Occasional Notes

So, things have happened. BF has been away and now is back. I went on a school trip to the cradle of the Industrial Revolution. Teaching, teaching, la, la, la.

Never you mind.

TOUR, YO!

At 8:00 this evening, I spent ten minutes flipping through the channels, lost and utterly bewildered. I haven't had to figure out what to watch at 8:00 for three weeks.

toooooooooour! *sob*

( Stage 14 is currently in progress )

In other news, I have received an email from the department head of the school in England and so now, finally, have some very concrete details about my position. For the first month to six weeks of the school year, I'm going to be doing supply and coverage in the school. Then the history teacher I'm replacing is going on maternity leave and I'll take over her class.

My father is disappointed, but I am actually feeling an enormous amount of relief. A lot of what I've been fretting about has just become a non-issue. I'm going to have six weeks of working in the school to really get a handle on school policy and procedure, I'm going to be working with the teacher for those six weeks and will be able to talk to her about what she's done in the past, what she finds works and doesn't work, how she has structured her program. It's going to feel like an orientation session, which is not something that new teachers are generally lucky enough to get.

Rather, teachers tend to get thrown to the wolves with only a pointy stick and a lot of hope into the classroom...with only a pointy stick and a lot of hope.

So! All in all, good day.

I'm heading up to Ottawa on Tuesday and looking forward to it immensely. I am going to go to all the places I love best -- Highlander, Elgin St. Diner, Chapters, Planet Coffee, World Exchange Theatre, and mcee's bed. Awesome!

As I was saying to mcee this morning, there is now proof positive that Floyd Landis is, deep down in a dimly lit corner of his ex-Mennonite soul, a huge girl. He snagged the yellow jersey in yesterday's stage and today came out wearing a yellow helmet and on a yellow bike to match. It has yellow handlebars and everything.

( GIRL! BIG, BIG GIRL! )

Of course, given that Lance Armstrong founded an entire company/charitable organisation/popular cultural icon in precisely the same shade of yellow as the jersey also makes him a big girl.

I guess I understand, though. It is so hard to find the right accessories to go with that precise shade of yellow.

So, after dubbing Sylvain Calzati "Superhomme" in a conversation with mcee today about his stellar break away in Stage 8, I have to say I felt a little undermined when they showed him back at the medical car in Stage 9 getting help for what looked like...a splinter. Or possibly a bee sting.

On his finger.

(*bandaids*)

He still had a fantastic finish on Sunday, though, irrespective. I particularly enjoyed the part where, as he was thundering down the final stretch two minutes ahead of the rest of his break away group and a full three minutes ahead of the peloton, he let go of his handle bars and threw out his arms so that he crossed the finish line in the pose of a kid playing airplane. Awesome.

I was disgusted, in the way of the generally unathletic, to later learn that Calzati was simultaneously offered a pro cycling contract and a pro football contract lo these many years ago. Bloody all around athletes. Save some talent for the rest of us.

In other news, I feel that the OLN commentators are getting out of hand with their rhetoric regarding Robbie McEwan's tendency to pop out of nowhere and win stages. Today, as the peloton was approaching the finish line, one of the OLN guys said, in all apparent seriousness, "And it remains to be seen if the Scarlet Pimpernel will emerge from beneath Harry Potter's cloak once again in this, the ninth stage of the Tour de France!"

I would request that, at the very least, they restrain themselves from crossing their literary references within the space of a single sentence.

Mountains begin tomorrow. The folks at OLN are so excited that they're starting their Tour show an hour earlier -- 7:30 instead of 8:30 in the morning. I'm setting my alarm.

Last night, I dreamed that someone stole my bike. I was devestated. When I woke up, I went to give my bike a reassuring hug.

Then I went on my first bike ride since The Incident.

It was 11 minutes and 46 seconds long, which is 1 minute and 46 seconds longer than my physiotherapist cleared me for, but honestly. I'm pretty sore now, sure, but it was totally worth it. Tomorrow: 12 minutes!

Packing continues apace (which is to say, very slowly). It is beginning to sink in that a month from now, I will be moving to England. This realisation is accompanied by a lovely warm glow that spreads out from my belly button region.

It is also beginning to sink in that six weeks from now, I will be walking into my own classroom full of my own students. This realisation is accompanied by a general feeling of cold terror.

meep!

To do today:

- pay off my laptop up at the university
- mail the final documentation missing from my file at the Ontario College of Teachers in order to become a fully registered teacher
- mail my signed contract off to the folks in England ha ha, it's TOO LATE to go back, you've HIRED ME FOR REAL!!1!
- continue to sort and pack belongings
- go to physiotherapy
- feel lost and adrift when there is no Tour to watch tonight (stupid rest day)
- mope
- pack some more

Tour! TOUR! HI TOUR HI!

My goodness, the nostalgia -- this time last year, I was going mad with the heat of an Ottawa summer and trying to finish my thesis. I'd work all day, then hustle on over to mcee's to watch the Tour. I didn't have cable and it was more fun to watch with mcee, anyway.

Then I'd go home (or not) and collapse face first into unconsciousness.

Next day: repeat.

GOOD TIMES!

(PS: Weekend at the cottage good. Washed the plane, set off fireworks, slept in the sun. All very nice.)

So, my thesis was due yesterday, my thesis supervisor has left the country and hasn't been heard from since, I have a much better draft that I'd like to give to her, and the graduate secretary of my department started making "oh, well, I don't know what we're going to do about your defense!" noises that were the exact opposite of helpful.

I am proud to say that I am not freaking out, which is, of course, my default response to everything ever. I have embraced the realisation that there's nothing I can do just now, so panic would serve no purpose. Instead, I opted to ride my bike until my ass went so numb that I really couldn't feel the seat, have my grad photos taken (an act of good faith -- also, my mother made me, because I didn't get grad photos at either my high school or B.A., and my grandmothers have a picture of me from grade eight on their respective walls), and did a little impulse shopping, but not so much that I have to feel bad about how much I spent.

Now I have beer, a sad lack of Tour de France, some doubts about whether or not any Canadian channel will show the Vuelta in September, the last half of the new Harry Potter (which I started between the cycling and the grad photos), and a bucketful of denial.

As long as I have denial (and beer), it will be okay.