breaking the sad habit
I steeled myself to be very sad today. I know that’s not healthy, but whatever. Everybody has their issues.*
Mike and Minime have been play chess every night this week – Mike’s on Spig Bek – and I was thinking last night how pleasantly surprised my dad would be if he knew Minime loves chess so much.
Today I had to give a progress report on my seminar paper. I’ve been working on a seminar paper on the cockfight and I would have enjoyed sharing my research with him, although he would have doubted the validity of the project since most of the data is only from the Northern islands, anyway. I typed out what I was going to say so I would sound focused and prepared. Then came the Three Flusters.
Fluster #1: I left my paper on the printer. (I had my laptop with me, so that Fluster was surmountable.)
Fluster #2: When I entered the highway I turned on my radio just in time to hear the DJ announce that 81 was being shut down due to an accident. (I had time to get off the highway and take a detour, so THAT Fluster was surmountable.)
Fluster #3: When I got about halfway through my report I got VERY FLUSTERED. My professor thought I was crying, but I was tearing up trying to keep from laughing. I apologized and explained that I have said the word “cock” more than I’m used to. The Fluster became insurmountable when everyone, including my professor, started giggling, not at me but with me. It was not my most professional moment, admittedly.
Later my professor said, “Don’t feel bad. Yesterday I had to introduce my undergrads to the concept of vagina dentata.*” Try saying that repeatedly for an hour.
At least I didn’t spend the day moping.
*If I were in Houston I’d be at the big Death Anniversary with my family and we’d all have our issues together – a few tears, a lot of laughter, and Filipino-cuisine-a-plenty. March 4, 1995, was my first day working for El Diablo. March 4, ’96, was my first visit to a therapist because I hated my job so much. March 4, 2003, was my first day working for PiSS, and March 4, 2005, was the last time I talked to my dad.
**You’ll have to look this one up on your own. I’m still trying to get past the “c” word.