As much as I love teaching, there is one definite by product that I sure could do without: the contagion of small children. A week ago, I subbed in a third grade classroom. It was a self contained all day affair and I loved it. It was extremely tiring, but the experience was well worth it.
The cold I wound up with was an unexpected bonus. I had a flu shot, but that doesn’t do anything about the common cold that is generally spread by small germy children and since the school board and common decency doesn’t allow us to spritz the little darlings down with disinfectant, I just had to grin and bear it. Sure the coughing, rough voice, no voice, low grade fever and generally crummy feeling has been fun, and it has been nice to have an excuse for my malaise and inability to give a teeny tiny rat’s behind about anything, but I’m getting tired of the being tired.
I had a brief outing with my Amanda Friend. Our silly was punctuated by actual important conversation and one thing I have learned in my recent work is that I really want to be back in a classroom. I would love to teach at one of the schools for which I am subbing, but I don’t think there are any openings in the near future. Another factor in my need for working is, of course, the need to support myself.
I’m not panicking or anything, the universe and my savings are gracing me with the gift of patience. (Meaning I’m not running around in tight little circles visibly freaking out.) I have enough funds secured to get me through the next two months.
There is the other revelation unearthed by my Amanda-Chat: I have got to get out of this house. Today I made my first mortgage payment. As per my divorce decree, EH paid the mortgage for the first full calendar year after our divorce. It’s been a year, so now I have to actually pay for the roof over my head. Now said roof is officially in my name. (Whee) And I have come to the conclusion that I do not want to live here for the rest of my life. To be honest, I don’t particular want to live here for the rest of the year, but I can’t do anything about that.
I could embark on a litany of all the things I would have to do to get the house sold, or even to just get all of my stuff out of it. (Here’s a hint, it has taken me almost four months to get the pre-sort piles together. Each pile has been assigned a room. The sock project is almost complete.) It’s in furiating, but I think acknowledging that I do want to get out from under the constantly shifting foundation of the albatross in which I live (What’s a metaphor? Sheep!) is a strong first step.
Facing reality puts the Groan in Grown-Up
You may now roll your eyes.