the next chapter

in this month's saga of self-induced panics.  After a wretched afternoon of teaching, I zipped around town~dropping various things at donation centers--getting ready for my summer move.

 When I finished, my reward for not maiming a student was to saunter through the UT's art gallery~taking advantage of both free Thursday admission and Third Thursday late hours.  Pulled into the parking garage to get my ticket validated and Could Not Find My Wallet.  Massive panic.

Called 411 to get the number for the Goodwill, frantically trying to remember the street address (there are 14 branches around the city).  Finally got connected.  And put on hold.  A woman answered and I told her that I had just dropped off a black bag (yes, indeed, I just jettisoned the icky bag from the recent conference in Houston.)  She told me there was a mountain of black bags.

One good side of my visual acuity and hyper-awareness of details is that I could describe everything to her.  She found it.  But not my wallet.  I had already torn apart my trunk and looked under the seats. 

No where.  At this point, I'm feeling the need for paper-bagged breathing or a Valium....and for some reason, I felt a poke in my back.

I. Was. Sitting. On. It.

This is my pointy-edged large wallet.  How I was sitting on and didn't notice, I will never know.  And why I placed it on my seat--which I have never done--also a mystery.  School needs to be out and I need to move to a quiet neighborhood before my heart gives out.

After all of that, I treated myself to a truffle brownie from the uni cafe and sat out in the sultry breezes to relax.  And this furry little bugger practically crawled in my lap for a bit of chocolate.  No doubt, not good for him, but hey~maybe his afternoon was as traumatic as mine.  So, I shared.

 

I was disappointed in the current visiting collection--it's been touted as Alumni Art.  But instead of being alumni created art, it's merely stuff they've bought.  And this?  This pile of hard candy is equal to the snow shovel that was hanging in MOMA for oddity.   I wonder how many people stepped/tripped over it?  Or helped themselves to an apres-gallery mint?

Had to cleanse the visual palette, so hopped upstairs to see my room o' pennies.

And while there, some uni students begin to tune their cellos and guitars for a lovely little recital.
TGIF.  And TG, there are only 11.5 more teaching days.