notageek

This year I planted some spinach, as my mom had gotten the seeds on the recommendation of a friend, who had told her that the seeds were “huge” and “it’s so easy to grow”. “Huge” means about the size of a mustard seed, or a radish seed–but it also means bigger than parsley and basil, both of which have sprouted fine. So I planted the spinach, and by “planted”, I mean “scattered over the ground and dumped some compost on top”.

The spinach, pleased by our clay soil and our frequent rains, grew bountifully, and in order to prolong its leafy days before bolting, I snipped off the outer six or so leaves of each plant for dinner ast night.

The moral of the story is this: check for slugs BEFORE putting in the pan.

field work==applied silliness.

Because while there’s lots of other ways to describe activities that involve transect lines, coat-hanger wire, line levels and party toothpicks, none of them are exclusive of silly. Some of them also involve dancing trees, getting poked in the butt by barnacles while trying to pee, BIO-NINJA and scrubbing gigantor chili pots with fingernails.

You might think that getting my acceptance letter would relieve a lot of stress. It did, for about 15 minutes, and while I’m quite glad I’m in, it’s opened the door with the Jarlsberg key to an entirely different class of stress–one that a classmate explained last year as “the dread of doing what you do before what comes next.”

In this case, that translates to finishing up nicely this term, sorting out my summer classes, talking to a good immigration lawyer and finding a place to live in Seattle. Oh, and having a vacation. Right. Summer classes are getting sorted out AS WE SPEAK through a convoluted correspondence with the academic advising office at UW, in which it looks like I can either take one class, which has no places left, or three classes, which have plenty of places left. Places to live in Seattle will come after discussion with the immigration lawyer, when I know if we can apply for grad student housing or whatever. Vacation has been arranged and scheduled by The Boy–that leaves finishing up this term decently. If I fuck up this term, it’s all going to shit.

So I can’t fuck up. That’s all. That would be fine if I hadn’t been fucking up, if I weren’t (pathologically) depressed and anxious, if I could concentrate and quit staring at the wall. I’ve gotta snap out of it, and I haven’t a clue how.

No pressure.

-My mom got some teeth removed yesterday. She’s dosed up on the opiates, and I am supplying her with homemade chicken soup and chai. Yes–I, of all people, plonked a chicken in a pot and ruthlessly boiled it. Then I remembered to take the giblet bag out.
-My dad got her some pink jelly clogs.
-My little brother has a prom date. The pharmacy staff regards her as a twit, but whatever.
-I got a significant and substantial piece of mail.
-Which informed me that I’m in.
-I have to go change my mom’s ice packs again.

Especially that one co-worker who tries to be friendly by talking about my school plans, and that annoying-ass advisor, and my boss’s boyfriend the pharm company rep, and everybody else who can apparently only remember ONE thing about me, that one thing being that I applied to pharmacy school–

NO MY LETTER HAS NOT COME YET.