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Pray not to be pinched 0

Dear Bradshaw,

I dropped the last letter in the mailbox hours ago and here I am writing again. What a pal I am! Meanwhile, happy Saint Patrick’s Day! What do you do in there on Saint Patrick’s Day? Do you pinch people for not wearing green? Do you pray not to be pinched? Sorry I didn’t think of it before or I’d have sent you a green sock or a glove or a green hat or, well, something to keep you from getting pinched. Would you believe Francesca has an uncle whose name is Patrick and today’s his 60th birthday, right smack dab on the saint’s day? Not a coincidence though, I must confess. He’s Catholic, and his parents named him Patrick in honor of the saint.

Work has been fine, but in order to accommodate my twenty private students I’ve pretty much had to organize my schedule like a puzzle with extra pieces. As it is, I have just enough time to get from one lesson to another. Being without car, scooter or skates, I depend on public transportation and foot (feet). In fact, I try to make it a habit to accept only students who are within a half hour walking distance from my apartment and, over the years, have developed a foolproof plan, though the plan can crash, or be threatened, when one of my private students cancels and then another one wants to change the day and/or time of their lesson, which means I might stick them in the cancelled lesson’s slot and then find myself obliged to run from one lesson to another. That’s right, run! Imagine me in slacks, dress shoes, a button down shirt or sweater, trench coat, and with teaching materials in tow — no, not sprinting, I admit, but — jogging.

Now to the point, which is this = pain in the pancreas! When a person who isn’t an athlete, a personal trainer or a police officer has to run to work then there’s something wrong with that person, the job, or society in general. (Of course, I know which of the three is most likely.) Anyway, I’ve been feeling tired, not only physically but mentally and emotionally, too. I’m sick of the tick and tired of the tock. I’m drained from the rain and maimed by the pain. Done with windows and walls and floors and doors.

Okay, enough. Clearly, it’s time for me to go to bed.

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