Tuesday, June 23, 2009

clean face/cluttered mind

Today my face went through the automatic carwash. Or at least the “medical esthetics” equivalent. Part of a regimen recommended by the dermatologist for the purpose of keeping years of solar carelessness at bay. See, when I was a youngish person we didn’t have the Surgeon General and everyone else pushing spf--the higher the better--on us. In fact, a popular product was “tanning oil,” designed to increase the helio-impact of beach time. Not that I bothered. I was into neither products nor baking. By a same or similar token, neither did I exercise any care or avoidance. Hence, today’s heavy-duty exfoliation, scraping, stingy lactic acid stuff, spritzy spritz thingy, and a whole bunch of lotions and hot towels. I felt like one of those snobby rich ladies with cucumbers on their eyelids, except that I was not wearing the appropriate bling, and my car--parked by myself--was a Subaru. Will this be of use? I don’t know. But it sure felt like the skin equivalent of having your teeth worked over by the dental hygienist.

Meanwhile, the MacBook work space is surrounded by a teetering stack of college guides (all full of kitty claw and tooth pricks,) and a workbook full of suggestions from the post-secondary advisor-lady. I’m paying online visits to school sites, gap year sites, parent forums...and the kid himself is, essentially, clueless. I do not know what we will do. Send him to some sort of pre-freshman year preparatory program where he’ll be surrounded by underachievers for whom this was their last best option? Send him--rather blindly, I’d say--into the world of real college expectations with the hounding (I hope) support of a built-in LD support team? Prepare a roster of back-up options should plans A or B founder? Yes. But it’s a short roster at this point. Very short. I need a fail-safe plan. Suggestions will be entertained.

Monday, June 22, 2009

ouch

Ouch. I have a headache. I think it’s because I ate one of Becca’s zucchini cupcakes with cream cheese icing. The problem is that real cream cheese frosting, made by real people using real cream cheese, has real cream cheese in it. Yep. It’s a cheese headache.

Still, I got six 33 gallon garbage bags full of Becca and Olivia’s cast off clothing (dating back about 6 or 7 years) hauled to the Salvation Army for redistribution. But I didn’t do much else.



It is hard--no matter how anyone else reassures you--to get used to the idea that when someone with Alzheimer’s sits in two different chairs all day doing little other than dozing, that he is probably ok with that. But I haven’t really gotten used to any other part of this weird trip.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

glorp

Emily is very sorry that she has not had much to say lately. She is in a dither. Actually, Emily is a little too phlegmatic to be dithery. It's more like she is mired in gloop.

Oh crap! I used to have that dream when I was a kid, and I'd completely forgotten about it until just this minute! The mired-in-gloop dream. Sometimes you couldn't even see the gloop, you just couldn't move. Most likely there'd be something coming after you, such that running would be an auspicious choice, but you couldn't because some horrible substance was inhibiting all attempts at stepping. Maybe it wasn't even a substance...maybe the lower half of your body had suddenly gained mass by a factor of 10 or so, and gravity simply would not be defied.

Ick ick ick. It makes you feel icky and anxious. How strange that I pre-dreamed the gloop. Fie on gloop. Bah to discernible talent and accomplishment. Perhaps one needs to stand up to it. Off my case gloop. I am the best worst trite nonsense writer of unmarketable phluff, and I will embrace it to the end. Yes. Gloop indeed.