life's a beach

This week just goes on and on... and it's pretty much All Daughter, all the time. This morning the 17-year-old daughter of an old acquaintance, army-bound in January, came to tutor mine in the horrid Tanach (bible) based subjects that she's drowning in. Not only is she missing the basics of the subjects as a result of being away for the past two years, it's also being taught by a stuffy pedant (the principal) who's teaching from his own book, written at a level (several who know better than I have commented) which is way over the heads of these poor seventh graders. Did I mention he's dead boring? Anyway, this young tutor came to give her some help with the homework; in one hour they only managed to get through about half of one subject's assignment. So she's returning tomorrow.

And this afternoon we went off to the 12- and 13-yr-olds' beach party. It was nice to watch the tangerine-peach sun sink into the sea. The kid had a great time body-surfing, and enjoyed herself with her South American friend. The invitation had asked for parents to come too, to supervise the kids while swimming, but very few parents actually came. Still, I had a couple of interesting people to talk to, one of which is a psychiatrist from Argentina who's been here 27 years. I've never really spoken to her at length before, but she divorced her husband a year ago, so it was fun to talk some trash about a subject never far from my heart. I took advantage of her willing ear and poured out a few of my complaints. She was fun, and exactly the same age as me (2 months younger, actually). We may get together again.

Mr. Squarepeg was in a rotten mood all day, but drove us to and from the beach anyway. He didn't want to come join the party, though, as he hates sand and is hysterical even about getting a bit of sand in the trunk of the car. He's been bitching all day about one thing or another, getting on the kid's case about her schoolwork and withdrawing all tv or computer until it's done. But he's too bitchy to help her with the work, so it's just going nowhere. Now he's sulkily watching tv alone in the bedroom, and I'd just as soon sleep here in the den as put up with him, but I get the feeling he's coming out of the funk and will be wanting to bridge the gap before bedtime. Yawn.

There's been more than the average trash talkin' today, cause I connected with another old friend from an old job, who's also been through the shitmill with her nutty ex-husband, and is doing much better now. So many of us share similar experiences with these twisted nutjobs, and it's nice to have the understanding of the sisterhood. She's doing so well, in fact, that she's been making some good connections on JDate (I never had any luck there, but then I've never been properly single [since the internet was invented], so it's complicated) and even got a weekly gig playing the piano in the lobby of one of the coast's big hotels. Brilliant. There really is hope, and she's an inspiration.

Oof, he's skulking around looking for attention now; I knew he was coming out of it. Now I'll probably have to get an earful of whatever has been getting under his skin all day.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Ooh, must go set the video to record the debate at 3am.