Damn am I busy.

This campaign is certainly keeping me busy.

For the first time in my life, I can barely even read books!

Maybe this is what having children is like.

A crack at work: Tapestry.

When I came in to work as the aide to my one client with disabilities the other day, I mentioned that I had been listening to Carole King's Tapestry, and that the song "Beautiful" was stuck in my head.

"How does that go?", said her (lesbian) sister, wheeling her in from a smoke break, so I sang a few snatches, and when I got to the line that was like "...you're as beautiful/ as you feel," she was like, "Ha!", and then was like, "Well today, that's not very beautiful at all."

As it turns out, both of them were having very "blah" days.

. . .

...the previous day I had been at home all day taking a day off, and I never left my apartment, I just sat on the couch and read and did puzzles and listened to CDs, and it was great, it had been so long since I had done that... 

Resthome Christmas addendum.

I get motion sickness very easily, and on the ride in the train conductor was riding the brake on and off so that by the time I got off the car, I was a bit woozy and ready to get the heck out of there.

And then, the next thing you know, I realize that in my crazy woozy rush to get out of the car and onto solid ground, my one black knit hat for winter must have dropped out of my coat pocket and been left on the seat, so it turns out that I didn't have it to wear on my little walk from the station to the resthome or on my entire way home later that night.

I comforted myself that maybe it wasn't entirely lost, but maybe someone who was homeless and needed it picked it up and used it.

(It would kill me if a train cleaner just picked it up at the end of the line and threw it out, I'm so environmentally neurotic.)

The funny thing was, too, was that night on the way home I also had another train conductor who was riding the brake again, so I felt a bit sick by the time I got off the train.

Maybe they had newer hires work the holiday, and those workers weren't as experienced at giving smooth rides?

Who knows.

Resthome Christmas (3 of 3): A Christmas wish of one resthome resident.

That day at work, I was talking with one resthome resident who's in her 90s and has a hard time breathing, and she was like, "For Christmas, I want to give, Donald Trump, poison."

I laughed, and later I was sharing that joke with others.

The one older guy with a dark sense of humor was like, "Can you help her?", and his (younger) (Filipino) private health aide who was there at the time was like, "I don't blame her."

After dinner when I told another woman, she was like, "We all do," in this very slow, purposeful, matter-of-fact voice that she uses.

Resthome Christmas (2 of 3): Second subway car occupant.

After sitting a while at the other end of the car, a (Latina) woman and her young daughter got on and sat there to my left talking in Spanish.

After a bit, I sneezed, and the (Latina) woman paused and turned to me and was like, "God bless you!".

"Thank you," I was like. 

And then, I was like, "And Merry Christmas!".

And, her and her daughter smiled.

Resthome Christmas (1 of 3): First subway car occupant.

On my way into the resthome to work on Christmas Day, a (young) (slim) (darkish) (moustachioed) (Indian) guy got onto the subway car and sat a few seats up from me and slouched downward into it.

He kept coughing every minute or two, never covering his mouth.

After like the fourth or fifth cough, I just got up and moved down to the other end of the car, to get away from his germs.

Was talking with the printer the other day.

The other day I was talking with the local printer when I was picking up some things for my campaign, and I started talking about the price-gouging local gas company, but I slipped up and when I said the company's name I said "ass" instead of "gas."

And, she laughed and agreed that the company's ass, and was like, "Your Freudian slip is showing."