dear non-broken ever-persevering blog,
I find it impossible that your kitty from the far-off lands so suddenly met a terrible end. After all that - ? Just to - ? I have no words.
How are YOU.
It's impossible to me, on a much more superficial note, that pomegranates exist. These treasure troves of addictive shimmery kernels. We ate them this weekend. They were 58 cents each.
And my impossible, improbable job. How did I even end up teaching littles, and really caring about it? So much that when my assistant was recently taken away and my classroom that I worked so hard to create was half taken away, I melted down into a frantic puddle. Tears are vexingly effective and I now have some semblance of help (unpaid assistants, bless them), at least through the month's end, so for the moment it's not quite as bad? as originally perceived. But still so many problems with combining ages 2 and 3. One wants to eat buttons and the other really does not want to share. No one wants to hear stories anymore. They run laps and bang the plastic hammers as loud as they possibly can. There is a holiday program to learn and take-home gift-type projects to create, but we are operating with our bare-bones, hoping to keep this ship afloat until it evolves into another type of vessel (full-day operation, details TBD) -
I want to teach them things, but at the moment, if they can just stay alive.
And then through all of this, here is me, impossibly as the girl with the tick on her back. Or in my brain. An impossible tick ate my brain. Day 40 of antibiotics approaches with no change. No expulsion or extinction or thorough exorcism as hoped. An acceptance of the new Way Things Are and have been for months - flu-like mornings, lack of short-term memory, weak right arm like I touched a Horcrux or something. All-over arthritis. Not to mention the random twitches and zaps and pains and tingles, whatever the tick at its post commands. Floating through the day as though everything's fine and it mostly is until I pause and then -
by the spirochetes or whatever they are swirling around inside my blood and my muscles and mind.
Life is a string of impossible things, one after the other, and yet we remain surprised. I wonder why.
much love to you,