Writing on my blog is as habitual as brushing my teeth, eating three meals a day, and having to pee. It's just something I've done since 2008 and a ritual that has become my "Goodnight, John-boy" Waltons tradition. I simply post.
My mom texted this morning, "Where's your blog?#@!" It falls in line with K-12 questioning, "Did you get your lunch? Do you have your homework? Did you brush your teeth? Is your bed made?" Blogging is an a.m. norm.
And I screwed up.
I watched Syracuse's impressive win over Washington, talked with Tunga about politics and education, graded, then graded, and even graded some more, and didn't get to bed until 12:30 a.m. Actually, my laptop battery died, and I had to put the machine away to recuperate. I'm brutal on my MacBook and she operates 14 hours a day. Last night, though, she said, "Crandall, screw you. I'm going to sleep."
When my mother's text arrived this morning I went onto the blog with the thought, "I must have written something. I always write something."
Alas, nothing was written. Busted. I forgot to post.
The snow is falling. Tunga has my car because his car is in the shop. There's dog hair on everything I own. The meetings don't begin until 1 p.m., so I'm at home grading the last projects before I move onto other things. Before this, though...I have a post. It's done, and now I can move on with my day.
My mom texted this morning, "Where's your blog?#@!" It falls in line with K-12 questioning, "Did you get your lunch? Do you have your homework? Did you brush your teeth? Is your bed made?" Blogging is an a.m. norm.
And I screwed up.
I watched Syracuse's impressive win over Washington, talked with Tunga about politics and education, graded, then graded, and even graded some more, and didn't get to bed until 12:30 a.m. Actually, my laptop battery died, and I had to put the machine away to recuperate. I'm brutal on my MacBook and she operates 14 hours a day. Last night, though, she said, "Crandall, screw you. I'm going to sleep."
When my mother's text arrived this morning I went onto the blog with the thought, "I must have written something. I always write something."
Alas, nothing was written. Busted. I forgot to post.
The snow is falling. Tunga has my car because his car is in the shop. There's dog hair on everything I own. The meetings don't begin until 1 p.m., so I'm at home grading the last projects before I move onto other things. Before this, though...I have a post. It's done, and now I can move on with my day.
nice
ReplyDelete