Yesterday I was pouring over and filling out the literature that was sent home this summer for Boy-Child#1's junior high school registration that is coming up next week. Yesterday was not a good day for me, emotionally, to be taking on such an endeavor. I was all PMS-y. But, as any PMSing woman knows, you can't talk yourself out of these things when you're in that state. At least not without a heavy dose of Prozac. So when I started having a mild panic attack, I kept telling myself that I was fretting over nothing, dammit! I was irrationally worried about Boy-Child#1 not being able to figure out his locker combination in gym class and picturing the rest of the guys standing around like, "Dude, what's wrong with you?". And then I'd tell myself, uh, yeah, everyone has been able to figure that out. But still my heart was beating a wee too fast and my breath was coming a little too quick. Then I got to the class schedule. What monster organized this:
REGULAR BLOCK SCHEDULE - ROTATING PERIODS
- Monday, 8/18 Per. 3, 5, 1
- Tuesday, 8/19 Per. 4, 6, 2
- Wednesday, 8/20 Per. 5, 1, 3
- Thursday, 8/21 Per. 6, 2, 4
- Friday, 8/22 Per. 1, 3, 5
And to think I was worried about a lil' 'ol gym locker combination. Godspeed, Boy-Child#1. May the force be with you.