Driving back from a tournament baseball game in Perth on Friday night, Angus made some comment about not being able to figure something out because he was too dumb from being out of school for so long. Then we realized we had no idea how long he had been out of school. Then we figured it out and were both stunned to realize it had only been EIGHT DAYS, when it's felt like a month already.
Last day of school was Thursday. Saturday, Eve and I drove to my sister's in southern Ontario. Sunday, we went out to my brother-in-law's sister's farm for swimming, barbecue and fireworks. Monday, Eve started theatre camp with her cousins, pronouncing it seven kinds of awesome (which, from what we could see when we got there to pick them up, it really is). Monday night we took the kids swimming to the equally awesome community pool. Tuesday I drove back to Ottawa and our central air kicked the bucket. Wednesday I slept and sweated. Thursday I spent the afternoon at the sleep clinic at the Royal Ottawa Hospital and met with a psychiatrist/sleep specialist who was really nice. Friday our air conditioning got fixed and we went to Perth for baseball. Angus's team is doing double practices every non-game day and single practices on game day, which means five hours of baseball per day at least. And it's hot.
Then there's this goddamned anti-depressant that is so desperate to stay in my system that the withdrawal systems are vicious and unrelenting. I keep trying to give it a couple of days, but that's not enough, and then I have to take it because I can't drive with my head spinning and the odd lightning-bolt pain crashing into my skull and random stomach upsets. My sister, the pharmacist, said just go ahead and take it every other day, or every three days, for a while, which is sensible advice, but I don't want to. It feels like continuing a relationship with an abusive lover, and I hate not knowing when I can be rid of it forever. I want it out. I want it gone.
I kissed Eve good-bye on Tuesday morning and she didn't call until Friday night. I can only conclude that she is managing this brief separation quite a bit better than I am. Of course, she adores my sister, and her older girl cousin, and the swimming pool, and she's basically immersed in drama all day long, so DUH.
Also, I have two giant zits that seem to have settled in for the duration. Awesome. Did I mention I'm forty-two fucking years old? I mean, come ON.
I think, on the whole, that Jennifer Lawrence looks better as a blonde.