what i've always sort-of believed
Sometimes I hate Saturdays more than other days, because at least during the week I don’t feel entitled to sleep in.
The Shitty Warehouse Job persists like a sexually transmitted disease. Yesterday the Boy had a Substitute Teaching interview for Sodom Heights School Board (my employer). He has a similar interview for the School Board of Greater Gomorrah on Wednesday. I’m just hoping we aren’t doing the sleeping-in-shifts thing by this time next week, because I am baked. There’s nothing like getting up with the baby, caring for the baby, working a full day, caring for the baby some more, putting reluctant baby to sleep, going to bed a mere half-hour after reluctant baby has finally stopped rearranging his furniture…and starting it all over again at 5 fucking a.m. Five days in a row. I’m coming to the conclusion that Blake & I need the same total amount of sleep, but he can skimp on the night as he gets a 2-hour nap in the middle of the day. I, of course, am allowed no such top-up.
Returning to the Boy for a mo’, I can’t say that I’m pulling for one board over the other. If he gets regular gigs in Sodom, we’d have to buy or rent here, which puts off my life plan even farther. But my commute would remain gorgeous. If he gets regular gigs in Gomorrah, we’d be one step closer to the glam city life to which I aspire. But the commute would suck.
I always thought of this job at Bat Masterson as a transitional one to get me through the babysitting stage with El Blakerino while leaving me free to move into Gomorrah. Over the past few weeks it’s dawned on me that I don’t think I can leave. It’s only been 7 weeks, but I am thoroughly spoiled for other schools. The thought of going back to Hogsboro takes on the lurid shades of nightmare, what with the crummy building, arrogant students, and loopy administration.
Dammit! If I’d only had a better experience at stupid fucked-up Hogsboro, I would have a little more resistance. Now that I’ve escaped those walls, I’m too in love with Bat Masterson to think of jilting it for another highschool. I am doomed to cringe away from change, fearing a return to hell. Thanks a lot, Goneril.
On Thursday, Blake confirmed what I have secretly believed for a long time:
”Mommy doesn’t have a wee wee.”
”No, Blake. I don’t.”
”Mommy doesn’t have a wee wee,” he sing-songed in his eerie, chest-cold voice, “everyone else has a wee wee but not Mommy.” He drew out the last word to Shining-esque spookiness before going on to his regular business with Mr. Potatohead.
I always chalked that up to paranoia. But I guess everyone does have one…except me. Thanks for letting my child be the one to break the news, universe. I appreciate the tact.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*