No, not nutrition as in eating fairly decently. Don't fall over ~L~.
Nutrition, like the class. At SMS. Specifically the instructor. Which damnit, I have been holding back from saying all quarter, but this is THE LAST STRAW.
In the syllabus, it says projects 2 and 3 will be due on 12/14. In the callendar it says project 3 will be due on 12/15.
In the handly little announcement she sent in the wee hours of Monday morning, it said we would be presenting projects 2 and 3 on TUESDAY. Tuesday is, last I checked, 12/12.
I am not prepared and I am inclined...very, very inclined...to say FUCK IT, turn in what I have, and declare mutiny on the spot if that is not accepted.
It ain't bad, honestly, it is pretty good. But there is no "creative component." Creative fucking nutrition at the fucking 11th hour...just not happening. I've been trying all afternoon to figure out how to make this work and...it's just not happening.
In other news, the whole frigging staff asked me this morning how I did on the epi final. Which was...interesting. Apparently if you ace the midterm people talk. Why people talk about MY test scores, I dunno, and it was a little unsettling. I still haven't sorted out exactly how I feel about that, and maybe I'm just still a little stuck in big-world academia, but my test scores have always felt a little like my weight - I'll let you know without shame if you ask, but I don't want it in the Christmas letter, you know?
Quite out of character for me, I know, but I'm worried about boyness' leg. On Friday, I grabbed his shoulder to get his attention and he slipped into a near-splits. Ouch? Yeah, well, it hurt, it got a kiss blown in its general direction, he went about his merry way.
And on Saturday he woke up yelling about it hurting.
Screamed, SCREAMED I tell you, if I tried to straighten his leg. Hobbled about. We went to a friend's place and he *kept* hobbling. Hobbling on Sunday. Hobbling on Monday.
Did he BREAK it?
Fran asks him to support his weight on it, and straighten it out, and he *kind of* manages, but it hurts and he's not really straightening it out all the way. So long story short, I hate doctors (kinda), he seems more or less OK except for the limp, yada yada...4 days later, no real improvement. Now, when I was a kidness I remember getting these kinds of injuries relatively frequently (Fran said he can't remember this ever happening to him...but his mom didn't let him run *at the park*, what can I say?) but I can't remember how long they're supposed to last. The doctor-worshippers...I mean, in-laws...seem to think that he's going to keel over if I don't get him to a doctor ASAP. Like, OMG, what do you MEAN you haven't seen a doctor?!!!!
It quite frankly is driving me nuts because at this point, I *am* considering taking him to the doctor. And damnit! They'll act like "oh PHEW you took him to the DOCTOR!! Finally you grew some SENSE!!!"
See, this is why I want to live here, but with MY family around me. They're not doctor-worshipping paranoid lunatics who get tetanus shots every time they scrape a cuticle on the mailbox. Oh why, oh why, did I have to choose between my sane family and the PLACE I wanted to live?
Wow, that was a big wander. True though. I want my family back.