Apparently I am a little stressed.
Okay, yep, that’s the end of sentences as we know them.
My Blazer is dead, except when I try to drive it to the junkyard, when it refuses to overheat or dump gallons of water on the roadbed. But just try starting it again after the ride home from the junkyard has left.
So I took the big gamble and spent the metric ton of money on getting the Smallest Car Ever fixed, which it isn’t yet, so I’m still driving a borrowed car that I had to put tires on and still the brakes are weird and the swaybars are busted – whee! – and the little car still isn’t ready and OMG what was I thinking it is so small I will die and – I don’t know what all. Except for the fact that I love Little Car and feel brave in this car and have driven this car even in to the Big Town of Duluth, and have managed to work the clutch just fine. It gets 43 MPG goes 90MPH and the top comes off!, and all that crazy talk is left over from Stupidhead telling me – things.
And there is All The Stuff, which has to get over to the Monastic Cell of Dorm, forgetting that it takes an entire nine months to get that much stuff packed into that dorm room, and so I don’t have to have it all in place the First Day of Class, which will be a Tuesday, in case you forgot, and it is the day of Not Very Much Going On, so I will be trapped in a hot stuffy dorm room with nothing to do for hours.
And there is also the Going Down The Hall In Your Jammies bit. I hate that bit.
And leaving Daughter all alone, and too far away from me, and dark and scary and winter and wind and I don’t know – wargs must be involved in there somewhere. This one is too spikey-pointy. I don’t even let it in my brain.
So. I am so stressed out that my hands and feet and face hurt, which is like the weirdest stress thing.
So I sat down and made a list of what I had to put in the pile to go over there, not being sure how that would happen. And I started finding Some Of The Things, so that’s better. Then I got thinking about Small Metals, which yes-I-am-taking-again, and talking to that teacher, who is the best teacher I have ever had. Consistently. Always. And how last term I was taking a class from him, and he gave us this assignment, and I was beating my head against a wall trying to make a three-dimensional paper sculpture that had moving parts about some thing – moment? Happy thing? I can’t remember what the defining term was, and I hit that point where it’s all about being who I am once and for all, and made a paper airplane (around which there is a whole story), breaking (for me) the whole teacher-student relationship and changing it into a call and response –
And yes, I can take classes from this person every term till I’m done.
And somebody called and said I can use her truck to move All The Things.
So. Hey!! I’m going back to school on Tuesday!
Pass the ice cream and vodka.