My own that is. . .
I was realizing last night that this is a very educational opportunity for my boys. Even if they aren’t directly involved they are watching from the “sidelines”.
Oh, and what a sight they’ve seen thus far!
However, it dawned on me that they are “learning”; and I am trying now to correct the example I have recently set.
So, without any guidance being given, I’m trying to come up with a 3-5 minute persuasive speech. You know, until someone finally gets back to me and tells me what they are expecting.
Here’s a little tidbit about myself. I had to take “speech class” THREE times in college.
Went to three different colleges you see, and not a single college would accept the transfer credit! Ah, military life while trying to get a college degree.
So, the first college it was a mandatory freshman course. The second college it was a mandatory sophmore course. The third college. . . I don’t recall their “excuse”.
At one point, I could have said I was fantastic at giving speeches; yet, a number of years have slid by since that last course.
Jay is trying to keep my spirits up by reminding me how I “thrive in last minute situations”. I don’t know that this is true. I think lots of things get thrown at me at the last moment, and I survive them. Don’t know that I would call it “thriving” though.
For the import that I feel this event deserves, I can tell you that this is cutting it too close for comfort. And for the Prima Procrastinator, that’s saying something!
I spent this afternoon researching and pulling material / data together. Now, I’m sitting here awaiting inspiration as to how to pull it together effectively.
Ah, but there is one other hitch in this whole process. . .another little Christine tidbit.
Read this long enough, you’ll discover all my little “skeletons”.
I have a serious lack of tact! My “short and sweet” tends to be as blunt an instrument as a club.
Truly, my friends and family are something spectacular to put up with me as they do.
So, part of the “inspiration” I’m awaiting is the ability to say what I’m feeling tactfully. The problem is I’m angry about this whole business. . .and stressed. . .
You know, Jay was threatening that some Senator’s aides may be going through my blogs to get an idea of me. (I seriously doubt it.) However, if it were true, I’d be terribly curious as to how I measure up to the mental picture they’ve built of me. Wouldn’t that be truly interesting?
Oh, another “please don’t let this happen” moment.
Standing in church today, I had a “memory”.
“Don’t lock your knees.”
Okay, for most people that doesn’t mean anything. Yet, for those of us who have served in the military, I’m betting it rings a bell.
Whilst standing in formation, they tell you over and over again to not lock your knees.
Why they tell you this is beyond me. Honestly, they say it’s so you don’t pass out. I’m here to tell you it does not help!
See there is a major problem with standing in formations. They (the brass that set these things up) like “uniformity”. Hence the uniforms (he, he).
But, with regards to formations, it means they don’t want to be looking out at a staggered platoon. So, they put all the tall people in the front of the platoon, and all the short people are relegated to the rear.
I’m “short”. 5′ 4″ to be precise. I was always in the very back.
And guess what? While the brass has a nice even line to look at, all I’ve got is the back of people’s heads. A sea of sameness. . .and when you’re tucked away in the back you can’t hear what the people up front are saying; and you know, generally, what they have to say is rather boring.
So, you’re left with looking at the sweat rolling down people’s necks, or at the veins that keep popping up as the person in front of you is clenching their teeth thinking what a collosal waste of time this is (and you, of course, agree).
And because you are in the WAY back and no-one can see you — you shift your weight to and fro, and wiggle your legs to ensure you aren’t “locking your knees”. . .
And next thing you know, someone is waving those nasty little white sticks under your nose and you are no longer in formation.
And all you can sit there thinking about is, “Oh thank YOU that is over!” So, you go over and drink your nasty gatorade, and gobble the cookie and laugh at all the “good soldiers” that are left staring at the backs of peoples necks; because you’re done, and they have to stand there for the next however long till the big man finally winds down his speech.
Yet, I hope I don’t lock my knees at this Senate hearing. Not that I believe that helps, but I don’t want to jinx it.
Maybe I should bring a cookie, just in case.
I’m not feeling so angry anymore, so I’m going to attempt to write this spiel.