the thin line between optimism and delusion…

My dad told me last night that I should probably just be relaxing at this point – because if I don’t know it by now I’m probably not going to learn it, and I’ve already done the whole bar course, so I should try not to freak myself out.  While seemingly supportive advice – probably not what I needed to hear. 

For a quick update – I have been studying, and it is frustrating.  Seriously – sometimes the multistate just gets the better of me and makes me feel really stupid and that it is helpless and I’m going to fail.  Then at other times I don’t let it get to me. 

Last night my mom and I sat outside after walking the dogs at midnight and tried to whistle until we both almost passed out.  Mama is really good at whistling with her fingers in her mouth – I have a hard time with this – I’m better at whistling through my fist.  So we were both trying to whistle the way that we couldn’t do.  We looked like idiots. 

I didn’t sleep well last night.  I’m not sure why.  Part of it might have been because I started reading Treasure Island.  Treasure Island is one of my favorite novels, but it has probably been five years since I’ve read it – which is a long time because I love to re-read my favorite novels.  Well, let me just tell you – this book will frighten you to death.  Seriously. I loved this story as a child.  The book, the movie, all of it.  I loved it.  But reading the story last night coupled with the old mental images I have of the old black and white movie – I could be looking at a lot more sleepless nights.  Let me give you a taste of the beginning –

Chapter One – The Old Sea Dog at the "Admiral Benbow"

…I take up my pen in the year of grace 17–, and go back to the time when my father kept the "Admiral Benbow" inn, and the brown old seaman, with the sabre cut, first took up lodging under our roof.
    I remember him as if it were yesterday, as he came plodding to the inn door, his sea-chest following behind him in a handbarrow; a tall, strong, heavy, nut-brown man; his tarry pigtail falling over the shoulders of his soiled blue coat; his hands ragged and scarred, with black, broken nails; and the sabre cut across one cheek, a dirty livid white.  I remember him looking round the cove and whistling to himself as his did so, and then breaking out in that old sea-song that he sang so often afterwards:
                              "Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest –
                                 Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"

in a high, old tottering voice that seemed to have been tuned and broken at the capstan bars.  Then he rapped on the door with a bit of stick like a handspike that he carried, and when my father appeared, called roughly for a glass of rum.  This, when it was brought to him, he drank slowly, like a connoisseur, lingering on the taste, and still looking about him at the cliffs and up at our signboard. 

I know y’all want me to keep going – but I have super important things to do – like commit assault and battery against the workers who are using heavy machinery at our next door neighbor’s house and disturbing my peace and quiet.  NOISE POLLUTION! MAKE IT STOP! 

Oh yeah – and the high is 97 today – tomorrow the high is 99.  Sweet. 

AAGGGGHHH – and I almost forgot – today is my precious friend Libby’s 25th birthday!!  And today is also my sweet friend and brother’s girlfriend Elizabeth’s 24th birthday!  YAYAYAYAYA.  Happy Birthday!