Not Much to Give

OK. I'm really sorry. I've been remiss about posting on much of a regular basis. It goes for days and days and days, and I don't get here to write anything much. I understand that, for the ones of you who read us regularly, those long pauses can be nerve-wracking.





As Master has assured you all, we really are fine -- just strung out and tired and way too busy.





Still, that doesn't "feed" any of you as my friend, Tangerine, so cogently phrased it. I know from experience that, once a person gets "attached" to a writer in this blogging format, it is difficult to let it go...



So, in the interest of feeding the "audience," here's a smattering of "stuff" from our real lives:



It is springtime. I don't know how other teachers feel about this time of the year, but increasingly, I come to spring with a jumble of emotions. There is relief that the end is in sight. There is spiraling anxiety as I look at the "mountain" of work still undone. There is the beginning of fussing about turning lose this group of kids; allowing them to go on to the next year -- just as I've finally connected and come to love them so dearly. There is (by the very nature of the place where I teach) the craziness that falls into all my planning as the pace of "special" activities and events in each week accelerates.







For those of you who reside here in the US, it will not be news that April 15 was TAX DAY. I hate, loathe, and dispise TAX DAY. From the moment our tax documents begin to arrive in January each year, I start to agonize over the whole process. Our family tax situation isn't terribly complex, but it is inevitably miserable in the end. We never, ever seem to come through the process without ending up paying more than we've had withheld. Coming up with that extra cash is a source of significant anxiety for this "Checkbook Nazi." I'm the one who does the preparation, and I'm the one who scrambles to figure out where all the dollars will come from. I delay it as long as I possibly can. It is hideous. This year, just to complicate the situation, our printer DIED just as the crunch was coming for the preparation and filing of the annual tax returns. That technology glitch made it way more complicated, in the end, to get the necessary paperwork done and get everything filed. The end result was a late night dash to the downtown, "main" post office to beat the filing deadline. Thankfully, Master was there to drive me so that I didn't have to wander around the late night streets trying to find the post office. Mission accomplished.





The vacuumn cleaner died. We have to go buy a new one so we can clean the carpets. So many choices. So expensive. T and I are studying the "vaccumn cleaner" landscape, and trying to figure out which is the best bet. Just one more thing to try and manage. And honestly, vaccumn cleaner shopping is just not that sexy.

I had a really long day yesterday. Another today. Tomorrow, I'll take 42 eleven and twelve year olds (can you say, "hormones?") to our local zoo for a "Math Day" field trip. I've worked and planned and obsessed about every single detail of this trip for a couple of weeks. The kids and I have made measuring tapes and gathered data and measured our strides and arm-spans -- all in preparation for a day aimed at having them USE their math skills in real-world applications. The weather is supposed to be glorious. They are all excited. I am (always) anxious about taking all these "littles" who've been entrusted to my care out into the big wide world. I'll be easier when we all get back, safe and sound, at the end of the day.

I swear that I still suffer from periodic bouts of PMS. How can that possibly be? There are times when I am attacked by wildnesses that I cannot predict or control or explain. Last Sunday, from out of nowhere, I was nailed by a huge wave of sadness, grief and anger that was largely driven by my sense of sexual "nothingness." That sort of thing catches me off guard and leaves me feeling terribly unsettled. Early in my post-hysterectomy fury, I lived and breathed the air of frustration and rage over my loss. That has mostly subsided and I've felt "quieter" with it all. Most of the time, I go along and don't dwell on it. And then it comes roaring back and smacks me up along side the head. So not fair! I found this quote by Henry Emerson Fosdick that speaks to the emotional bitterness I experience; and its impacts on my life:

Bitterness imprisons life; love releases it. Bitterness paralyzes life; love empowers it. Bitterness sours life; love sweetens it. Bitterness sickens life; love heals it. Bitterness blinds life; love anoints its eyes.

And then it is all gone and I'm back on level ground again. It can't be PMS. I have no way to be generating hormonal storms. Still, it is as close as I can come to the way this seems to work for me. Sigh.

He and I are playing more, in spurts and lurches. We still tend to confine that sort of thing to the weekends. It is just the way it goes for our lives during the school year. That weekday 5:45 get-up tends to take the sparkle off the amorous stuff. More and more, He is (at least conversationally) moving to intensify the level of our SM. His fantasies are running to the "I don't care if you like it or not" side of things. There are fresh switches, and there is that new whip on its way. That creates huge ambivalence and fear for me. I don't know what to do with the stew of fear and excitement and anger that I drop into as He describes scenes that I know will take me way past the level where I'll be able to "be good." I don't want to fail the test. I know I will. I want to find my way through the battle. I wish I could trust that He would help me along the way, but I know I'll be on my own in the midst of it all. What a muddle.

We continue to work to support His almost 90-year-old father in these early days of his adjustment to the loss of his wife. Sunday night, Grandpa fell and cut his head. The staff at the assisted living center determined that it was best to have him transported to the emergency room. So, just after dinner, Master was off to meet his father at the hospital. Luckily, the wound, while requiring three staples to close it, was superficial and did not result in more serious injury. This time, they were done and home by 11PM. It isn't always quite that simple. Sigh.

I'm juggling. I'm dancing. I'm getting through the days. We all are. Don't worry, friends, we are keeping on. It is just a little challenging just now.





swan