Yes, I’m having a “love-hate relationship” with my job right now. I bet most of y’all go through that, too. I am relieved that there are times that I love it, because I know there are some people who despise the work they do to make a living. I realize I’m fortunate, and I try not to complain too much.

That nursery rhyme is running through my head: “There was a little girl who had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good, she was very, very good. When she was bad, she was horrid!”

That describes my job perfectly. When I get to tell stories to the audience, I think I’m in heaven. I love making people laugh, watching their faces as they get engaged in a story, and making them use their imaginations. In those moments, I would tell you that there is no finer job than mine. That’s the “very, very good” part.

This week is especially wonderful, because I’m performing for 6th graders in Frisco ISD (one of the districts for which I prefer to work). I have to admit that kids in 6th grade are special favorites of mine. They are old enough to “get it,” but usually they are still young enough not to have an attitude (usually is the operative word). It’s been a treat all week working with them, except that I’m suffering exhaustion (I see a doctor next Monday, and I’ll know more). I get home in the afternoon, and my energy is spent. All I’ve done this week is fall in bed when I get home and sleep through until morning. If you have been trying to contact me, I barely look at the computer. Sorry.

I’d be having a blast, even exhausted, if I didn’t have the horrid part to deal with at the same time. What’s the horrid part? Paperwork and pencil pushers! Unfortunately, most of my work time is spent dealing with that. It’s how I get paid.

Frisco is easy. I have worked for them before, so they have the paperwork they need to pay me. I send an invoice and I get a check. They are very organized.

However, I’m pulling my hair out over another gig. Though I have worked for them before (this year), they need duplicate paperwork. I’m not sure they have a filing system in their district. They want me to fax documents at the last minute, and everything is an “emergency!”. Fax my signature and Social Security number to a school office? Nope. Not gonna happen.

What’s that quote? “Poor planning on your part doesn’t constitute an emergency on mine?” I’d love to say that applies, but if I don’t deal with their “emergency,” then I’m the one who will suffer. I won’t get paid. And, their accountants don’t care!

That means I have to fill out the paperwork a third time and find a post office in Frisco today to mail documents to them. I’ve already mailed them to the school once (and they should have already had them from the first time I worked for them). The first time I mailed them, the papers “didn’t get delivered” to the right person. How scary is that? Now, I feel compelled to register the letter!

That’s horrid!

No telling what happened to the stuff I’ve already sent. There may already be hundreds of people out there with my name and Social Security number. If you meet me, ask for identification!

I watched him in fascinated horror. He was on his side in the shallow water; his body was heaving as he gasped for breath. It’s hard to determine the expression in a trout’s eyes, but I’m sure I saw his fear.

Do fish think? Did he hope? His strength spent, all he could do was wait for his Fate.

I know how he felt.

Waves are washing over me, but I can barely manage a twitch right now. I wait.

Later this month, I have a doctor’s appointment for another round of blood tests. The answers won’t be pretty. I’ve already received some of the news and know my body is betraying me. I have a choice of bad or worse (not fatal…just frightening…no pity is required). Until I have answers, there is nothing I can do but hope. I breathe in, breathe out, and wait.

Meanwhile, waves of unanswered e-mails, unsent thank you notes, work related papers, and housework lap over me. Occasionally I feel a burst of energy, but it is gone in a heartbeat. I don’t have the energy to struggle.

Mr. X reached for the nylon cord with a smile, “He’s not big, but he’s enough for supper.”

That time.

Oh, children. Someone who calls him/her self “realist in Denton” commented on my post about the Denton Jazz festival. Do y’all ever get comments that make you want to twist someone’s head off? I just have to share with you. This is what the goofball had to say:

Either you haven’t been to a concert in ages, or you are just bitter. There weren’t just kids being rude, drunken adults your curmudgeonly age were far worse in my area than any kids I saw. So get off your high horse, deal with what happens when you go see a big name band at a general admission venue… or go pay your overpriced $$$ to see seated shows at the aac, etc.

This was my response:

First of all, “realist,” I said “people” not kids. I’m fully aware there were people my age who were drunk and disorderly. Second, obviously your momma didn’t teach you any manners. You are a perfect example of what I was grousing about. This is MY house. If you want to make rude remarks do it to your own momma.

Remember that line in Hamlet? This kid “doth protest too much, methinks.” I’d almost bet money that this is the little smart aleck drunk who was trying to push me around!

I e-mailed the response to the person, but does anyone want to bet that it bounces back? I’ve noticed that spineless people who go into people’s blogs and leave nasty comments usually don’t leave their real e-mail addresses.

I’ve got better things to do. Like finish photographing some afghans for kids with cancer. We have 111 showing in the afghan gallery now.

Back to it.