Panicky, just a little.

This morning I woke up before eight. Not that early, according to the early to rise hegemonauts, but freaking early for a day in which I planned to wake up when I woke up, i.e, after eight. Too much to ask? Apparently, since I was thinking about the following:

• where will we eat in Dublin? This must obviously be planned.
• GRADING.
• poem for my writing group.
• too many things on my list, will never ever ever get them all done before we go.
• laundry.
• dinner this evening.

--so many things that I sprang as if sprung directly from my bed, into my clothes and onto the tasks of the day. (see above.)

Well, it's been a fine day. Beautiful, am I right? Full of good works, and I spoke to each and every one of my children about things of consequence, to wit: recovery from surgery, wedding planning, will we have breakfast tomorrow?, would you like to consume my leftover carnitas?, is Whiplash a good/execrable movie?, what will we do when we go to Scotland? and so on.

I now have a Google map with saved locations on it, AND I synched up my mobile Google maps with my non-mobile (?) ones, so I can have access to these starred locations when we are waltzing (I'm assuming) about Dublin and then Sligo.

The GRADING is still not finished. Shall I take the optimistic posture? I've made progress! (Alternately: not enough progress, doom despair human sacrifice dogs and cats living together mass hysteria!)

Well, anyway, at least I'm up to date on my poems, so that's something. 

( zzz ) < I just about apologized for the quality of my poems. But I am resisting that pointless gesture. That's a little something I like to call progress, bitches.