Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.*
Jan. 15th, 2007 10:35 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bending_sickleAlthough I spent Saturday at the office, unsuccessfully looking for German programs, I did manage to brighten up my day with pancakes doused in 100% maple syrup. :)
Sunday I walked around the city, not expecting much to happen because Spain utterly shuts down weekends. But! miraculously, it's the post-holiday's sales, so there were a bunch of stores open. (Of course, there were thus many people.) I went over to our largest department store (El Corte Iglés**) and checked out the bras. (How exciting, I know.) Then, on a whim, I went to the movie section and just couldn't resist when I saw Secret Window at the embarassingly low cost of €6.95 (compared the the €22-ish prices of other films).
I then walked around feeling pleased with myself, hanging around the port, listening to a few chapters of my audio book Going Postal by TPratchett (squee, of course) and to some Equatorians dressed as "Native Americans", by which I mean some tribe from the USA plains (and not, say, folks from the Andes or the Inuit, who are still Native Americans) playing music.
Then I went home and watched Mort be flustered. I noticed that he had much more spine than Major Tokey writes him as, in "Cracking of a Fragile Eggshell Mind", a point which I'll have to share with the authors.
During the film, I got a phone call from a friend of Maria's (mom's other school friend who at one point had a few of my CV's). She wants me to babysit her 3.5 and 4.5 year olds once a week and speak to them in English. Shiny, right? Wrong, very wrong. Why?, you ask? Because they're kids. Little kids. And that freaks the shit out of me. I've never had anything to do with kids, I don't even like them, I don't know what to do with them... Of course, I'm tempted to say screw it, but people don't just throw jobs at you every day, and mom'd skin me alive if I said no. Besides, 3 hours a week won't kill me. Right? Still terrified of the concept, though. *sigh*
* William Blake, Augeries of Innocence
** Ironically, The English Cut.
Sunday I walked around the city, not expecting much to happen because Spain utterly shuts down weekends. But! miraculously, it's the post-holiday's sales, so there were a bunch of stores open. (Of course, there were thus many people.) I went over to our largest department store (El Corte Iglés**) and checked out the bras. (How exciting, I know.) Then, on a whim, I went to the movie section and just couldn't resist when I saw Secret Window at the embarassingly low cost of €6.95 (compared the the €22-ish prices of other films).
I then walked around feeling pleased with myself, hanging around the port, listening to a few chapters of my audio book Going Postal by TPratchett (squee, of course) and to some Equatorians dressed as "Native Americans", by which I mean some tribe from the USA plains (and not, say, folks from the Andes or the Inuit, who are still Native Americans) playing music.
Then I went home and watched Mort be flustered. I noticed that he had much more spine than Major Tokey writes him as, in "Cracking of a Fragile Eggshell Mind", a point which I'll have to share with the authors.
During the film, I got a phone call from a friend of Maria's (mom's other school friend who at one point had a few of my CV's). She wants me to babysit her 3.5 and 4.5 year olds once a week and speak to them in English. Shiny, right? Wrong, very wrong. Why?, you ask? Because they're kids. Little kids. And that freaks the shit out of me. I've never had anything to do with kids, I don't even like them, I don't know what to do with them... Of course, I'm tempted to say screw it, but people don't just throw jobs at you every day, and mom'd skin me alive if I said no. Besides, 3 hours a week won't kill me. Right? Still terrified of the concept, though. *sigh*
* William Blake, Augeries of Innocence
** Ironically, The English Cut.
