Wow. A big blank computer screen is possibly even more daunting than a blank sheet of paper. But, I’ve been keeping up with my 30 minutes worth of writing each night so far this week, so here goes.
I’m staying with my mom for two weeks. She lives in the suburbs, about 30 miles from Fake Cow. My brother will take over as temporary care-taker when I am done and stay with mom for another two weeks while Dad spends four weeks at SMU for his job. Can I take a moment to grouse to those of you who work in Methodism? Online education, people! C’mon! Four weeks worth of onsite training for the Course of Study? Dang. My husband is working on a PhD and he doesn’t have to do that much in-person class work. Four weeks a year? Four?
~shoves soap box back underneath the couch~
Anyway, I left my external drive that has my cemetery pictures on it at home, so no cemetery blogging this week. Hopefully I’ll get going with that again next week. I’m having to dig through old material to see what I can find because my camera is in the hospital. It’s been there since May 15th. It will be there for at least another month.
All to fix a broken flash.
Can I get a kleenex?
We’ve taken a vote at work and decided this has been a weird damn week. Every one of us has pitched at least one screaming fit at someone and there has been a profusion of mothers that we’ve had to deal with this week. The mother thing is mostly Mindy’s fault. She’s got two or three of ‘em calling her and me and anyone else they can get in touch with and complaining that someone has mistreated their poor, darling baby boys. I usually just remind them that it’s called adult probation for a reason. They never really get it and our conversations usually end with me telling them we have no obligation to give them any information and that we will not accept any further communication from them. Then they say, “Yes, but –.” That’s when I hang up the phone.
I hate mothers.
Not mine. And probably not yours. But mothers in general.
I would retire early and open up a photography studio, if it weren’t for mothers. Weddings are bread and butter for most photographers. I have no problem taking wedding photos, but I refuse to be in the same building with the mothers. I think my Mutha-Free Wedding Photo Policy is probably going to be a real hindrance to me earning a living at my chosen second profession. So, I’ll stick with what I’m doing retire somewhere around the ripe old age of forty-eight and maybe then I can afford to open up Skewed View Photography – 100% Mutha-Free.
(The first time I ever took wedding photos, I was still in college. It was a home wedding, on the back deck of the double-wide. I trailed along behind the minister (yes, there was one) most of the time, shooting whatever they told me to. The minister finally got the mother of the bride to sit still long enough to help him fill out the marriage license. It took a while because she was having difficulty recalling her daughter’s current last name.)