Panic sets in.

So I'm trying to blast my way through my thesis while prepping for the Bravo Awards site visit, grading finals, learning to crochet so it's second nature after my surgery, spending time with my son, and trying very, very hard not to panic.



I'm so damn freaked out. I mean, sure, who wouldn't be. However, I'm rather used to having everything very together and I'm not doing such a hot job on that right now.

Fuck you, world. Can you cut me some slack for a few months so I can do the things I really want to do while I still can? I mean, sure, I'll mostly be back to normal within 6 months to a year, but DAMN IT there are things I will never ever be able to do again, and I'm sure as shit not doing them right now AM I?

No. I'm reading study after study on an educational practice that I find iffy at best (and/or worst) because frankly, so far no one has ever conclusively proven that it does fuck-all despite over 30 years of it in the American classroom. But since we're all bracing for more layoffs, I really do need to finish my Masters in time, just-in-case. How sick and sad that I've spent 9 years in the classroom-an award winning educator-yet I'm still quaking in my New Rocks over layoffs like some 1st year intern. So, instead of heading down to Disneyland with my brilliant child and the LOML on Monday to ride a looping rollercoaster for the first (and likely last) time in my life, I will instead be reading another 10 tragically boring journals on a topic I really couldn't give two shits about. Instead of spending the weekend in San Fransisco roaming my second-favorite city in the world with a wonderful man that I would love to share it with (sorry NYC, you're #4,) I'm going to instead grade epically awful essays and TRY to focus on the slowly blooming aesthetic perception and valuing that lies beneath the horrendous grammar and stunted vocabulary of shamefully under-served urban minority youth.

I'm glad we did the Grammys last year. I don't think I'm strong enough this year for them. I know I couldn't possibly get a dress made in time, and frankly, I don't want to put that kind of effort into a gown that I will hopefully never, ever be able to wear because I will never, ever be this fat again. Not that I worked out today, or anything. But then, I'm hardly eating too. I can barely eat these days. Even when I'm hungry, everything sounds awful. The thought of eating chocolate, once my great joy, makes my stomach turn a little.

I've been "forgetting" to make the appointment for the estate lawyer. It's not on purpose, I just only ever seem to remember after the end of the business day. Hell, I never remember until after midnight.

I want to plan our wedding. I need to do my taxes. My heart and soul and every fiber of my being screams out to create some lasting thing of meaning and beauty and I just can't do it right now because I'm racing the clock so that when I finally can get out of bed and get on with my life I'll have a life to go back to.

I better not fucking die from this because I'll have left far too much undone and it would just be horrendous. And I better get around to writing that "advance directive" because it would actually be a fate worse than death to be an uncommunicative prisoner in my husk of slowly atrophying flesh lying there thinking about all the things I never finished.

Fuck.

I'm more than a wee bit depressed with all of this.

I'm exceeding lucky and thankful for Matt. How he puts up with me I'll never know.