It's been a challenging series of highs and lows the last few days, and the rain falling like a hysteric's tears over the lightning outside would comfort me if I thought the intention to wash it all away might possibly be behind it. C's asleep on the couch with the remotes and a giant bottle of soda, wrapped in a blue comforter while Max half-snoozes at 43 minutes past midnight watching the first couple of Harry Potter films in reverse order. Abby's crashed in the general chaos of play that is Max's room, and I'm taking a short break from finishing The Hunger Games, a book I'm enjoying a lot more than I thought I would. The escape is necessary.
We went from the heady time-burning and pleasantries of an out-of-town visit straight into C's final NiH performance of the year, and one at which she spoke emotionally and elegantly on rights and reasons. I once again worked stage left, and it was harder than it has been in times past, but also more enjoyable. The next day, our guests moved on, and we helped a friend move out of his current situation and into a better one. Much sweat and joy was experienced. Last night we also had our 16th anniversary dinner, which was a welcome respite from the rest of the world, and much needed time together. Also, it made me miss a Stanley Cup game it sounds like I'm glad I missed. The good feelings continued into this morning, and then the day went to shit.
Beginning with failure errands (mostly) and ending with family tumult, the back three-quarters of today uniformly sucked, and I'm glad they're now in the past. I'm tired of outpouring and am thinking of simply retreating to my rooms with a stack of books and large glasses of water. Until Monday, which is the newest source of household friction; the WBC is coming here on Monday, and we can't seem to agree on an approach to our counter-protesting.
I've had "an incident" with them before, so I know what NOT to do, but...