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October 31, 2002
I’m falling asleep right now. Or, more accurately, I wish I was. I’ve had no more than ten hours of sleep in the last three days combined and my mouth feels skuzzy and old and I’m certain that a pimple or two is ready to pop up on my otherwise blemish-free face. It’s mid-terms, which are only eclipsed in sheer crappiness by finals. Who can do this? I’ve got a triple tall grande largo mocha something or other practically holding my hand and I still feel punchy.
Speaking of, I saw the movie “Punch Drunk Love” this past weekend and fell in love with PT Anderson, the director. He’s now right up there with Jimmy Fallon and Ewan MacGregor, in my book. If I wasn’t married I’d be on a fast plane to wherever it is he lives, making sure that he’d either have to marry me or get a restraining order.
Lucky for me I’m married. Or maybe lucky for him.
Punch Drunk Love’s main character is Barry Egan, played with tender grace by Adam Sandler. “Tender” and “grace” aren’t two words normally associated with Sandler, I admit. But for all the cerebral moronic movies he’s turned out, this one proves to all the people that don’t get “The Waterboy” that he can act. In a nice twist his character seems to have some of the traits of Asperger’s, or high-functioning Autism. Ultimately I think the movie is less about prevailing over these problems, and more a character study. Still, it is a wonderful movie. Dark and light and funny and tragic all at the same time. PT, won’t you call me, PT? Please?
But there is other news afoot in the house.
I must admit that after the response to my last post I’ve been a tad bit nervous about writing another entry. Who can top getting their own first published work? So I’ve decided to make this as irreverent and silly as humanly possible so that no comparison will ever work. Yes, I know it’s a bit sad, but trust me on this. It’ll work. Or something like that.
John and I last went out alone in July. We had found a babysitter who was sweet and young and kind. But she was a tad flaky, like she didn’t call us back often and one time she just forgot to show up. We called her and she was at home giving herself a facial.
But beggars can’t be choosers, right? We took her because we needed a break in the worst possible way. In short, she had a pulse and smiled nicely. She would do.
But she went back to school in early August and we’ve had no one since. The county has some whacky referral program that I’ve never understood until now. Like everything else done in the government-style it’s big on bureaucracy and light on ease. At the beginning of this whole adventure we just had to decide what was vital at the moment. Respite care wasn’t one of those things. So until Theresa, the program manager, called me the other night, I had given up trying to find another sitter.
Four days later, we have one. And a $200 yearly stipend from the county for respite care. It won’t cover many evenings out of our sitter’s $12/hour fee, but it’s something. And Emmy is my dream sitter – 21, pierced and tattooed a college student at the same school I go to, ultra-liberal, sweet and funny, all with autistic-kid-experience. Someone pinch me.
She starts Sunday.
And so ends this entry. I’ve always got so much to say and so little time. I need another coffee. And a pastry. There’s this great lunch cart outside that says: “Shelley’s Honkin’ Huge Burritos – Magical and Delicious”. I’d go for just a magical one with enough paranormal salsa to get me through the week.
Heather
PS - Happy Halloween!
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