I can feel the primal scream building in my throat. Aren't we done this week yet?! I think I've been teaching since the continents split.

This dread I feel can't be blamed on anything specific. There isn't one kid I can't handle (yet) although there are quite a few professional pains in the ass. My lessons have been interesting, I've planned each beforehand and I've coped with sudden changes. My colleagues have been supportive. My mother has made dinner every night this week and even washed Blake's clothes & diapers on Wednesday. And the Boy got me "good luck" flowers on Thursday, so I've had bee-youtiful blossoms to contemplate in the English office.

It's the relentless sameness of the days. It's leaving at 7:15 and returning at 4:15 and scrambling to fit all the work into the day so I don't have to drag it home. It's wanting to sleep forever and a baby who wants to be fussy at 4 a.m. It's a son who wants to nurse every 20 minutes when I'm home, just to reassure himself that I'm not going anywhere. It's the undertow when I drag myself out of his arms every morning and the equally-heartbreaking pulse of joy when I swoop him up in the evenings.

I don't think I'm depressed, although I do have the certainty that if I start screaming I may never quit.

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 2/10/2005 07:52:00 p.m.