Well, here I am, procrastinating, again. I have an unusual evening off, and so I thought I'd be a good student and get a jump on tomorrow's homework (which is gonna take me hours to do, as it is.) But...

Little Sir 3-Year-Old needed to get out of the house, after being cooped up all day with a sick father on a rainy day, and I had to go to the library anyway, and I miss having time with him, so...why not do it together? Took a textbook and a notebook, the little boy, and off we went. Spent a lovely time getting started on homework, while watching him play with the puzzles, go through The Very Quiet Cricket a couple of times, explore the selection of Curious George books, and go through the entire puppet box. Delightfully unrushed for once, he had a wonderful time (except for the frustrating moments when he tried to be friendly with another little boy who was JUST NOT INTERESTED! He doesn't get it that not everybody wants to play with him.) I actually did get some work done, and he was very cooperative while I looked up books for an assignment. Together, we picked out some appropriate videos (newer generation ones I don't know so well, like Blue's Clues, and some oldies-but-goodies...I say, it's time to introduce him to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang!)

Well, that accomplished, DH has him in the tub, and I'm at the computer, supposedly working hard at being a good student. Nothing's coming to me. Blank screen. I don't wanna do this. Not another dissertation...blah blah blah.

I keep remembering the way my day started out, at 8 a.m. With a mammogram. Ugh. I know it's the responsible thing to do, keeping tabs on my health and all, but really. Some women-hating sadist must've invented this particular torture device. I understand what it does, but when they take an x-ray of my teeth, the dentist doesn't feel the need to first run a high pressured rolling pin over my face, squeezing the absolute life out of me. Sonograms aren't excruciatingly painful. Imagine if they photographed scrotums that way!

And then the technician kept asking me if I was ok. "Well," I smiled, grimly. "This
is not the most comfortable experience I've ever had." I guess she could tell by my facial expression, as she bent me all over, like Gumby, trying to stick half of my chest in the squeezing device, without any of the other side of my chest getting in the way. How does Dolly Parton manage this???

And on that note, I'm getting back to work.