This morning I thought I’d better start planning the month out, decide which weekend to take Elise to Pumpkintown, make sure I get a babysitter for one particular potentially fun Saturday night, don’t forget the Salem book sale, etc.
Then I had a heart attack because when I looked at my calendar I saw it was October 15th, and the month is already half gone.
I thought this year would feel painfully slow.
I thought that the pallor of getting Trumped was going to make this year one of the worst of my life, but it definitely hasn’t been. It hasn’t been much of a year, but it hasn’t been close to the worst for me, so there’s that. I wish I could say more for the rest of the world. I wish I could say more for my own kid.
The days are long but the years go by so fast.
Thanks go to The Shins for that truth bomb.
These last six weeks of days have been particularly slow for me, but surprisingly not as slow as I thought they’d be – not as long and hard as I thought they’d be.
I decided to homeschool Elise this year, and I decided in August. This is all very new, and I went into this not knowing what the hell I was doing, and I am six weeks in now and not only do I still not know what I’m doing, but I feel like I actually know less than when I started, because so many of the things that I thought might work for us have failed miserably.
However. I haven’t once, for even a moment, regretted my decision to pull her out of school. I haven’t written about it at all yet, and I’m itching to, but don’t even know where to begin.
This story has themes like:
- I’ve completely lost faith in the public education system
- I never felt good about private or charter schools in the first place
- kids are fucking cruel and ruthless
- the way we measure and value success in America is absurd
- if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree it will always think its a failure
- I just want to make the best of things and enjoy life, that’s it, why should that be so hard for people to understand?
- If Elise isn’t happy, why does any of this matter?
- We’re all going to fucking die in a nuclear winter pretty soon, so #YOLO? Right?
Eh, I don’t know. I’m a pessimistic Debby Downer, but I don’t want to be, I really don’t. I think it’s just ingrained into my DNA to want the best for everyone, and from everyone, but to never expect it, so basically, everything feels like one big disappointment.
Depression, derp, this lying whore. I’d love to ascend up out of this pond scummy hovel I’ve accidentally built in my brain, or my brain built for me. That bitch.
At least I’m in a place today where I can see things as they are. Things are shitty, but I’m a master at staying perky and acting as if things are fine. It’s when the mask slips that I have to worry about myself, and when people really worry about me.
But, I wonder, I’ve always wondered, what’s underneath that mask?
Finding out what’s under there, seeing what’s left buried, is something I’m very interested in. I’d like to just take this quiet journey into the wilderness by myself like I’ve done a time or two before, but losing your mind to find yourself just isn’t fun alone.
And of course, it isn’t fun without a lot of words spilled on pages.
Spilled ink. It happens.