One of the OCD things I do when I have too many things jumbled in my mind is to make lists. It doesn't even help me organize, it just smooths my nerves. Here goes:
I keep finding mechanical flaws in my setter as she delivers the ball. She's slow with her hands prior to the ball arriving, which means she rushes and ends up "flicking" at the ball instead of making a steady, even push with both. Her feet are off-balance when she sets, also, so that she's often on one foot when she delivers, which throws off the timing. I don't want to overload her mind with too much information, but she needs to make a consistent set about 90% of the time.
Why are the Puritans so dreadful to read about? *I* even fall asleep trying to grasp it. Jonathan Edwards is fun, though. You don't really read anything close to "angry" in public school literature anymore.
On the end of the American Lit pool that I like to wade in is Edgar Allan Poe, and "The Cask of Amontillado," which my frosh get to read this week. Unless they tell me that they've read it before. I tell them, too bad, you haven't read it with me. Muhahaha. Bricks and mortar, anybody?
I can hear my mother grinding vegetables and fruits into the juicer upstairs, which takes me back to a childhood full of mornings with carrot juice, because, well... I don't why. They told me to drink it, so I did. The grinding juicer sound still heebs me out, as does vegetable juice in general, which my V8 drinking coworkers take advantage of.
I'm in a rut with music and movies. The last few purchases have been up and down (Feist? Up. Interpol? Down.), and the impending Kanye/50 sales peeing contest is unappealing. Somebody rescue me. A Place to Bury Strangers? The National? Liars? C'mon guys. Thankfully, two fave actors open this coming week, so... I've got weekend plans. Woo!
