thanks.

So after several days of whinging about my sore leg (that fell through the decking) which is now black but less painful to touch, my wrist is the new bane of existence. I've got to get better at this whole co-ordination thing. GOT to. If only so I don't have to make double treks everywhere (now that I can only carry things in my left hand).

Trashy chicklit is helping to dim the pain in my wrist by creating pain in my head....

On the upside, my Monday teaching is over for another week.
I love all my students, but the kids I see on Monday afternoons seem to need the most love.
Or tough love.
Or something that just doesn't come naturally to me.
I was very nearly very rude to a parent yesterday (you may laugh, but that IS unlike me) on the topic of writing things down and working WITH your child at home. This is a partnership, people! And sometimes I'm tempted to have that tattooed on my forehead, but having a fringe and all, that's probably a massive waste of ink. Hm.

Spent the morning (after E's lesson) editing music. 3 minutes is a sweet time to parade children in front of their adoring parents. And the cuts are all good and happy now. I thin that's some kind of record. Week 2, music DONE. I'm brilliant.

Eleven days till Japan and I'm getting a little antsy about flying with Jetstar. I'm enrolled in Summer School, I have a train pass and accommodation, even the fact that I speak minimal Japanese doesn't actually worry me. I figure this is all to the good. If I focus all my anxiety on the flight I won't have any left for the trip and this is a good thing. Right?

Time for left-handed lunchtime. Shepherd's pie.
(Husband on topic of shepherd's pie: Red sky at night, shepherd's delight, red sky in the morning, shepherd's warning. Red sky at lunchtime, shepherd's pie.)
Me on topic of husband: Highly specialised intelligence. Also high ability to make me laugh out loud before thumping him.