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Something there is in me that cannot resist a pun. I mean, I can, but why? It's not as if the world is overrun with punsters. Not my world, anyway.
Duff told me that one of the editors was looking for someone to write caps, you see. So I sent the guy my resume in e-mail, with a note, and entitled the subject line: "lady caps writer." And all the time I'm thinking, You can't put that! It's unprofessional! He's probably young; he won't even get it!!
But the other side of my brain thinks, ah, fuck it. Life is too short to be a chickenshit about everything. Lots of people wouldn't even notice it.
It's been a long, draining week. First my back-to-school meeting with Valerie on Tuesday, for which I had to supply paperwork (always a personal nightmare); then today a birthday party for the girls at the Aquatic Park in San Ramon. Long drive and we had to jet back in time for soccer practice. And now we have this big Saturday extravaganza looming: soccer opening day ceremonies and parade, Jinx's first game, picnic and cake with the girls's team at a park, and then team pictures for both teams. None of these events particularly grueling prima facie, but preparing for them takes a Psychic Toll, as they say. And then afterward I'm ready to collapse, quite literally. I'm really thinking I should become more like the Buddhists. The Buddhae. I can't handle stress of any kind, so I'd rather not, thanks.
Ah, look, it's after midnight. Nine years ago, at this very moment, I had an epidural needle in my spine and I was trying to argue my way out of a C-section. The argument would go on until morning. But hey, I won! Happy 9th birthday to Criminy and Felony. Cha cha cha.