How Things Are Going
2009-07-01, 2:10 a.m.

So, I’m working nowadays at school as an assistant to a precious girl with CP. I write down her answers, help her get out her materials, and assign points earned when she mows down kids who think it’s perfectly fine to step out in front of her land yacht wheelchair. 5 points for an ankle graze, 10 for a standard-grade impalement. Teachers aren’t immune, either; they’re worth 30 points since they REALLY ought to know better. Here’s a tip: When it comes to human middle schoolers vs. a 300-lb street-cred wheelchair, the wheelchair WILL win. And the girl and I will continue to keep tabs on these, the potential future Darwin Award winners. It’s a long list.

7th grade was a lot of fun. I am looking forward to 8th. It’s quite amusing to tell people, when they ask what I do, “I’m in middle school.”

One of the perks of being duly employed is having insurance, subcategory of which is free counseling. A captive audience to whom I can bitch, bitch, bitch, and it’s FREE? Color me there. I went. I laid it all out there. I found out such nifty things as 1) I am completely normal, 2) I am not like my mother, and 3) if I were, they make a pill for that. I proudly told my kids her pronouncement. In a moment of rare solidarity they decided that the counselor obviously doesn’t know Jack and to please get the pill.

Ingrates.

That just gives me something else to glower about at my next appointment.

I may take my dog next time, since she’s in serious need. As I type, my so-called guard dog is sitting on my toes, desperate to be protected from the thunder outside. Geez, I feel safe. Should have known we’d have a storm tonight, since the not-so-aptly-named 1ntellic@st predicted clear skies and no precipitation. Instead, here I am, protecting the pooch, and for some reason I think it really ought to be the other way around. I made the mistake of watching a little bit of some cheesy horror movie on tv over the weekend so now a red-eyed sasquatch hybrid is staring at me from every darkened doorway. Nice to know my dog would shove me in its path as a tasty morsel while she makes her getaway.

I’ll remember this when it’s treat-buying time.

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