Is All This Water Symbolic Somehow?

Son: Yonah was a big tzadik, he washed negelwasser all day long.
Am positive Son's rebbe is sane person and would not tell children that Yonah had OCD or that OCD required for tzidkus. (Although quite see how 3-day sojourn in Fish stomach could induce compulsive Washing, not to mention Claustrophobia. Recall no medrash to this effect.)

Daughter came home today with wild tale of school bathrooms Flooding progressively from first floor to fourth, with subsequent spillover into elevator shaft and classrooms, resulting in Girls standing on their Desks and Screaming. Daughter further alleged that the stairs Broke and when you went Outside, you could see the Water spouting out of the Roof. Am sure I have seen a Movie like this. (Query: Day After Tomorrow? Or, perhaps, one of the Die Hards?) In any event, have not received phone call from School; thus, must conclude that that Building not entirely demolished and tomorrow's Sessions shall proceed as usual.

I Get Old, and Other Gloomy Observations

Upon awaking on Erev Rosh Hashana, found myself afflicted by most unpleasant virus. Shall refrain from providing details, as must keep in mind that not many people find descriptions of Diseases and their symptoms either Interesting or Tasteful. Food preparation conducted in muzzy haze, with heartfelt prayer for getting things Right and avoiding solecisms such as leaving Flour out of Cake (this happened to me when I was Sixteen, which only served to confirm my opinion that there were Better things for me do do).

Managed to stay upright and Awake until arrival of Guests; retained a semblance of Coherency through the Simanim, though had to invoke Husband's aid in determining exact composition thereof. Subsequently, retired to couch and slept, regaining consciousness only to tell Husband that There are Potatoes in the Pot and Just Dump the Veal on a Plate. Felt deeply that the less I heard about Food, the better for all present.

Spent rest of holiday avoiding food. Ironically, recover in time for today's Fast, which also coincides with my secular birthday. Cannot help seeing this, together with sundry other Occurrences as unauspicious beginning for new year. Forlorn hope is that G-d is getting the nasty stuff out of the way so we can enjoy the rest of year in peace; am, however, not disposed to Count on any such thing, especially as am aware that everything could always be Much Worse. For Instance, already feel Cold coming on.

Am now Twenty-Nine. For reasons unfathomable to self, reflection that, were I still single, I would by now be an Old Maid, induces Feeling of Gloom. Am constrained to ask, Does it make me a Better Person that contemplation of others' Woes fails to Cheer me in the slightest, or Does it just make me an Incurable Pessimist? Answer: very much fear, the latter.

But, you know, do have a good year, everyone.

Too Tired for This, Really

Have been up all night working on assorted projects; as result, head is full of medico-legal jargon and keep thinking things like "collateral estoppel generally ineffective in cases of chorioamniotis" when really need to say, "NO, you may not have chocolate frosting for breakfast." Shall spend rest of day cooking, which usually has soothing effect. Macbeth has murdered sleep; not Macbeth, obviously, but cannot seem to otherwise fix blame on anyone but myself for Leaving things Too Late.

Finally, a Good Reason

Am informed by various males that I should vote for Palin "because she is Hot and shoots Moose." Discount the second as am not aware of urgent national Need for elimination of rampant Moose Infestation. As to first, cannot think why I should be influenced, given what I should think must be my obvious inclinations. However, am happy to finally produce comprehensible reason for voting Democrat, as Obama undeniably Hotter than McCain. Shall now cut short incisive political commentary and hide under bed, for fear of being mistaken for Moose by unkind Republicans.

Husband reports that his hospital is currently harboring Amy Fisher, and that the nurses Do Not Like her. Experience flashback to beginning of 9th grade, when AF 's then-recent exploits provided bulk of conversation fodder. Why? Answer: comes there none.

Am due in Immigration Court again this week, with client constitutionally unable to locate own ass with both hands; but the judge is nice. Am also reading biography of Jonathan Swift, interspersed with Angela Carter's Nights at the Circus, which has mental effect of eating fried potatoes dipped in red currant jelly - an intense craving I had during my second pregnancy.

I Make Sort-of-French-Bread

Seized by fit of domesticity, have achieved French bread ("not-exactly-baguettes") and something called Irish Car Bomb Cake, which deserves to be made for the name alone. Obviously, domesticity requiring copious use of Guinness as cake ingredient much preferable to the kind requiring moving all the furniture and scrubbing the corners.

Have been made aware of music ban; occurs to me that appropriate response would be re-working of "Rock the Casbah" with adjustment for correct religion. Am too lazy to attempt.

Husband just called from hospital (where - a reminder - he is a doctor, not a patient, and, B"H, doing fine). On being reminded that It is My Mother's Birthday, silence ensues, followed by cautious question: How Old is She? I reply, Sixty-Two; am sharply corrected by Mother that it is Sixty-One. Whereupon Husband proceeds to relate hair-raising tale of 59-year-old patient, whose last period was sometime in 1991, and who is now Pregnant following expensive and tortuous procedures involving hormone injections and other people's eggs, and now must be on Bedrest. As if above were not enough, Husband supplies that she had three pregnancy terminations previously; hanging on to last shred of hope, ask, On Purpose? Answer: yes. Husband concludes by saying He Feels like Hitting her every Time he Walks Past. Regret to find myself in sympathy with this highly unprofessional Attitude.

Reassure Husband that nothing of the sort will be forthcoming from Mother and hang up. Ensuing attempt to imagine arrival of young sibling boggles mind into incoherency. Restore shattered equanimity by resorting to remains of Irish Car Bomb Cake and new-ish Akunin novel brought by Father-in-Law.

More on Immigration Court

Am back from Immigration Court. Arrived for 9:00 a.m. hearing only to be confronted with news that the judge won't be in until 10:00. Annoying young blighter in blue pinstripe goes around the waiting room trying to establish Who was here First, and Who is Last in Line; everyone humors him, but endeavor proves predictably futile, as upon opening of courtroom, everyone scrambles to it in order of relative proximity to door. I win; thus, am first to listen to judge tell me to do complete opposite of what she told me to do last time, with some gratuitous Advice to a Young Lawyer, which makes me thankful my client speaks little English, winding up with the conclusion that Nothing Can Be Done Today, as DHS attorney Has Not Reviewed the File (why judge appears to think this is my fault, eludes me). Suppress violent urge to tell her, I Know, but I do Not Approve, and I am Not Resigned. (1)

In other news, the Infant is singing a tune which I recognize to be the bandits' song from Bremenskiye Muzykanty. Wonder if 20 months too early to begin musical training? Or, perhaps, too late? Own musical training limited to dim recollection of, at the age of 5, being hauled from under the bed to practice scales on the piano; my parents must have found this activity less than edifying, since piano lessons promptly discontinued.

(1) from some poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay

And Now For Something Somewhat Different

Had client's relative petition approved today, after long and annoying process, including Stokes interview consisting mostly of the interviewer asking them (separately) what they had for dinner the night before, for breakfast this morning, for dinner on their first date, which was not very edifying to me on an empty stomach. Apparently, there are people who have roast chicken with a side of cottage cheese for breakfast. You live, you learn.
Am glad of this ego boost, since tomorrow am scheduled for further adventure in the Immigration Court, before a judge who, frankly, scares me a little. Last time, she yelled at some guy for being dressed too nicely, and trying to take advantage of the American system. She tried to pull the same crap on my client, asking Did she work or Just Sit Around trying different ways to get a green card. My client, though, had proof of employment for the past 14 years, so that kind of took the wind out of her sails. And this judge doesn't do this to harass people. She does it For Their Own Good.
Just thinking about it all makes me tired. Have also been reading entries here, which, sadly, only served to confirm my opinions on Russian media and general public. Not, of course, that there has ever been a time in history when the country was not going to hell in a handbasket... like watching a thousand-year-long train wreck, really.