This morning - well, let's just say I want a do-over. This "thing" happened - I won't go into details - but it ended with me sitting on the toilet stark naked, unable to get up, with Adam not in the house. I was able to call him (he was only a minute from home) and when he walked into the bathroom, with a big smile on his face, and "no worries" in his words, I knew it would be okay. The way he reassures me reminds me of when my kids were little. They would fall and bump their heads, and we would smile and laugh rather than panic. They would look to us to know it would be okay. I look to Adam and know it will be okay.
My pointer fingers are pissing me off. The right one especially. It is crooked and bent like a hook, and though I can straighten it out occasionally, it takes time and a enormous amount of concentration. So when I reach for cups or chair arms, or even to go shake someone's hand, that damned crooked hook of a finger gets in the way. Our hands are led by our pointer fingers. Mine are now led by my middle finger, the cursing finger, the one that can tell the world to f#ck off. Though it is the longest finger, it is not the strongest of our fingers. I text with my middle finger. I pull up my shirt sleeves with my middle fingers. I scratch an itch with my middle finger. I'm retraining my body to use the middle finger for more than cursing out a bad driver.
I keep having a dream that the superintendent of my school district comes to my house to check my grade books, and notices that I haven't done the end of the unit assessments for Units 3 and 4 in the math program. She also tells me that I have to start doing the Fundations lessons because I am six weeks behind the other first grade teachers. I start to panic, and then I call Darlene and she does all the Fundations lessons to catch up. I call Stephanie and she tells me that she has the math assessments. It is such a relief that these friends can help me.