Not enough hands.

ON THE ONE HAND, when I came home from my first full day of work in a very long while, a day which which started at 6:30 a.m., and not in a good, greet-the-dawn kind of way, more in a "I need a shower now so my hair will look okay by 9 a.m." kind of way, and which also involved a rawther expensive trip to Kinko's where the employee was on the other hand very helpful but the cardstock was kind of pricey, A DAY WHICH involved listening to intermittently interesting yet somewhat dispiriting and even enraging talks for two hours during which I desultorily added student after student to my online Introduction to Imaginative Writing course, a day WHICH SUBSEQUENTLY led to a mixed-up whose meeting was it, mine or the Academic Vice President's?, and though I was quite certain it was an honest mistake nonetheless I sat there with my very expensive handouts and thought, is this my fault? is this my fault? and then it was my turn to echo at the entire faculty in the cavernous room, somehow never getting the mic placed so that I wasn't breathing like a heavy-breathing phone caller: STILL--and here we clearly need yet another hand--there were lots of conversations (here a grumble, there a rant, everywhere a gripe gripe) THOUGH THE DEPARTMENT meeting was swell and so many friends were there: EVEN SO: when I came home, took off my teacher drag and high heeled feet, lay on the bed, talked with the historian for awhile, checked this and that on the internets, I then fell asleep at six o'clock for one hour, and for that excellent, sweet hour the hands spoke no more.