Post in Which I Virtually Vomit All Over My Readers in a Weak Attempt at Catharsis
This has been a daunting week in many ways . . . and yes, it's only Tuesday.
I guess it feels like my week hasn't really ended, or that my *weeks* haven't really ended, since I've been on "go" mode for most of three weeks, ever since the hurricane hit and my husband disappeared into an endless cycle of overtime. I know that he's the one out there doing the physical labor, but I'm exhausted. It's not like my daily duties increased *so* much since A. began working this schedule . . . I mean, usually we cook dinner *together* and he's around to play bad cop to my lame, ineffectual cop with the kids . . . but other than that, I'm pretty much the lead when it comes to getting them ready for school and then later getting them ready for bed, and I do much of the shuttling between school and after school activities, too. But not having him around as much -- we see each other for about 20 minutes in the morning and an hour or so at night -- to talk to, to sympathize/empathize with, to laugh with and probably even to fight with . . . is kind of draining, and I. Don't. Like. It.
Before you stop reading because you're about to throw up from the mushiness, the fabulous Ms. M. (the woman who monitors my crazy levels) says that this is probably because without him I feel isolated and more alone. This rings true, I suppose. And that's not to say that I haven't had offers of help -- but as I wrote above, I don't really need a ton of help doing the day to day stuff. I need, you know, my husband . . . the other guy on my team who, at the very least and even in our worst moments, helps me operate under the impression/delusion that we're in this together.
Ms. M says also that when we're tired we tend to frame everything negatively. This is, sadly, also true. I've been a bit of a Debbie Downer over these past few days.
But not without good reasons! For instance, perhaps I do need a little more of that "outside help" I just claimed I could exist without. Case in point: today. The genius powers-that-be who run our school district decided that the first three days of this week would be half-days . . . the kids go to school for the first half, and the parents show up for 15 minute conferences in the second half of the day. My conference with Little Miss Talkalot's teacher was yesterday, and because I don't teach on Mondays I was able to pick the little girl up from the bus, take her to lunch, and then attend said conference. Today, however, it appears that I am out of luck. She has a half-day of school, but I teach all day -- I would not be able to cross the 20 miles between my work and the bus stop in between classes.
So I thought that perhaps I would have someone help pick her up from the bus stop and then watch her for the rest of the day. When my plans for a babysitter fell through, I regrouped and considered taking her out of school for the day -- perhaps, I thought, The Boy's daycare could accommodate her. It turns out they cannot.
So THEN I considered taking her to school with me . . . but THEN I considered the class agendas for today. In my Intro to Lit we're discussing Cormac McCarthy's No Country for Old Men and in creative writing we're discussing David Adjmi's play Stunning. Both plays involve violence and the latter requires frank discussions about sexuality and, not to be a prude, but I'm not about to allow my seven year old to sit through that. I'm not that "granola" just yet -- if she can stay a child for just a little bit longer, without my college classes pushing her over the precipice into pre-adolescence and all of the questions and answers that brings, I'll be happy. Or happiER.
I can't really ask a colleague to watch her for the length of two classes (which run back to back) and I don't feel like my students will really gain anything by me coming in, giving them a quiz on the material, and then dismissing them, so I may cancel class today. We're not supposed to take personal days the day before a holiday (because we don't have class scheduled tomorrow), but I might take a personal day. I just don't know what else to do -- I feel like I've been pushing a boulder up a hill over the past few days and the fucker's slowly pushing ME back down it.
ALSO yesterday I received a phone call confirming a dentist appointment I had scheduled for 3 p.m. today . . . which conflicts with the sonogram I have scheduled for today, which is by far more important, so I rescheduled the dentist . . . but the call felt like another big sign that I'm not doing this "living like a responsible adult" thing well. This was compounded when I came home after a day of conference-plus-grocery-shopping-plus-kid's-haircuts and was met with a voice mail from the elementary school claiming that Little Miss Talkalot didn't have a physical on file, and could I get one ASAP please?
ADDITIONALLY (oh yes, there's more!) my mother called yesterday and let me know that my father is ill, and with an illness that I probably shouldn't be around while I'm gestating . . . so the poor man is going to stay cooped up in his little apartment in southern VA while the rest of us (minus my husband, who'll be doing the continued hurricane overtime gig) convene in Northern VA. PLUS we won't leave until 4 p.m. on Wednesday for NoVA and I'm anticipating some pretty heinous holiday traffic.
I'm feeling another wave of exhaustion. I think it would be a panic attack if I weren't so tired.
Wah, wah, wah . . . what a bore I am. I'd delete this whole whiner-post except then I'd feel like I'd wasted 45 minutes of my time, and I'd like to feel at least SOMEWHAT productive/effective in SOME area of my life right now.
Oh! Another gem: received two rejections in the past 72 hours, one from a magazine that formerly published my poems and one for my "Minor Gods" chapbook MS. So . . . you know, happy-making.
There is one ray of sunshine: a confirmation of the HGP poetry reading in January. Here's the info for anyone who's interested:
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
D.A. Levy lives: celebrating the renegade press reading series
featuring the authors of Hyacinth Girl Press
94 Avenue A (@ E. 6th St.)
The East Village
All right. I suppose I should email my students now and let them know what I'm doing/not doing today.