I sat in the staff workroom perfecting the upcoming book celebration plan. After kindergarten completes reading a Magic Tree House book – a second grade reading level – we decorate the cafeteria based on the book theme and have a dance party. For Midnight on the Moon, the scholars will walk in to a read aloud about the moon to see a blacked out room with bulletin board paper, stars and rocket ships on the walls, astronauts and moons hanging from the ceiling, a bowl of moon rocks in moon dust as centerpieces at each table and a pumped up playlist to get them moving after they eat.
All for them and to prove that I can excel at creation.
When my boss walked in, I was listening to a moon lullaby. I stopped it to find a more dance inducing song, and Boss told me to not stop on account of her. Smiling, I admitted I was searching for a better option.
As she placed her Wendy’s lunch on the table to sort through and refrigerate, I moved across the room to check the printer. I can lead a class of twenty-six five year olds, but striking up a common dialogue with a superior makes me bite my tongue. It was her who spoke. Curiosity I don’t know, but the Boss mentioned my approved day off. “I also saw that you added another day. Are you going somewhere?”
A conversation I didn’t expect, I was unprepared to lie. Stumbling sincerity: no, I just wanted another day to myself to write. Like a fifth grader asked about her feelings for her crush by the crush’s mom, I awkwardly added, “I can come in if you want me to.”
Where was the future me traveling back in time to stop me from committing stupidity?
Of course Boss tried to be lenient. Would I want Monday or Tuesday? I was getting a day off March 12th. That was a gift.
She packed up her prepped salad to take upstairs to eat in her office. I stood there in the empty space knowing if I screamed everybody would hear.
The chasm of frustration had me teetering on the endless rim of black hole vexation. What’s a personal day if I have to talk about it?
It’s Rich’s spring break that week. This semester has been hard on us. He juggles work, eighteen credits and jumping into game design without prior experience. We don’t see each other so much. All I wanted was to spend a long weekend with him, Indigo curled up between us as we continued our Naruto marathon. That day for vacation is approved. I just wanted the extra day for myself.
Why should I feel guilty about what I want? I take pride in my work, the youngest of the pack, I try to maintain my gait with the grade leader. Somehow I’m still the twelve year old who’s not good enough in comparison to the teachers who spend their weekends traveling to teacher conventions and hobble in noncontagious but diseased.
Scholars, parents, boyfriend, cat – and those are just the people who covet time and energy from me. Ice it with my meticulous desire to excel at creation in school projects, I don’t know how Supergirl does it. I don’t want to be taken care of, but I’m not taking care of myself either. How can I be entrusted to bring joy into anyone’s life?
I am a balloon filled with slime. Mud masked it can’t be popped; trickling life force leaving a trail of unappreciative attitude. I can’t inspire if I’m not my best self.
Coincidence awarded me the chance to blog nightly this week. This literacy testing period will be over soon and I will have to write twelve more lesson plans instead. The next testing period begins two days before Rich’s birthday. Personal days then won’t be an option so I won’t ask.
The worst hell isn’t torture. It’s a stretch of bleakness.
I used to be an actress, Jack Daniels my teacher, but it was a bad habit I had to let go of. A dull rock will never have the luster of pyrite – fool’s gold yet it sparkles. So I retreat into my mental cave of creation – for work and for myself – because the words I say aloud come out wrong.