Everyday life

This is a blog about what life is like. Just what I do every day. The kids call (or not!) and ask what I've been doing. Well, nothing. What does anyone do? You live your life. It's not a novel, there is no plot, although there is a pattern and a rhythm. So this is what I do.

I like to lie in bed in the early morning and listen to NPR. Sometimes I drift back to sleep and my dreams wrap themselves around whatever story my conscious mind is listening to. When I hear the story later on the rebroadcast I'll understand why I dreamed that.

Yesterday I woke up very early (5:40) so I could go observe the synchro rehearsal. I watch Christine and the older girls because I just can't race around after Kristen and the younger ones, too stressful (plus she spends all her time yelling, which I really dislike). What is it about synchro that attracts the nice girls? The mean girls never do synchro-- maybe they're too egotistical to submit to the group's needs.

After Synchro I went up to Light Opera Works and picked up my check, then went to the bank, then home. Back to the rink to teach Adorina at 12:30, and spent some time talking to Chris H. At home I finished our 2007 taxes, opened some especially obnoxious mail (a late notice for a bill that I know I paid, incomprehensible hospital bills, and an insurance statement averring that 2 cents of my claim was disallowed. They spent 41c to let me know that.) Spent the rest of the day on Metafilter, watched Star Trek, made dinner and watched a movie on tv with Bill.

Today I don't need to go anywhere, which is really good because it's 40 degrees outside and pouring rain. The worst kind of winter day. I listened to npr and read metafilter, and now I'm writing this. I need to do my laundry and I think I'll make cheese crackers and read some more of the Laurie King novel I bought. I have to make the final selections for Light Opera Works' 2007 sample DVD and organize my desk for tomorrow. Probably I should get all the LOW "little shit" out of the way. It's so strange having these long days with no outside jobs, gosh I guess they call them "weekends." Just like normal people.

I lead such an interesting life.

So should this "diary" be about the mundane details of my day? How much were the kids aware of that even while they were here? Should I philosophize? Should I bare my soul or reveal my inner dialog? I don't even like my inner dialog; if I revealed it to other people they'd put me on strong medication.