The Following Takes Place Between 10 a.m. and 11 a.m.

Six days' worth of students in that one hour, and five days in which to teach them. That's the roadblock against which I'm running up as I try to complete the Dread Sked. There's bound to be a way around it somehow, but, like the completion of an intricate jigsaw puzzle, I haven't found it yet. And even if I do, there's no guarantee that it'll be The Finished Product, as everything sort of hangs in floaty limbo until college classes start. (And "Floaty Limbo" would be a good name for an emo/mall-punk band, wouldn't it?)

I still have three more days to tweak this stuff, and I'm going to enjoy my gig tomorrow night, putting everything else as far from my mind as possible in the process. Today was "meh"--very few lessons spread way apart; a lot of high schoolers have just taken the three weeks of marching band off this year (hope they don't regret it when they find themselves with only a month until Region Jazz) and all the teachers' kids (or at least the ones who don't drive yet) were pretty much out this week as their moms returned to school. No real complaints; I realize that next week, I'll be busy beyond belief, but too much sitting around the computer agonizing over a schedule made the whole of my being start to atrophy. Fortunately, it was cool enough outside to do The Walk™, which managed to get all the molecules moving again. (It'll be nicer when it's about, oh, twenty degrees cooler at that time of day.)

That sinking feeling, part 1: A Missouri man was rather startled when, during a leisurely Sunday morning of reading the paper, a sinkhole swallowed half his house, including his garage and a car parked inside.

That sinking feeling, part 2: When thieves visited a South Carolina church recently, did they steal everything but the kitchen sink? Nope, they stole only the kitchen sink, which had been left outside during a fellowship hall renovation.