H/n - Sf= 0
It's a very bad dream, to have a dream like this. I don't know what it means, but I know how it feels -- the frustration and the anxiety and the scrabbling to fix what's been ruined irretrievably. You only get one set of teeth. You don't want to go around replacing them with paint caps.
I have under a week in which to finish the work for the art show. And that's fine. Although. Every time I pick up a paintbrush, or a telephone, or sit down in front of the computer, one of the children has a crisis and threatens to jump out the window if I don't stop everything I'm doing thisminute and attend to them. NOW!
In fact one does start to wonder if one is in fact kidding oneself about entertaining the very idea that one can have a career entirely separate from one's home. Really.
Which brings me to the other dream I had: that I had to go back to eighth grade (again! and I'm so tired of eighth grade. I seem to visit it once or twice a week) whereas I stood up in math class and delivered this stunning report:
I'm sure I'll be much easier to be around after next Sunday. Really. I mean it.