My sister sent me an Ides of March card. Beware.

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Later in the day, i attained Level 4 (with several supporters cheering me on for the last few XP). Cockle-warming. I almost feel at home somewhere, if this can count as a (place).
I arrive at work only 6 minutes late - no small achievement, since I have averaged 20 minutes late for the past two months. I attribute it to early to bed, a spot of exercise before sleep, and coffee-on-a-timer waiting for me when I woke. My car's windshield was glazed with frost when I started my "commute", but the day was warm and lovely.
Ms. A.- is on the prowl for a job closer to home. I would be the natural candidate for her position, so I am pleased. We had lunch, my first sushi experience, at Osaka in Fairfield, NJ. I had unagi, which is cooked because eels are very slimy raw; but I tried some of her raw salmon. Not bad, I didn't have to spit it out. It didn't taste much, but talk about tender!
Before I went home, I stopped in on the DMV office to get a replacement license plate sticker. "I'm not really stupid or spastic", I said to the clerk at the counter (who incidentally browbeat me when I was there yesterday). "-But I peeled the sticker off the backing, and it got stuck to the papaer, and then the adhesive wouldn't peel off the paper..." She gave me a new sticker and smiled. Maybe she had her personality steam-cleaned sometime between yesterday and today.
New development. The kids want a structured activity.
I do not say What the fuck?
I say, You mean, you want me to choose an activity, and force you all to do it? Yes!

So, we go outside.

Let's, um, look for rocks, says I.
They all want to know why.
Because that's the activity! Because I said! GO GO GO!.

They bring me plaid skirtloads of rocks.
To make it look like I have a plan, I reject some.
Too big . . . too lumpy . . .this one just won't do at all.

Back inside, we wash the rocks.
Now what? they all want to know.
Hmm.
Glitter!
"Yay!" all around.
I find myself at the head of a table of a dozen kids smearing glue and glitter onto rocks, happy, not bickering, busy.



Later,
Pete: "Wouldn't it have been easier just to tell me?"
me: "it's a stupid, stupid phobia."
Pete: "but it's the way you feel."


Also, I discovered I don't hate raisins after all.

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