MEDIA!!! Is SO distracting!
Case in point #1: today at Office Max. I was waiting to check out, started talking to the magazine rack, and ended up in a coversation with five different patrons of the North Las Vegas store about politics and politicians. Before I got out the door, the conversation had morphed into a debate over the virtues and vices of e-readers.
Case in point #2: I think my speakers just broke. They are making a sound similar to the sound the front passenger-side speaker used to make in my 89 Subaru. Thoughts of my 89 Subaru make me smile. Mentioning her reminds me that to you, readers, I am disembodied typeface possibly created while joyriding around the back of Frenchman Mountain.
Case in point #3: Tomorrow morning is trash pick-up. It's a good time to go through the junk mail pile and throw out all the bridal magazines. I've said it before, bridal shop. Make a note: I'm *NOT* the bride!!!
How, in our plans to prepare for the apocalypse, can we minimize the distractions that present themselves?
AND, dear readers, you can stop reading here if you'd like, the remainder of this post being dedicated once again to the confused psychobabble that has become my m.o. recently...
The point is that I was only in the North Las Vegas Office Max tonight (instead of the one in Charleston Commons, where no similar conversations have ensued) running errands in advance of attending the Division 28N Key Club DCM (monthly meeting) to chaperone the second 1/2 of the meeting with Miss Gokey's Mojave students while she left for her own Parent Night.
So, still and again, I find myself far from my village. You know the village that it takes to raise a child? Or, perhaps it is more apt to say that I live far away from my neighborhood, by which I mean...the people in my neighborhood. Haha. Of course, "far" is relative, and 13 miles never stopped me or anyone I cared about from saving someone broken down on the side of the road 13 miles away.
It occurs to me that I live in North Las Vegas, even though I sleep on the East Side. So, although my presence at the DCM was not strictly necessary, shiny uniforms. New haircuts. New ASL words (I can now say, "like a boss"). Witty banter. A hug. I love all of these things. So...why not?
One year ago, I would never even have considered attending a DCM. In fact, I would not drive onto the district-controlled property surrounding Mojave H.S. Why did I deprive myself for so long? Perhaps the most bitterly contested divorces are just like that.
Many thanks to Mojave Key Club and to Mr. Rael for scheduling Parent Night to coincide with a DCM. In the spirit of optimism, let us assume that we all live to at least the 2nd phase. It will be a difficult healing process. But we can do it. We can come out the other side to hear the old familiar screechy yell, "HOW DO YOU FEEL!?!?!"
No one can take the past away from us, and it is not our right to try to sabotage the future. When the 2nd phase arrives, all we can do is help one another rebuild from the ground up.
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