It is now 8:23am. I woke up about ten minutes ago.
For those who have talked to me recently, you may know that that's an incredible relief. For the last week or two, I've gone to bed at a reasonable time, woke up at least once an hour throughout the night, and finally rose to the sound of my alarm in the morning, bleary-eyed.
"You look beat," one of the custodians at school said to me the other day.
"Thanks?"
At first, I thought maybe something was off about my sleep routine or setup. Maybe I was looking at my phone or computer too much before bed. Maybe it was too warm in the room. Maybe too cold. Maybe there was too much light coming in. Maybe the outside sounds were waking me up. Maybe the mattress needed to be turned. Maybe the clutter was subconsciously interfering with my sleep.
So on Tuesday, I cleared my bed, washed the sheets, turned down the AC, put up a blackout curtain, downloaded a white noise app, reduced my pre-bedtime screen time, turned the mattress, and did everything I could think of to make the space more sleep-friendly.
And then I woke up every hour that night and rose that morning to the sound of my alarm, as though I'd never gone to sleep at all.
At this point, I abandoned my focus on feng shui and honed in on the one thing that was probably to blame:
STRESS.
To be clear, I don't feel that stressed. I don't feel as relaxed as I did this summer, but I also don't feel as though the world is collapsing in around me.
On the other hand, it wouldn't be the first time I'd been haplessly unaware of my own anxiety. Remember that time I had my toenail removed (gross, sorry), and they turned my toe into a pin cushion with an anesthetic needle? Halfway in, I was surprised by how well I was taking it, breathing and everything. And then when the doctor was finished, I looked at my toe, said "I don't feel so good," and proceeded to pass out.
In my defense, there is a lot to be maybe-stressed about at work. Since August, my start time as a teacher has changed twice, and the start time for kids has changed twice as well. When I first went back, we were told that we had four days (not school days, just straight up days) to get our rooms in order before the kids came. They didn't have to be perfect, but the kids were coming. Then there was an issue with the construction, and students' return date got pushed back a week. So I spent a week prepping and prepping and prepping, to the point that I have my classroom in order, my first week planned and copied, and paperwork done that I wouldn't have had time to even think about yet. There's never been enough time in the past.
So, instead of the normal gotta get it done stress, I'm stuck probing my subconscious: what am I missing? I know I'm forgetting something, but what is it?
If I were wise and easy-going and good at dissociating my self-image from my career, I would slough it off and allow myself to be okay with the possibility of being underprepared for something--it's inevitable, to a certain extent. Instead, I harp and harp and harp.
The night before I returned to work, I had a series of nightmares, all of which involved someone trying to break into my house in some way or another. In one, my bedroom door was locked, and the intruder couldn't get in. I could hear him outside my bedroom, so I looked under the door to check it out. There, I saw stocking feet and the hem of nice, khaki-colored slacks appearing from above, as though the intruder had been climbing the door and was coming back down.
Why is a well-dressed businessman breaking into my house and scaling my walls? I already had a guess as to what it could mean, but I looked up the dream interpretation of it online, anyway. Here's what I found:
To dream of a break in, especially if it’s your own home, signifies a sense of loss of identity or an invasion of some part of your being. Do you feel like there’s an invasion of privacy or an invasion on your self-assuredness in your real life? Do you feel like you’re losing control of your space or, for that matter, of your fate? Alternatively, a dream about a break-in could potentially be hinting at some aspects of your personality or your life that you’re in denial about. A house, in a dream, signifies the innermost part of yourself.
If you have a dream about a break-in, ask yourself this: What in your life is making you uncomfortable at the moment? Is it your job, your relationship, something to do with your kids, something about another family member? Now, for the tough part: Pin down what exactly it is that makes you uncomfortable or that invades your space and figure out how to resolve the issue.
So I thought about it, and decided that what makes me really uncomfortable is the suggestion that teaching has somehow become an intruder in my life. Loss of identity? Invasion of some part of my being?I will admit, for the first time in a while, going back to work was particularly painful. Mourning the freedom and relaxation of summer is normal, but this felt different. Yes, I was excited to see my work friends. Yes, I was excited to get back into a routine. But the actual act of teaching? Eh, I'm not there yet. I have a feeling it'll kick in on Monday when the kids come in, and I get back into my groove. I hope so, anyway. The paperwork and BS has never been my favorite part, so maybe the pre-student feelings aren't all that surprising. It's always been about the kids.
Still, it might be time to start considering alternative career paths.
On top of the stress of returning, I've also added to my shoulders the responsibility of being team leader, the hardest part of which is the uncertainty of what the job actually entails. I'm not very good about reading my emails carefully or remembering lots of things at once (or walking with gum in my mouth, to be honest), so the idea that the fate of my team rests on me is pretty tough. And as I said, I'm not really sure what's required of me. To my knowledge, no leadership meetings have been scheduled. No directives have been given. My only saving grace is my team, a group of wonderfully competent and contributing members who are willing to share the load and responsibility for getting things done. Also, perhaps just as important, they are my friends.
All this to say, the last couple of weeks have been a struggle on top of a struggle. Sadness and stress. Maybe there's consonance with those two words for a reason.
Similar to my stress ignorance, I'd mistakenly thought that I'd finally kicked the heavy sadness. You know, moved on and whatever. Sure, my dating life was falling off, but I was okay with it. It was a choice. I was giving myself time. I needed time.
And then I watched a romantic comedy about a guy who lets a girl go and then immediately regrets it, and I found myself sobbing at the happiest moment in the movie (not happy crying, mind you), and I knew that I needed even more time than I'd thought.
I finally let down the guy I'd had a drink with the weekend before work started (we'll call him Mickey because he had a surprisingly good Mickey Mouse impression). We'd been texting back and forth for a week or so--him with excitement, me barely responding--and with the waterworks, I knew I had to let him down easy. I thought maybe he'd get bored and move on already, but it seemed honesty was required to give my phone some peace.
Me: Mickey, I'm really sorry, but I'm going to have to bow out for a while. I was in a relationship not that long ago, and I got on Tinder because it had been weeks and I thought I was over it. But then I unexpectedly broke into tears during a romantic comedy Saturday night, so I'm going to guess that I'm not actually over it. And I'm pretty bad at the whole Fake It Till You Make It thing. So, I don't want to waste your time or lead you on or anything like that. I think I need some more time on my own before I'm ready to start dating again. You are really wonderful, and I really enjoyed our drink last weekend, and as such, I think you deserve to spend time with someone whose heart is in it. Please forgive me.
Maybe a little over-dramatic, but it did the trick.
Him: That kind of sucks. I was actually looking forward to seeing you again. Ha, it's no big deal, no need to be sorry. You can't help how you feel. If you change your mind, let me know, even if you want to hang out as a distraction. Ha.
And then there was one.
Actually, technically, it's probably not even fair to say that one man remains in my dating sphere. He should probably only count as half, since we've never met. He invited me to get a snowball with him last Sunday afternoon, and then texted me that he was sick. I wished him well, and then when he didn't text for a few days, I wrote him off, assuming that he wasn't actually sick, but instead, trying to get out of it. I mean, who gets sick in August? But then, out of the blue, he texted me on Thursday, asking how my week was going. So I said "Okay," and then came out with it:
Me: I'm not gonna lie, I was pretty convinced that you made up an illness because you had second thoughts about this snowball.
Him: I don't have second thoughts, Rebekah.
Well, shit.
I had nothing to say in response. Had the comment been made in person, I think I would've just stared at him awkwardly for a few seconds, jaw ajar, just like they do in cartoons. Needless to say, it was a bold statement, and I was not a little uncomfortable with my slow response and lack of witty retort. Minutes later, I finally just texted him something dumb like Haha, wow. Because what to do you say to that?
Despite his apparent lack of regret, he has yet to ask me out again, and I foresee this conversation going one of two ways: (1) He gets bored and stops texting, (2) I get bored and write a long, drawn out note about my current situation that doesn't actually reflect the fact that I'm just not that into him. I mean, in this particular case, I'm fairly intrigued. But intrigue only lasts so long.
And so, I will begin the school year in the way that I have begun almost every school year in the past: single and nervous.
But as sad as that sounds, I'm making a conscious effort to look on the bright side of things these days (as it doesn't come naturally when I'm stressed), to see things for the blessings that they are.
For example, Sunday evening, I got into my car after volleyball training and drove a quarter of a mile before horrendous metal-grinding sounds started near the front passenger side. I was stranded in an ever-darkening neighborhood in a fairly distant suburb in sweaty clothing, waiting for a tow truck to show up and take me back to my neck of the woods. The next day, the auto shop we dropped it off at called to say that they looked over the whole car and drove it around for a while, and they didn't hear a thing. Apparently, it had fixed itself.
That whole venture cost me about a hundred bucks. And multiple hours of time. But I keep trying to tell myself: it could've been so much worse. I could've been stuck without a book in the car. It could have been the first day of school the next day. I could be dishing out thousands of dollars right now. Instead, I got away with a $110 check and a quality hour of reading on a non-school night.
The worst part of the whole thing was that just before the sounds started, I was listening to something on the radio about Katrina. And thinking about how I learned to drive my car (stick shift) in the wasteland that was Gentilly in 2006. And then thinking about how that means that I've had my car for almost nine years. And then thinking about how well it still drives.
I should've gotten wood interior, so I'd have something to knock on.
This morning, I woke up content: I'd just gotten twelve hours of solid sleep, and I had no plans for the day other than volleyball with my friends. I had no boyfriend to consider, no relationship troubles to grapple with. In that moment, I was happy to be single. Sure, I'm nervous it'll last, or that I'll end up finding the right guy past my childbearing years, but as I opened my eyes and checked the clock, I surprised myself by how grateful I was to be on my own. To make my own choices, to use my time however I want. This is the bright side of being single, right? Also, the flirting with three guys at once in a bar when you're a couple of Makers deep, knowing your friends will drive you home (thanks, last Saturday night). But mostly the independence.
And so, I embark on the day, well-rested and ready for a little romp in the sun. Something to get my blood pumping. Something to ease my mind. Something to start the day right.
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