General updates and such
May. 17th, 2003 09:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
slipjig3It seems that there is no work situation that cannot be made worse by bumping it to the "11 p.m. to 7 a.m." shift. In a word: bleagh. (For the record, that's pronounced "blee-YAZH," just as it's spelled.) Two overnight shifts last weekend, two overnight shifts this weekend, two overnight shifts next weekend, four more in the following week, and one sleep schedule severely fusterclucked. Ai yi yi... (The one saving grace is that, after that, the office will never schedule overnight shifts again. Hallelujah.)
Got to watch Abbey practicing for the upcoming dance recital up close, when the instructor let us parental units come into the actual studio area that we only can see only from the side, if we're willing to peer through a large potted plant. I must say that Abbey's got the routine down cold, and it's a long one, too. Her one problem is a tendency to rush the music somewhat; it's almost like she can concentrate either on what her feet are doing or what the music is doing, but not both at the same time. Ah, well. The group looked pretty good from the potted-plant vantage point, but of course it all went to holy heck once the parents actually got back to the dance floor itself, because all of a sudden the girls were aware of our Presence, and it shorted out their wiring. So there was much bumping into each other and muchn confused hesitating, all of it utterly adorable. I think they'll do great.
Oh, and I nearly forgot: when the time came to switch from ballet slippers to tap shoes, Abbey announced the She Was Sick, and could we go home now pleasepleaseplease? I told the instructors that she was suffering an acute case of Gastronomic Hypochondria [sic], and that they should start without her. All it took was the sight of the line of girls heading to the practice area to get her yelling, "My shoes, Dad! Hurry! Hurry!" As she told the instructor, "A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do." That's my Abbey.
I am really sick to death of this cold, by the by. I mean, where is all this crud in my nose coming from? My sinus cavity can't be much more than half the size of my head, and I've snorked up several times that already. Somebody please, please shoot me? Please?
Got to watch Abbey practicing for the upcoming dance recital up close, when the instructor let us parental units come into the actual studio area that we only can see only from the side, if we're willing to peer through a large potted plant. I must say that Abbey's got the routine down cold, and it's a long one, too. Her one problem is a tendency to rush the music somewhat; it's almost like she can concentrate either on what her feet are doing or what the music is doing, but not both at the same time. Ah, well. The group looked pretty good from the potted-plant vantage point, but of course it all went to holy heck once the parents actually got back to the dance floor itself, because all of a sudden the girls were aware of our Presence, and it shorted out their wiring. So there was much bumping into each other and muchn confused hesitating, all of it utterly adorable. I think they'll do great.
Oh, and I nearly forgot: when the time came to switch from ballet slippers to tap shoes, Abbey announced the She Was Sick, and could we go home now pleasepleaseplease? I told the instructors that she was suffering an acute case of Gastronomic Hypochondria [sic], and that they should start without her. All it took was the sight of the line of girls heading to the practice area to get her yelling, "My shoes, Dad! Hurry! Hurry!" As she told the instructor, "A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do." That's my Abbey.
I am really sick to death of this cold, by the by. I mean, where is all this crud in my nose coming from? My sinus cavity can't be much more than half the size of my head, and I've snorked up several times that already. Somebody please, please shoot me? Please?
