Even more cheerfully, there were happy little rows of temp buildings on one side of the main building, though really, using temp at this stage is kind of ingenuous, since they were kinda permanent and armed with their own central air each and porches. It was also pretty easy to get in, and no one bothered to question what I was doing wandering around fairly expensive equipment unattended. That's just weird.
Yeah, I'm feeling wary vibes here. I checked its rep, and it's not great, and also, whoo and hoo doggies, I'll be seeing a critical mass of clients at the PTA meetings, if I attended, which I don't, because that way lies high blood pressure and possibly me, imtating my mother, by calling everyone who disagrees with me small-minded idiots then storming gracefully out to play on the internet (or in Mom's case, crochet a new tablecloth. She's more of a classicist than I am).
I may need to start going. Surely I can manage to completely alienate a whole new group of people in under sixty seconds.
*rubs forehead* That's it for my maternal side. I pretty much burned out any *possibility* there will be more jenn-progeny by spending the last almost-week babysitting my niece, step-niece, and step-nephew along with Child, and the ages here are 3, 4, 7, and 8. Today, in a happy turn of events where I was actually excited to go to work, somehow, the menagerie managed to get Niece's leg stuck between the headboard and mattress of my bed.
Yeah, no idea how that happened.
They were discovered, by the by, soaping her down in hopes of *pulling her out*, and we're still unsure how she managed something that should, from my visual assessment, only be possible if she was hanging suspended from midair to get a good enough angle to get stuck like that. Amazing.
Seriously. Tubal ligation, right here. I'd do it myself with scissors and a sautering iron if i wasn't aware that, oh, I haven't slept in *twenty four hours*, and yes, it's because of them, and no, I don't want to talk about it, like, ever, except to say, a queen bed was never meant for four of the most talkative, active, frighteningly tactile sleepers in history and me, clinging to the edge of the mattress by my fingernails before spending teh rest of my night attempting to sleep on the couch and actualy watchng CBS from four until seven.
This of course, has clicked my insomnia into high gear for the second time this month, which means, I'm not getting sleep until my body just decides it's bored with the awareness thing. You know, when I was younger? I had to do eight hours. I mean, no ifs, ands, or buts. Eight hours somewhere and consecutive at that. Now sleep is like a fetish. I've spent quality time fantasizing about high thread count sheets, fluffy memory-foam pillows, and laying in bed in blissful unconsciousness. My new porn may be the Linens and Things catalogue, and that's just. So. Wrong.
Hmm. You know, reading this over? I sound just a tiny bit crazy. Hmm.