can't sleep clown'll eat me

16 hours of sleep one night.  None the next.  I'm aware that that averages to 8 hours of sleep for each day, but I'm here to tell you that averages don't exactly work in this case.

I'm going to poke my eyes out.  Or stub cigarettes out on my arm.  Or SOMETHING.

Also, why do babies make me smile?  Why the hell can't I be a hardass?  Why can't I be an atypical female and be able to keep my composure around little kids and puppies?  I'll watch some scene on TV with a baby surrounded by four women glowing all over the place, and I'll think, "God, that's cheesy."  But do you know what my face is doing?  It's betraying me, that's what.  Betraying me by going all smooshy.

I swear to God, I am a six-foot brick wall trapped inside a five-foot squishy body.

It's sick, isn't it?  Sick.

Anyways.  I decided this morning that I'm fed up with my hair, and it's time for a change.  I like it curly, and I like it straight, but I can't stand the crazy in-between crap that it insists on doing all the time.  When I was a teenager, I got a really loose perm once, and it was really cute.  I may try that again.  It takes less time to fix perm curls than it does to straighten hair.  So, when it grows out a bit more, I shall poodle-fy myself.

Ari flunked an English test yesterday.  Well, he didn't technically fail, he got an 'R'.  Apparently, 'R' is short for remedial, which means he has to take a re-test today.  To me, that's failing.  His school has such a habit of sugar-coating child performance.  I hate it.  There's passing, and there's failing, there are good grades and there are bad ones.  When you get a bad grade, you work until you get a good one.  You shouldn't get patted on the head and be labeled some sort of work in progress.

God, I'm militant, aren't I?  Lucky I'm not going to teach the little ones.

So, yeah.  I worked with him a bit, and figured out that he just got idioms and onomatopoeias mixed up.  We straightened that out.  I also learned that it's really, REALLY obvious when a kid doesn't read books.  He can define literary terms, but he can't think of one damned example of any of them.  His attempts at finding metaphors were frightening.  And every sentence he came up with had video games in it.

Ari's such a smart kid.  It makes me sad to think of just how much smarter he could become.

(no subject)

I cannot stop crocheting turtles.  Would anyone like a turtle?  Because, you know... I can't stop crocheting turtles.

I've got millions.

I remember wanting a baby turtle like mad when I was younger.  We lived in apartments until I was 14, so I could never have any pets like cats or dogs.  We had birds, which I hated, and fish that kept eating each other.  But all I wanted was a turtle to name Frank.

Don't ask me why Frank.  Also, don't ask me why a turtle.  These are unanswerable questions.