Mamacita says:  the weekend is almost over – indeed, on Sunday afternoon, the weekend is as good as over because that’s when the depression starts, although it’s not as bad as it used to be.  More than anything else, it’s the “have to get up in the morning as normal people always do” that hits me more than depression about going back to work on Monday.  The happy fact is, I LOVE my job.  Or, rather, jobs.    “Find a job you love and you’ll never have to work a day in your life,”  said Jim Fox’s dad, and this has come true for me at last.  I have several jobs now and I absolutely love all of them.  No exaggeration. Besides, I keep working at all of them but one on weekends and vacations anyway.  Not because I have to; I do it because I want to.

The only part of any of my jobs that I don’t like is grading essays.  I have too much respect for my students NOT to tell them when something needs to be changed in some way.  To give every essay a big red A+ without reading it properly and letting them know when they’ve done something improperly is to do students a grave disservice.  Self esteem is one thing, but letting a serious student think that a piece of writing is perfect just because he/she wrote it is to play a dirty trick on the student.  Future employers won’t appreciate it, either.

And yes, I fully believe in the use of the RED PEN.  Red is the color of attention.  Pay attention to the red and you won’t get a traffic ticket, cause an accident, or fail to pay careful attention when you see it.  I like a nice red gel pen, so the color jumps right into the face.

So, what am I doing this afternoon?  The music is still cranked up to eleven; the player is set on “random,” and I’m as usual doing about ten things at once.  When my husband gets home from CA tonight, he’ll find his side of the dresser cleaned and put in order.  (N0thing was thrown away; I would not throw anything away that belongs to someone else.  How would I know what’s important to someone else?)  But it’s organized now.  And yes, I am so territorial that our dresser top is divided into “his” and “mine,” and if you know what’s good for you, you won’t touch mine unless you ask first.

And yes, there is a dividing line on our dresser top.  I keep my side tidy and bare, which makes him crazy because everyone in his family, it seems, views a cleared-off space as an invitation to put something of THEIRS on it.

Shut up.   If everyone kept his/her hands off anything that doesn’t belong to them, there would be world peace.  Besides, I’m sure I’m not the only one who labels things in the refrigerator so that when you finish yours you can’t easily help yourself to mine.  When the kids were home, this was a very handy system indeed.  (You drank yours already and she has some left, and you can have hers only if she gives you permission to touch it. If you take it without permission from the owner, you’ve stolen it.) And how did we keep track of who still had Cokes and who had drunk his/hers?  I labeled them, that’s how.  Because it’s not fair when two people each have a 12-pack of Coke that has to last for a week or more, and one person drinks up all of his/hers and then tries to help himself/herself to someone else’s. . . .  They knew not to ask me to make exceptions, either.  The Cokes weren’t mine any more and only the owner of something has the authority to give permissions.  Forced sharing only creates resentment and destroys trust.  Yes, I am a weird Mom.

Oh, I need to stop or I’ll start delving into my childhood again.

The ironic thing is, I will gladly share and even give you pretty much anything I have.  All you have to do is ask me nicely beforehand.  How hard is that to grasp?  My kids and sisters will tell you that I’ve been known to practically hound people to take my things if I suspect someone might need them.  I will not, however, give you permission to touch or use something that doesn’t belong to me.  I might even take it away from you until the owner gives you permission.  But you’ve all heard this little quirk about me before, and giggled discretely behind my back.  Or in my face, if you’re family.  Sigh.  It’s all right.  We all have our little quirks and mine at least doesn’t give me lung cancer, VD, or a hangover.

Oh, and if you think I am doing all this work in a creepy silent cave, you can think again.  Music up to eleven, remember, and on random?

So far these past few hours, I’ve cleaned, written, arranged, rearranged, washed, dried, folded, and surfed to the following:

1.  All the Pretty Little Horses – Shawn Colvin

2.  White Room – Cream

3.  Girls With Guitars – Dave Matheson

4.  Don’t Turn Around – Ace of Base

5.  I’ve Been Everywhere – Mike Ford

6.  A Summer Place – The Lettermen

7.  Forgive Me Love – Alanis Morrisette

8.  I Am the Highway – Audioslave

9.  Norwegian Wood – Beatles

10. Piano Man – Billy Joel

11.  Rivers of Babylon – Boney M

12.  If I Threw My Guitar – Cake

13.  Dream Police – Cheap Trick

14.  Creep – Damian Rice

15.  Coke – Flickerstick

16.  Bring Him Home – Gary Morris

17.  Wuthering Heights – Hayley Westenra

18.  Funk #49 – James Gang

19.  Across the Universe – Rufus Wainwright

20.  Dancing in the Street – Mick Jagger and David Bowie

21.  Time Is Running Out – Muse

22.  Let It Be – Nick Cave

23.  Santeria – Sublime

24.  Zard Snodgrass – Moxy Fruvous

25.  Bittersweet Symphony – The Verve

Now playing:  Mars – Holst

I love the contrasts of a random song setting.  And look at all those Beatles covers!

Snack time.