Living The Beige Life

The alarm went off this morning and I simply couldn't believe it.  On almost every level of consciousness, I knew that it was Monday.  I really, really knew it.  I just couldn't believe it.  Where did the weekend go?  And in what kind of cruel universe was I being expected to go back to work after last week's Festival 'o Horror?

I wanted to crawl back under the covers and live in my world of disbelief.  But I'd set the alarm to Screeching Seagulls and that one always scares the ever lovin' bejeezus out of me when it goes off.  It's good for Monday morning.  The Crowing Rooster setting works pretty well, too.  

I set off under rainy skies, landed at the school where they keep my paychecks and began my day.  It was a very, very beige kind of day.  Bland.  Colorless.

The 7th graders were all scheduled to be at Drug Awareness seminars for the entire day, leaving me behind with the 8th graders and one lone 6th grader.  I don't know if it was the weather or if we were all just so tuckered out from last week's endless dramas, but none of us were really motivated to do much of anything.  At one point, I questioned whether there might be some kind of gas leak or something.  The Drug Awareness presenters probably could have used us as examples of what substance abuse can do to a body.  We were like limp noodles.  Very, beige noodles with no sauce whatsoever.  Even The Girl Who Hates My Very Existence And Lives To Torture Me admitted that it just wasn't worth the energy today.  Things perked up a bit when one kid asked me if I would ever post bail for him, but that was a kind of short-lived diversion.  We were back to beige in no time.

*That's a lie.  The Great Bail Debate was the second most interesting thing.  The first was when I happened to notice the stapler sitting in the middle of the table and pondered aloud how I'd forgotten to put it away again.  The Bail-Kid said, "Oh, that was me.  I have this hole in my pants that I needed to fix.  Stuff kept coming out of it that shouldn't..."  I didn't tell you about that because it seemed unfair for you to have to live with the same horrifying image that has haunted me all day long.  Why should we all have to be in therapy?

**This is the same kid who sneezed on my shoe back in February and who I hold personally responsible for ruining my winter break with his generous sharing of the plague.  Just ask him.  He'll cheerfully admit to it.

***For the record, I told him that the posting of his bail would depend on the circumstances.  I'd probably do it if he really needed it.  But not if he was a serial killer or anything like that.  I have my limits.

****And yes.  I am boiling my stapler.

That was the most interesting thing to happen all day.  We bumbled along like we were just coming out of anesthesia until the final bell rang.  I checked with other staff and students just to see if we were the only ones suffering with this malaise.  It seems that most people working in that building were feeling a bit logy.  It was a day without color, beige in spite of our best efforts.

And the feeling has persisted.  I don't even really remember the drive home.  There are no dents in the car and I wasn't followed by a cadre of police cruisers so I assume I didn't run over any pedestrians.  That's good.  But I can't really celebrate.  I'm just too beige.  The rains keep raining, my energy continues to flag and I remain quite colorless.

It's no wonder I can't seem to make any progress on the sock...

I wonder what would happen if I ate vanilla ice cream, wore unbleached cotton and knit up one of those nifty Irish sweaters in shades of cream with five million cables?  Maybe if I offset the beige with lots of beige, they'd cancel each other out...

SA