Eventually you
Have to open your mail, boss
Bad news travels slow
Oh. Wes Anderson
You like him? Me too. I’m on
The spectrum too. What?
Grownups slicing through
Water like splashy fish I
Think maybe someday
A good death a bad
One. Is this what emo
Kids do? Work hospice?
I am preparing myself to have a meltdown because the logistics for this "service learning experience" are fucked. Our lab instructor did not attend the first session or offer any actionable insight to us, the students, or apparently to the center director (although she's a bit of an unreliable narrator if experience serves me right, so - who knows there!) and much of the observation we did was useless for the actual camps we're supposed to implement. And the time of day is a little bit fucked because it means we might be stuck with a classroom that's a) outside b) trying to have circle time or c) trying to get ready for outside or d) doing laundry and/or e) the lead teacher isn't there which is always a little squicky from the educators' perspectives. We aren't really being given guidance as far as how many kids/the vibe/what to do exactly and although I can and probably will call or message them directly once we figure out who's doing which class I want to fucking scream because why is this like this?
Thank you for holding space for my meltdown. I would rant more, but I cannot at this time.
One of my main takeaways from Neuro-occupation lecture so far is that the brain needs chaos to thrive, so at least I have that going for me.
Besos.
Guess what I've googled so far today:
- "Does expired escitalopram still work?" (no, bestie)
I've already ugly-cried today. And felt incredibly guilty over getting snippy with a random eight-year-old. I know better than that. I could justify it by saying I felt protective of my kid (and, yeah, I did) but also - unnecessary, Clara. What the fuck. I'm not even sure if she knew what happened, but she grasped enough to stop interrupting my trying desperately to get L to do the morning board and left us the hell alone. In as far as I have a plan (and I don't have much of one), I guess it's to apologize to the kid this afternoon. *sigh*
Moving forward (although maybe I shouldn't) with mocha vanilla amaretto latte with three shots of espresso from the coffee hut by my house and this with Murder She Wrote on in the background. My cat doesn't care, because I fed her. My daughter just knows that something's off with me. And I feel shitty about that too. I'm supposed to be steady for her.
I miss my old therapist.
I wish the world weren't falling apart quite as much as it is.
I need to be a better parent.
I wish I could move on gracefully; why does it always have to be traumatic?
Maybe I should just move in with my parents.
I need to get it together to interview people in a few hours.
I need to get it together to go by the troopers and fill out a form.
I need to do all the things I meant to do yesterday.
I need to pack up.
I need to do laundry.
I need to breathe.
I need community and instead I feel (mostly) judged (not by everyone, but - you know; it's the RSD).
I'm struck today with terror for the future rather than the cautious optimism I have been feeling - and I know it's mainly a combination of hormones and circumstance, but it still. Fucking. Sucks.
All right. That's enough. Time to be more like Jessica.
Cringe away, but I'm comforted by musicals at the moment.
Courtesy of Matilda:
"Just because you find that life's not fair, it / doesn't mean that you just have to grin and bear it / if you always take it on the chin and wear it nothing will change.
Just because I find myself in this story / it doesn't mean that everything is written for me. / If I think the ending is fixed already / I might as well be saying / I think that it's okay.
And that's not right / And if it's not right / I've got to put it right"
...and Into the Woods, naturally. Although I don't have any lyrics ready to go. Except, maybe, "When going to hide know how to get there. / And how to get back. / And eat first." which speaks to my epigenetics, I bet.
Just got through telling L "Bad news doesn't age well" and then paraphrased what that meant and I'm pretty sure she understood none of it, but also - maybe it'll lodge itself in her brain and she'll be able to access it later.
There's this dynamic that keeps recurring and it's not the best, and it perhaps explains a little bit about how I got to where I am with S. I've been thinking about it this week. Things feel far away and not so bad and not so immediately emergent right now...because he's not here. He's in Seward. It's been seven days since he's been home. Therefore, things are...fine. So I have the habit of being lulled into feeling like maybe I'm overreacting and things aren't so bad, etc. Or, at least, like I don't have to do anything because there is no immediate emergency.
However, I have four pieces of homework this week related to all this (not even homework homework) and I'm chipping away at it even though it feels squicky. I was listening to a podcast while supervising a play session outside at the church parking lot with L and her neighbor friend and it seemed pretty legit. They mentioned repetitive neural connections driving a lot of this nonsense (heck yeah it does), it being the listener's job to build boundaries and enforce them (which makes me want to vomit, but...yeah), and directly addressing the thought that if I just do the right thing long enough everything will finally be okay...but that in actuality, the listener will never be able to defend themselves adequately or change the other person's narrative in which they are a terrible person. And I guess that's the root of it for me. I can't change that narrative. I am not a villain, per se, but I stopped trying to "outperform" the criticism years ago. But in any case, a couple of the pieces of homework I still feel concerned about because I don't feel prepared enough.
"You'll never feel prepared enough, Clara." you say. "You don't typically feel prepared at all. For, uh, anything." And while that's not cute at my age, it is true.
All right. Time to complete the Fine Motor Kit that's not a kit at all but a protocol? I know professors think they're so cool being vague with assignment guideline because ThAt'S hOw It Is In ReAl LiFe. Well, I come to this program from real life and I'm familiar - it's not all that great! So how about we just have clear expectations somewhere/anywhere. That being said, yes. I know it's pronounced "If you're so fucking perfect do it yourself." Besos, love, and appreciation, but Jesus. This peds class is not starting out great, I gotta say.
- "A child with autism refuses to eat anything except Malt-O-Meal" ...'praps it elicits a sense of danger? Maybe?
- "A woman with a history of trauma develops postpartum psychosis after the birth of her first child?" ...why would she not?
- I don't know if you need to know this, but sometimes you just have to free-sing an Ani DiFranco-style song you've just made up quietly to yourself while driving home from swim lessons. It's quite helpful at times. And it's okay to not remember any details of the song after arriving home. I hope.
Anchorage is not built for wind. My favorite picture that popped up on the Anchorage subreddit was of a canoe wrapped around some sort of sign or pole. I don't mind it, but then to be fair we haven't suffered as much damage as most people. And/or my dad has made it his business to batten things down with adequately attached tarps at the start of the season (winter).
In any case school is cancelled for today. L is watching Nastya (ew) and eating Bluey-themed cereal for breakfast. The overnight hotel/pool party was a success as far as my anxiety-marinated heart can tell. The hardest part was FaceTiming her in the morning only to tell her, again, that no she couldn't fucking go in the pool with no lifeguard I'm not putting that on the mom supervising the whole concern and listen, this is what you fucking agreed to last night when you had a meltdown about the possibility of leaving because of this very potential issue next morning. I know, I know. She can't really project herself into the future and figure out "Hm. I might be sadder in the morning if I can't do this thing I really want to do!" And there's no way in hell she'd be able to comprehend that I just don't want her to fucking die, alright? Why do you have to be such a downer all the time, mom? Cue the Conspiracy Theory Charlie meme. That's why, kid.
S came home for the weekend and left again this morning even though the pass to Seward is probably impassable no matter what the highway reports say. I guess we'll find out tonight? Things are...weird and indefinite. I haven't been able to initiate conversations and he hasn't so I guess we'll reconvene next weekend and see What's Up. This means I didn't actually accomplish my homework for therapy this week, but grief is a nonlinear process no matter what [checks notes] Kubler-Ross says.
School is back in session for me, so I have my Legend Planner out and am starting to plug in due dates. Fewer group assignments this semester - thank the Christ child - but that one professor hasn't gotten back to me on WHEN ARE WE FUCKING GOING TO MY OLD WORK I NEED TO REQUEST TIME OFF AND OH MY GOD so hopefully it's nothing too wacky or I will have to quite The Siren early and I'll be honest - that's most of my socialization these days.
Otherwise, I realized last night that I'm probably feeling flat and sad in part because I realize it's hard for me to connect to my...self? If that makes sense? I'm having to reorganize my relationship to shit I've held as my identity for a long time and gently pressure myself into this sorting process that's a bit tedious. And then often I'm a bit sad because, why doesn't x make me feel...anything much anymore (looking at you, burlesque costumes)? Why can't I articulate to my Russian Orthodox SIL what my hobbies are? Not just because some of them are NSFW but because I do I actually derive joy from any of them anymore?
Anyway, that's probably the deal with 38 and grad school burnout and being a parent. But if and when I ask my eventual PCP questions it's going to go: perimenopause where are we at on that? Skin tags - don't love them. Should I be concerned about diabetes? Dopamine reuptake inhibitors perhaps? And then probably the usual other cancerous stuff that we all gotta go through. Why are you writing this down? Because otherwise I will forget, fam. The search function is a beautiful thing.
Also, I got to get told by an optometrist in sriracha socks that I have pigment dispersion syndrome so watch out for rising eye pressure! Guess what's pretty good for that? Caffeine. Guess that's not going anywhere anytime soon!
