Perspective

I hate my walls. They look diseased. My plaster walls were not supposed to change, in fact, very little on the main floor was supposed to change. Now, the drywallers are trying to match the old texture and it is not working. Today I officially lost it. I saw a section of wall that clearly had no need of any new texture, but they had applied the crap to it anyway. Now, I appreciate that they are going to fix it, and I appreciate their work ethic, and their senses of humor, and the people that they are, but right now I absolutely HATE my walls. I can hardly stand to look at them. So today, when my neigbors came in to look, and later, Debbi and Stephen stopped by, I just had no excitement in me. I guess the stress has finally gotten to be too much.

Meanwhile, my third grade teacher, Miss Ecklund, the one we lined up to kiss good-bye every single day of third grade, and who, during that year got engaged and invited the whole class to her wedding (I went), her husband was beaten nearly to death last Monday night by some shit 17 year old arrogant asshole of a kid. Because he backed out of a driveway and went a little too far into the opposite lane, and the kid couldn't bother to give him any slack, and swerved out of the way and promptly got out of the car and beat the man unconscious. I can't imagine what Miss Ecklund is feeling after 30 years of marriage and I don't know how many kids, and her husband is in a hospital bed, unconscious, and she has no idea if he'll ever come home again, or if he does, what shape he'll be in.

My problems seem very small next to that.