The
kun-chaga chun sound of the train matches the iambic pentameter beat of the
pounding in my head. The day kicks off hilariously bad at 5am when all of the
hardwired carbon monoxide detectors go off in my house at once, syncing a high
pitched and relentless scream to 'get out, get out!’. Knowing these frequently
broken units well, I don't believe them- they lie. But, of course, I get up
anyway and rouse the kids too. No signs of carbon monoxide poisoning, no
dizziness or lethargic sleepiness (beyond the realm of having been so rudely
awakened)- I assemble my chicks outside dressed and ready for the possibility
of an unknown armageddon.
Once they are safely stashed in our car parked in the street, I call the firehouse. "No worries," I say, "surely a false alarm" and sure enough, when my friendly neighborhood emergency fireman, Andy, (who also happens to be my neighbor) comes, he gives it the all clear. He leaves, as I suddenly realize that in pulling out the ceiling unit in my daughter's room that a small steady stream of water emits from it. The alarm is protesting weakly now, as I curse and run to get a bathroom towel to sop up the little pool of water under it. I know what it is, dammit. The central air conditioning unit has a slow leak, as the repairman who came five days earlier told me. "No worries, I adjusted it so you have a little time," he had said. Okay, so in that interim of waiting for the estimate for repair, there WAS issue to worry.
Oddly, I don't. My new life is one of resigned indifference. It just is. So add it to my list of to- do's. This mental list is a bullet-ridden line of chores, to which I add the occasional "fun thing"- just to keep sane. But those feel few and far between. It’s okay. This is how it is for now.
My sitter comes (hallelujah), after my teenage son drudges off to his own little special of middle school hell. He grudgingly accepts my clingy hug and "love you", with a mumbled return reply and hug...
My 9-yr old is sitting on the couch watching a Netflix show with her headphones deftly tuning out the world. She is up early, complements of the powers of angry alarm fate. No worries, again, since opportunity for extra TV time now presents itself.
So now off to work I go, waiting to attend a bi-annual team work meeting, presenting the immaculate facade of iron, albeit, slightly melted in its form. I will not be, "that girl", the tiresome one that bad things always happen to. I’m late because the sitter got messed up (or truth being, I forgot to set up that part with atypical inefficiency). Sad and crying in my office because of the crazy hurtful actions of my soon to be ex. The label and stereotype of that woman... No. I'm over it.
So I’m marching on for today, smiling, feeling it genuinely if I can, trying to feel nothing, nothing if I can't.
Its later, I’m riding home. My brain peeks into consciousness for a moment.
Tired. Long day, wish I felt like I had been impressive but thinking, not so much. I was okay. But now, tired. And still have to arrange for the HVAC repair, hopefully for tomorrow.
And make dinner for the kids. And school lunches to prepare, and stop at the bank for money to pay the sitter. And fold three loads of laundry. Tired.
It’s okay. Really. How am I handling this, with fear yes, but not paralyzing. The stress of the last few years follows a beat like the rampant introspection of Taylor Swift-like, "why, why, why". I feel like I have just left a war, met fire and hate, and still made it out alive. Snipers are still there, but distant. His fingers are curled at me but I do not see them, and only sometimes feel the threat of them in my dreams.
It’s okay. I'll save smiles for tomorrow, wide and plenty. And work on how I feel about me, me, me (because he would say, after all, it’s “all about you, you, you”).
Tonight, at bedtime, I’m praying for strength and the return for trust and joy again.
Once they are safely stashed in our car parked in the street, I call the firehouse. "No worries," I say, "surely a false alarm" and sure enough, when my friendly neighborhood emergency fireman, Andy, (who also happens to be my neighbor) comes, he gives it the all clear. He leaves, as I suddenly realize that in pulling out the ceiling unit in my daughter's room that a small steady stream of water emits from it. The alarm is protesting weakly now, as I curse and run to get a bathroom towel to sop up the little pool of water under it. I know what it is, dammit. The central air conditioning unit has a slow leak, as the repairman who came five days earlier told me. "No worries, I adjusted it so you have a little time," he had said. Okay, so in that interim of waiting for the estimate for repair, there WAS issue to worry.
Oddly, I don't. My new life is one of resigned indifference. It just is. So add it to my list of to- do's. This mental list is a bullet-ridden line of chores, to which I add the occasional "fun thing"- just to keep sane. But those feel few and far between. It’s okay. This is how it is for now.
My sitter comes (hallelujah), after my teenage son drudges off to his own little special of middle school hell. He grudgingly accepts my clingy hug and "love you", with a mumbled return reply and hug...
My 9-yr old is sitting on the couch watching a Netflix show with her headphones deftly tuning out the world. She is up early, complements of the powers of angry alarm fate. No worries, again, since opportunity for extra TV time now presents itself.
So now off to work I go, waiting to attend a bi-annual team work meeting, presenting the immaculate facade of iron, albeit, slightly melted in its form. I will not be, "that girl", the tiresome one that bad things always happen to. I’m late because the sitter got messed up (or truth being, I forgot to set up that part with atypical inefficiency). Sad and crying in my office because of the crazy hurtful actions of my soon to be ex. The label and stereotype of that woman... No. I'm over it.
So I’m marching on for today, smiling, feeling it genuinely if I can, trying to feel nothing, nothing if I can't.
Its later, I’m riding home. My brain peeks into consciousness for a moment.
Tired. Long day, wish I felt like I had been impressive but thinking, not so much. I was okay. But now, tired. And still have to arrange for the HVAC repair, hopefully for tomorrow.
And make dinner for the kids. And school lunches to prepare, and stop at the bank for money to pay the sitter. And fold three loads of laundry. Tired.
It’s okay. Really. How am I handling this, with fear yes, but not paralyzing. The stress of the last few years follows a beat like the rampant introspection of Taylor Swift-like, "why, why, why". I feel like I have just left a war, met fire and hate, and still made it out alive. Snipers are still there, but distant. His fingers are curled at me but I do not see them, and only sometimes feel the threat of them in my dreams.
It’s okay. I'll save smiles for tomorrow, wide and plenty. And work on how I feel about me, me, me (because he would say, after all, it’s “all about you, you, you”).
Tonight, at bedtime, I’m praying for strength and the return for trust and joy again.
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