crazy chinchilla lady
It occurred to me last night that I am in the middle of an existential crisis.
The apartment is half boxes and half indescribable ungodly mess, Dr. M keeps rescheduling my advising appointment, and on top of it all I keep forgetting to water the plants. Everything is dead but the ugly geraniums. Also I gave out a ton of super personal information to the nurse at my gynecologist's office only to realize that her kid is one of my former third graders. Which is why I've been essentially hiding in my apartment for the last three weeks, because the last thing I need right now is to be out and about and hear the telltale shriek of MISS B LOOK MOM IT'S MISS B IT'S MY TEACHER from half a mile away. I can't face the kids right now. Especially not Piper, whose mother now knows more about my reproductive health than my boyfriend does.
Last night, I had a to do list longer than my arm. It included items such as "do laundry" and "pack books" and "notify landlord" and "eat dinner" but I chose to ignore it all in favor of lying on the floor while Bonnie alternated between climbing up and down my prone body and running off to chew on the walls. She did not, and I mention this only for the sake of honesty and clarity because it's actually kind of embarrassing, enjoy being scooped up and showered with kisses. But it did make me feel better, regardless of her sharp little teeth and nails.
Seriously though, does any of it even matter? All those moments I've spent lying on the floor while my chinchilla scurries up and down my legs and nibbles on my ears and sticks her face up my shirt (she gets this from her dad - arguably the less devoted of her two crazy human parents, but I've caught him snuggling with her when he thinks I'm asleep) - would it really have made a difference if I had spent those moments productively instead? Maybe the apartment would have been cleaner (honestly I gave up on it the day I got my first grad school acceptance), maybe my lesson plans would have been more plan and less improvisatory experiment (in my defense, my former kindergarteners are going into first grade able to read music like nobody's business) - but does it really matter?
And if I've gone this far without any dire consequences, how much further will it progress? My mother raised me to keep a fine house and my father raised me to be nothing short of obsessive compulsive over my career, and yet in the last six months it's all gone to hell while I lie on the floor with Bonnie. And yet it hasn't actually gone to hell, because the apartment is still way neater than Henry's house, even with the boxes, and my principal cried when I handed in my resignation last month. It really, really makes me wonder just how lazy I can be before things actually start falling to pieces.
This kind of power was never meant to be wielded by someone like me, because all I can think right now is "challenge accepted."
Maybe I should give up on this whole teaching thing and just start a chinchilla ranch instead.
The apartment is half boxes and half indescribable ungodly mess, Dr. M keeps rescheduling my advising appointment, and on top of it all I keep forgetting to water the plants. Everything is dead but the ugly geraniums. Also I gave out a ton of super personal information to the nurse at my gynecologist's office only to realize that her kid is one of my former third graders. Which is why I've been essentially hiding in my apartment for the last three weeks, because the last thing I need right now is to be out and about and hear the telltale shriek of MISS B LOOK MOM IT'S MISS B IT'S MY TEACHER from half a mile away. I can't face the kids right now. Especially not Piper, whose mother now knows more about my reproductive health than my boyfriend does.
Last night, I had a to do list longer than my arm. It included items such as "do laundry" and "pack books" and "notify landlord" and "eat dinner" but I chose to ignore it all in favor of lying on the floor while Bonnie alternated between climbing up and down my prone body and running off to chew on the walls. She did not, and I mention this only for the sake of honesty and clarity because it's actually kind of embarrassing, enjoy being scooped up and showered with kisses. But it did make me feel better, regardless of her sharp little teeth and nails.
Seriously though, does any of it even matter? All those moments I've spent lying on the floor while my chinchilla scurries up and down my legs and nibbles on my ears and sticks her face up my shirt (she gets this from her dad - arguably the less devoted of her two crazy human parents, but I've caught him snuggling with her when he thinks I'm asleep) - would it really have made a difference if I had spent those moments productively instead? Maybe the apartment would have been cleaner (honestly I gave up on it the day I got my first grad school acceptance), maybe my lesson plans would have been more plan and less improvisatory experiment (in my defense, my former kindergarteners are going into first grade able to read music like nobody's business) - but does it really matter?
And if I've gone this far without any dire consequences, how much further will it progress? My mother raised me to keep a fine house and my father raised me to be nothing short of obsessive compulsive over my career, and yet in the last six months it's all gone to hell while I lie on the floor with Bonnie. And yet it hasn't actually gone to hell, because the apartment is still way neater than Henry's house, even with the boxes, and my principal cried when I handed in my resignation last month. It really, really makes me wonder just how lazy I can be before things actually start falling to pieces.
This kind of power was never meant to be wielded by someone like me, because all I can think right now is "challenge accepted."
Maybe I should give up on this whole teaching thing and just start a chinchilla ranch instead.