taking a day
Today is my brother's birthday. At several points during the BIAF, I looked at the Boy & said, "can you believe he's turning 29 next week?" I still can't believe it. I think that at this point, we all have to accept that his life path will be an eccentric one, that he will continue to bounce between careers and he may well move into the basement suite when we move out of it (though what he'll do with a whole basement remains to be seen. Even our bedroom is substantially larger than his now).
I'm home sick today. I've had a tremendous deal of difficulty getting into this week, and even with two full days of the teacher's equivalent of an in-cubicle vacation, I spent most of yesterday rattled beyond belief. My ability to make responsible decisions has sunk to embers, which means that I need a day to check myself before I wreck myself. Seriously – one bed decision could be career-ending, and I needs me my paycheque. (I suppose that means that I need to cheque myself.)
So I took the day. My family is surprisingly supportive, which I did not expect. The Boy always supports these decisions, but my family is deeply entwined in the Protestant Work Ethic and has trouble with the concept of mental health days. I guess I could have told them that I was fighting tears most of yesterday for no discernible reason (well, maybe a few discernible reasons), and Maeve & Mason didn't even ask why when I told them I wasn't coming in. When your co-workers already anticipate your sick day, you know you need one.
Things I have discovered today: I can't compose a journal entry while listening to spoken word performances, especially if it's a combo of the Lollipop People and the Latinist/declaimer from the Nihilist Spasm Band. Too much of my attention is hijacked by the wonderful weirdness. Laura Barrett is almost as bad in terms of co-opting my conscious mind, but at least her kalimba is soothing.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*