Two weeks is too damn long.
Yesterday was delicious. I was feeling antsy and full of sass, and Steve encouraged it, daring me to be a smart-ass and returning my challenges with his own. As it happened, I was even dressed like a delinquent of sorts -- both my shirt and my panties had black-and-white stripes.
Fortunately, he has a good sense of humor. I constantly give him digs about how he tends to repeat phrases. After he'd said, "Only because you need this," three times, I said, "Has anyone ever told you that you repeat things? Not only that, but you repeat things. Oh, and you're repetitive. And redundant."
"You repeat things too," he replied calmly. "You say 'ow' over and over."
Touché. So, in an effort to change things up, instead of saying "ow" in the next flurry, I dropped the F-bomb repeatedly.
"That was three times; that's still redundant." ARRGGHH!
I felt my transition happening after he picked up the Delrin cane. The urge to talk back and sass slipped away as I absorbed the pain and sensed the tension easing out of me. He sensed it too, knowing when I'd reached the point of acquiescence and slowly dialing it back, then stopping.
As the expression goes,"Stick a fork in me; I'm done." (Be clean, people. I can hear your wheels turning.)
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And why the hell does he insist that he can feel the blows as well? Like I'm supposed to buy that? "I can," he insisted. "It starts at your bottom, then goes up the handle, into my hand, up my arm and into my body."
"Yeah," I grumbled. "I've got a better way for it to go into your body."
He took a selfie of us during aftercare -- nice shot, but the color was dreadful. I did some adjusting, but it still looks a bit like I have jaundice. Never mind... still a sweet moment. :-)
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Refreshed and calmed, I am now digging into a new pile of work. I had just cleared all my decks on Monday, and between yesterday and today, three clients gave me new jobs (including one whom I hadn't heard from in about a year). All good stuff, yes! But I'm a little overwhelmed. I'm currently taking a break from reading about tuberculosis testing for adult and pediatrics; my eyes were glazing over.
An off-topic note: We just lost prolific author and poet Maya Angelou. I'm reminded of a real-time moment, several years ago, when John and I were at my cousin's Bar Mitzvah. This cousin was the son of that famous TV producer I've mentioned a gazillion times, but have never named. During the ceremony, the father pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and read a poem that had been written specifically for the Bar Mitzvah boy by his godmother.
I don't remember the content of the poem, but it was signed "Auntie Maya." Yup, Maya Angelou.
I swear, rich people have very different lives.
Back to work with me.
Yesterday was delicious. I was feeling antsy and full of sass, and Steve encouraged it, daring me to be a smart-ass and returning my challenges with his own. As it happened, I was even dressed like a delinquent of sorts -- both my shirt and my panties had black-and-white stripes.
Fortunately, he has a good sense of humor. I constantly give him digs about how he tends to repeat phrases. After he'd said, "Only because you need this," three times, I said, "Has anyone ever told you that you repeat things? Not only that, but you repeat things. Oh, and you're repetitive. And redundant."
"You repeat things too," he replied calmly. "You say 'ow' over and over."
Touché. So, in an effort to change things up, instead of saying "ow" in the next flurry, I dropped the F-bomb repeatedly.
"That was three times; that's still redundant." ARRGGHH!
I felt my transition happening after he picked up the Delrin cane. The urge to talk back and sass slipped away as I absorbed the pain and sensed the tension easing out of me. He sensed it too, knowing when I'd reached the point of acquiescence and slowly dialing it back, then stopping.
As the expression goes,"Stick a fork in me; I'm done." (Be clean, people. I can hear your wheels turning.)
And why the hell does he insist that he can feel the blows as well? Like I'm supposed to buy that? "I can," he insisted. "It starts at your bottom, then goes up the handle, into my hand, up my arm and into my body."
"Yeah," I grumbled. "I've got a better way for it to go into your body."
He took a selfie of us during aftercare -- nice shot, but the color was dreadful. I did some adjusting, but it still looks a bit like I have jaundice. Never mind... still a sweet moment. :-)
Refreshed and calmed, I am now digging into a new pile of work. I had just cleared all my decks on Monday, and between yesterday and today, three clients gave me new jobs (including one whom I hadn't heard from in about a year). All good stuff, yes! But I'm a little overwhelmed. I'm currently taking a break from reading about tuberculosis testing for adult and pediatrics; my eyes were glazing over.
An off-topic note: We just lost prolific author and poet Maya Angelou. I'm reminded of a real-time moment, several years ago, when John and I were at my cousin's Bar Mitzvah. This cousin was the son of that famous TV producer I've mentioned a gazillion times, but have never named. During the ceremony, the father pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and read a poem that had been written specifically for the Bar Mitzvah boy by his godmother.
I don't remember the content of the poem, but it was signed "Auntie Maya." Yup, Maya Angelou.
I swear, rich people have very different lives.
Back to work with me.