Borderline Exhaustion

For the next 6 weeks, I am enrolled in summer school from 7-noon on Monday-Thursday.  I also have a job (so excited!) from 1-9-ish on those days.  This means that I am going to bed now - I need all the rest I can grab before tomorrow.

I promise a real post on Friday (or when I wake up after Thursday night - no telling how late that will be).  But I did want to tell people what was up - I didn't fall off of the face of earth, I just became Responsible with a Job. 

Sort of.

7 days left. Thank God.

I love my Grandma, I really do.  But I hate having to live with her.

This isn't something that has come on suddenly - I have had a problem with a lot of her habits for a while.  The last few days, however, have really clinched the matter.  Now I am actively campaigning for her removal to my parents house.  To God, if you exist, GET HER OUT OF HERE.  Please?

This week was pretty busy - I went looking for a job, watched a movie with friends, went camping, and helped my mom get ready for my sis's party.  Because of this, it was really easy for me to avoid cleaning up my grandmother's messes.  However, I made sure to sweep up the kitchen, rinse out the gunkier dishes and put out the trash.  When I left for the camping trip, I made sure to look around to make sure that the place was okay for a day or so.  It passed inspection, so I felt that I could leave her for a day or so.

When I returned a day later, I could not believe what had happened.  She had been cooking so much (and not cleaning up after) to the point that both sinks were completely full of dishes - the spigot was buried under pots and bowls.  Flies buzzed around on various foodstuffs that had been left out.  The floor was full of discarded bits vegetables and unidentifiable juices.  It was a mess.  Even my bathroom, which I had left immaculate was full of flies - to the point that I felt uncomfortable even using it.

And so, yesterday, after staying up  late with my friends and helping my mom clean her house and mow her lawn for my sister's party, I cleaned my grandmother's kitchen.  I worked until I was noticeably stumbling on my feet to make sure that the house was somewhat inhabitable.

This morning I woke up to find her making something intricate in the kitchen.  Without doing the dishes.  Again.

Sessy

My father, for as long I have remember, has had a special nickname for me when he was feeling particularly fatherly - Sessy, which is a shortened version of the longer (spelled here phonetically)  Ses-a-re-a-fil-a-pi.  I never really knew what this meant - just always accepted it as my nickname.

That is, until about a week ago.

I was bored and searching Google for random* sites.  On an impulse, I typed out how I thought my nickname was spelled - Sesareaphilipi.  No google hits.  I manipulated the spelling and finally Google suggested "Caesarea Philippi", an old Roman city.  According to Wikipedia, the site has some Christian significance as well as being a place where a whole bunch of dudes decided to name a city after themselves.  Now, as a fan of the random article button on Wikipedia, I was appreciative of the information.  But why does my Dad keep calling me that?  What relevance does this old, dead city have with me?

None, it turns out.

I asked my dad about it.  Apparently he just made it up - Sessarea-fill-a-pie.  I used to call myself Sessy (not sure why - it really has no real connection to my name).  He just expanded the name a bit.  And yes, he knew about the city - that's one of the reasons the nonsense nickname took that name.  All of that research and fuss over ... nothing.

Sound familiar?

* A note - the use of the word "random" is not intended to promote the idea that these searches were random in a statistical sense of the word.  To all statistics enthusiasts, please substitute the word for "different".

In which I didn't go on a date

On Tuesday, I was approached by a cute, twenty-something who asked for my number and a date.  As a grown-up, adult (and flattered) chick, I agreed and told him to call me.

Good, right?  A healthy dating life should happen at sometime.  And if the guy really wants to go out with me, then why not?

Because this is foreign territory.

I dunno how to handle a first date, especially unsolicited.  How does one act?  How does one dress?  Necessary precautions?  Protocol?  It is a bloody foreign world to be.

And that doesn't even address the whole having-an-ex-who-is-moping-because-I-am-recovering-faster-than he-is thing.  I don't want to hurt him, and if he found out somehow, he would be hurt.

And, because I had a conflict, I canceled.  The boy wasn't surprised - I guess he guessed when I didn't really interact with him from the start.  But I feel like an @&$)#*^ for leading him on.  It is sort of mean to give out the impression that I am available and not crazy when, well, I'm not.