Oh, oh, oh, my head is on the verge of explosion. There’s too much going on in there, bumping around and against itself and still not making a shred of sense.
I have one more day of intern clinic, and then one more weekend of classes (proprioceptive neuromuscular facilitation, which is not as bad as it sounds), and then school is over. I will study. I will take the national board exam and I will become licensed.
And then I can’t use “I’m in school” as an excuse to not have my shit together, or at least have some kind of a plan for thinking about deciding how said shit will come together. And by my shit, I mean my whole family’s shit, because I tend to be in charge of the shit that needs to come together. And I can no longer use “I’m in school” as an excuse for working part time and keeping my family broke. Even a little bit. I’m going to have to own the part-time thing as it relates to the broke-ass thing, knowing that the good-hearted effort to spend more time with Bird also includes the reality that I could be doing more. I could be trying harder to save us from broke-assness.
So then maybe I will give massage somewhere one day a week in addition to my now three-day-a-week job with the dying people and the small-but-steady paycheck. But then, am I following my initial plan to have more time with my family? Or am I just really looking for full-time work after all, no matter how you piece it together? And do I really want to stick around with the dying people? This was supposed to be temporary. And oh, what a mess.
So begins the whirring of my gears, but the cogs and wheels are getting all mucked up with muck and it becomes overwhelming. What if this, what if that, what about childcare, what about another baby, what about the bills, what about the mortgage, what about that ten-year-old car, what about a drink? Yes, I could use a drink, thank you. And I’ll kiss you on the mouth if you give me a smoke and talk to me about something else.