You know how sometimes when you learn the words to a song it suddenly won't leave your head? Like your brain keeps repeating it to make sure you won't ever forget it? Or maybe it's just me, but anyway, right now I have one of Liverpool's popular songs/chants in my head and it won't go away. It's the one supporters sing after Steve Gerrard scores [sung to the tune of Que Sera Sera]: "Steve Gerrard Gerrard, can kick the ball 40 yards, he's big and he's fucking hard [meaning tough], Steve Gerrard Gerrard". I only hope one day Francisco and I will be able to sing along with that in person.
Speaking of Francisco, he thinks his oral board interview went alright yesterday but he can't be positive because the interviewing police give very little away, as far as feedback on how the interviewee has done. He should find out next week if he made it through to the list of potential candidates, and how the hell am I supposed to type with my fingers crossed between now and then?! The police can be so inconsiderate. Oh, and re: inconsiderate, last night at work Francisco had to patrol the perimeter of the jail for 8 solid hours, and he almost froze his ass off. He thinks they're going to stick him out there frequently now, since he's one of only a few corrections officers on his team who qualified in night shooting, so he's going to invest in some good long johns and other under-uniform garments. Poor guy.
Catie had expressed curiosity, in a comment yesterday, about how Francisco started wanting to be POlice in the first place, since it's a pretty big jump from wanting to be a professor. It's kind of a long journey for him, I think, but the bottom line is he's spent a lot of time in intellectual pursuits and would like to now spend time in doing something that has a large physical component. I say this because once when one of my friends asked him why he wanted to be police, he spoke of Aeschylus, the ancient Greek playwright, whose epitaph made no mention of the many plays he wrote but mentioned that he fought at the Battle of Marathon. I think Francisco feels, right now, that a career as a police officer would be a more genuine experience (for him, anyway) than a career as a professor, in the same way that Aeschylus' epitaph indicates he felt his participation at the Battle of Marathon was more genuine than writing plays. So there you have it. I'm sure there will be surreal moments when Francisco absent-mindedly launches into a lecture about Melito of Sardis or somebody like that, in a room full of his fellow officers, but hopefully they won't tease him about it too much, because the man cain't help it.
Last night I was getting ready for bed and I thought, "hey, it's two days until my birthday". Then I sort of waited a few seconds, anticipating I might feel a little frisson of excitement or anticipation, but there was nothing--no excitement whatsoever--and that was when I realized I have Issues about turning 40 tomorrow. I still don't know what these issues are, but considering that this is the first time in my whole life that I haven't been excited for my birthday, it's an tipoff I'm not so well adjusted about getting older as I thought I was. Rationally I know that turning 40 will make absolutely no difference in my life, so I'm going to try and be happy about it, because why not? It'll happen either way. I am resolved to try and keep my breakdowns to a minimum.
Photo of the Day: di nuovo quella casa.
Have a great night, lambs.
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