It’s 5:05 p.m. Friday. I got home minutes ago. My desk is a mess. My brain is worse.
This week feels like a sprint I don’t remember running.
I have 61 hours to get my life together. But I’m not sure that’s enough.
But the weekend doesn’t lighten anything. The responsibilities just change clothes. Instead of teaching, I’m studying. Instead of classroom behavior, it’s family time. Even friendships sometimes feel like maintenance.
Some days, this life is exhausting. I don’t know why I keep looking for a moment to catch my breath — I know it’s not coming. But that doesn’t seem to keep me from hoping.
literacy week
2 Sick kids
week 2 of Master’s classes and the driest articles known to mankind
a flashlight distribution schedule I somehow volunteered for
a Language concert
a mess at home after a 12-hour shift.
I have no ducks left to give and yet I still owe some.
How I’m going to fit it all in, I still don’t know.
At this point, emotionally I feel numb. My brain feels like jelly. I’m not drowning in it all yet — but I’m certainly starting to cramp. I managed to play with the kids for 10 minutes— pure wrestling on the floor fun. Now I’m too exhausted to run myself a bath, even though I need it. A month ago I had energy for afternoon walks. Now, thirty minutes feels like a luxury I can’t afford.
I’ve taken on new responsibilities. Most people know that. They just don’t factor it in. I’m still the one they go to for advice. I’m still the one to wrestle chaos into order. They line up to see me. Today I had a line of people waiting to talk to me as I was trying (unsuccessfully) to run out the door at clock-out time.
Sometimes I am very very tired of being capable.
I know there is a system to be found—or built. But there are times, like these, that I wish I could get a helping hand instead of being asked to lend one.
For now, I know I cannot carry it all. But I can do it one step at a time. I can finish one article. I can plan one week, I can send one email.
Next up, a bath—with wine. Then one article. That’s enough for today.
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