there's a garage band that practices down the street from me for hours every few nights, and MAN they are awful. and loud. anti-props.

and it's 9:30 and i just got home. and i have to be in bed in half an hour.

we had our spring concert tonight ('we' meaning my daycare), and i got to interact with parents that i hadn't had a chance to talk to at length before, and i found that i have a handful of wonderful things to say about each and every one of those children even though i frequently want to shake matty j until he jellifies, and if levi doesn't start chewing with his mouth closed...anyway, my practicum ends on friday, and i have to leave these wee babies and never see them again, except maybe in a few years when they're old and grown and have forgotten me (which is the true tragedy of my profession), and in light of that i've realized how much i love them all, every one, despite their many foibles, and i wonder why i can't extend this sort of unconditional love to grownups?

one of the moms in our daycare is battling breast cancer, and she made a slideshow of her struggle to play tonight, which is closely tied in with the daycare because they have been a dream of a support to her, and no lie, i just bawled right through it. little andrew mcquarrie on my lap, and i cried into his hair. cancer is not supposed to young and beautiful women, with handsome husbands and young children. it's supposed to happen to stringy old hags with bottle-blonde hair and wrinkly paper-bag cleavage, or cantankerous old men who tear up their grandchildren's letters. people who deserve it. i suppose it's a good thing i'm not God. except that if i was, i'd cure this lady's cancer right quick.

i'm going to thailand in 10 days. and to bed in 10 minutes. shuddup, bad-and-loud garage band.