Sometimes it scares me that this is my “prime.” This feeling resurfaces on days like yesterday, where my detached brain was floating around somewhere in the atmosphere like one of those jelly fish I see at zoo exhibits.
To begin with, the junior class officers had put together letters to be mailed out to all the parents in order to solicit some prom volunteers. Being the dedicated junior sponsor that I am, I had these envelopes in my room–all they needed were stamps. Since my study hall kids had absolutely nothing to do today, I told them to stamp the envelopes. I probably should have left it at that, but being the detailed instructor I am, I said “Please put stamps on the left side of the envelope.” Just to clarify–I was thinking “stage left,” you know–the anatomical left. Not the literal left. Happy to have anything to do besides their homework, my volunteers started stamping away. While I was in the throes of grading, a students comes up and says, “Mrs. Paschall, did you say you want those on the LEFT side?” Not even leaving my zone, I said “Yes–that’s be great–thanks so much for asking.” Bless their hearts–they were trying to send me the message.
Later at 3:30 I delivered this bag of envelopes to the illustrious Small Town Post Office. As I’m walking out, the gray-haired, beedy-eyed clerk conspicuously leans over to her cohort and starts whispering about me. So, I (nicely, of course) turned around and said, “Did I miss anything?” She kind of huffed and said, “These stamps are all on the wrong side.” Yep, that would be all 174 stamps, on the wrong side.
Conclusion–They accepted the letters anyway. I learned that the post office has to accept my letter as long as the stamp is anywhere on the front. Since when did we all decide to become so uniform?
After this disheartening experience, I decided to do some shopping, which always makes me feel better. After an hour of therapy, I returned home and started making dinner. Already feeling in better spirits, I decided to make some red velvet whoopie pies, so I turned the oven on 325 and waited for it to heat up.
About 5 minutes later, I thought I smelled burning. However, I determined it must be my overactive imagination, so I just continued preparing the red velvet cake mix. About 5 minutes later, Josh comes in and says “I think something’s burning–there’s smoke coming from the top of the oven.” I replied that it would appear that way, but since there was nothing in the oven, it is logically impossible.
About two minute later, I’m engulfed in smoke, so I open the oven door to see what’s going on. Yes, indeed, I left Monday’s sugar cookies in the oven. After going to all that trouble of making them, I never took them out. I scraped the burnt cookie chards into the trash can.
So, there you have it: a quick snapshot at a day in the life of one overworked, yet enthusiastic, girl who is enjoying the spontaneity of her “prime” and all it entails.