Who Me?

Sometimes people ask how I'm doing. My standard answer is "eh." Not today. Today I need to vent. Today, the best thing that happened was my meeting with the Feds who came to interview the Governor's Council on Developmental Disabilities in order to make sure we are doing our job. Yes, that was the BEST part of my day. Clients cutting me off at the knees by giving me files that are SO wrong they kill 4 full pages of a magazine with the inaccurate page count. Little man's school calling me 30 seconds before I go into my meeting to tell me that he is refusing to enter English class and can they count on my help to talk to him tonight? After I brought in a desk for him to school so he could be isolated, and ordered a set of textbooks for use at home, and just talked to him last night about this very thing? You know what? No.

Not to mention my hand is still killing me from where I punched the headboard Monday at 2 a.m. I am so stressed out that I've been having some pretty bad nightmares. It was a particularly bad dream about someone who made me very upset. In the dream I punched this person. In reality I almost broke my hand. The hand I use to lay out the magazines that are all late now. Did I mention that the headboard is carved hardwood? Like this only in dark wood. Those vines hurt like hell in a head on collision with a fist. So I guess you could say I don't sleep well.

So I leave the meeting early, telling the lovely people from the Federal Government that I must go see to one of the very people the council serves, my autistic child. I drive the half hour to get there to have a transportation worker tell me that I cannot park near the busses that take the disabled kids. I explain to him that my son is with those kids and it has been a very bad day for him and sometimes he does not recognize my car so I parked close. He tells me it doesn't matter and I had better not be doing this everyday and the Deans would be out to talk to me. So I did what any sane woman would do. I very calmly told him that I did not do this every day, and turned my face fully to him so he could see the tears rolling down my cheeks. He ran away. (Wuss.)

When the child finally made it out to the car I was informed that tonight's homework was out of the textbooks that I ordered but have not arrived. Lovely. At home the phone rings so that the school can send me a recorded message saying that the boy had an unexcused abscence in English class. No kidding! I'm expecting the truant officers at any time. I think they may show up before the textbooks. And yes, my hand still hurts.