Where the hell are my pajamas? Are these really the “softest socks in the world?” and other questions I ask my imperfect self.

  • Where the hell are my pajamas? (found ’em!)
  • Are these in fact, the “softest socks in the world?”
  • How is it possible that I got so distracted that there was a creepy van in my parking spot that I got out of my car after work and left it running for a good 35 minutes before Jon just so happened to noticed?
  • How could Steven Hawkings be wrong?
  • Are all artists weird? (answer: yes, Scientific America says so)
  • Do I have to say everything I am thinking out loud? (apparently, I do, especially in the teachers’ lounge)
  • Do I ask myself questions then answer them? Absolutely.
  • Why am I so excited by the the little rectangle confetti left over from the binding machine at school?
  • Will I ever have a job where I don’t have to glue the skin on my hands back together every night of the winter?

An art teacher's best friends; liquid bandage and a hot toddy.

  • How many pigs in a blanket should we make for the party, Ms. Brown-Velez?
  • When the Solstice comes will the light also be turned back on my mind? (I’m feeling a little slow on the uptake lately)
  • And lastly, am I doomed to hear at least one fart or burp joke per hour for the rest of my life?

Milo worked on his sculptures between fart jokes this afternoon.

My Christmas craftstravaganza is almost complete. Now you know what you're all getting.

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