... but wishing i was

... dead, that is. I kind of feel like I am, so maybe this is hell. I will be one happy little camper once July ends. Literally. Summer semester will be over, and I'm going camping with Mister. And his motorcycle. The very motorcycle that I fell off of a couple of weeks ago (fortunately, it wasn't really moving when that happened.)

Summer semester has not been fun. Nope. It's torture. So much to do crammed in a few weeks. Between now and July 31, I have one quiz, six exams, one more care plan, three journal entries, a paper, and six more clinicals to get through. sigh.

So, while the rest of the US was celebrating July 4th, I was working on a care plan. I did pause for a moment to go sit on a blanket in my back yard and watch the neighbors try to outdo one another in fireworks displays (the guy two houses down wins for loudest booms). Also, the town, once again, lit up the night with its county budget. This little community goes all out for fireworks. And the really cool thing is that all the proceeds from firework sales in the county go to benefit the local volunteer firefighters' association. I kid you not.
So I sat out on the blanket and waited to see how the pups would react to all the excitement. Baby Boy, the deaf one, tucked tail and ran for the house at the first big BOOM! Little Britches sat on the blanket with me and silently freaked out in her own special way with that wild-eyed crazy look she gets. And then there's Boo. He parked himself on the porch stoop and barked through the whole event.
Speaking of Boo ...
Everyone except him knows him as Milo, but he seems to only answer to Boo. He will lie still without budging while I'm yelling "Milo! Come on, Milo! Time to eat, Milo!" But the moment I say "C'mon, Boo!" he pops up and is on his way. It only took me 13 years to learn his name. Personally, I prefer to call him Bubba Magoo, but that only adds to the confusion.

Boo dog has added to a bit more confusion here at nursing school HQ - the other evening after Mister and I returned from dinner, Boo was there to greet us with his usual enthusiastic barking which led to the following:

Mister: Why does he bark like a hound dog?
Me: um... Because he is a hound dog.
Mister: No he's not.
Me: Yes. He is.
Mister: He is not a hound dog.
Me: Then why does he bark like one?
Mister: That's what I'm asking.
Me: It's because he IS a hound dog.
Mister: He IS NOT a hound dog.
Me: Right. He must have just picked up the accent somewhere.

If this is as bad as our disagreements ever get, then I can live with Mister thinking that Boo is some kind of 90-pound poodle with a hound dog accent.

Now, Mister does not have dogs, but he does have kids. I get to spend a lot of time with the two wee ones. And while I love every little candy-coated inch of them, I do want to take a moment to send a personal message to my dear, sweet mother: THANK YOU FOR NOT KILLING ME WHEN I WAS FIVE. I'm sure I deserved it, and I appreciate that you were able to hold back, especially since you had to spend every single day with me. Seriously, the kids are great loads of fun and I adore them, but they have given me a new appreciation for what my mother went through on a daily basis. They've also given me a new appreciation for valium.

Okay, time to get back at it. It's 1am and I'm still up doing school work. Why? Because it refuses to do itself.

>banging head against desk<