Monday, August 25, 2008
98: The Lonely Panic Attack
It's all about the movement of the chest: the tightening, the wonky breathing. It's about waking up in an empty bed, the sheets tangled around your legs, the hands desperately searching for some comfort. It's about the terrible dreams that trail after you in the morning (Kelly sat across from me in a restaurant, told me about how she thought Ryan wasn't good for me, that we weren't good for each other, and I searched for this quote about language and walking barefoot in the grass, and I woke Ryan, who was being driven to the airport by my mother at four in the morning, though I don't know where he was going, and I needed to ask him how he thought we were doing and if "good" were a content relationship and "bad" were a relationship that should divorce, where were we? and I woke just as he was about to answer).
It's not just bad dreams that have made me a bit distracted, a bit trembly this morning. It's the realization that summer is now over. Today is my official last day of "vacation," which, of course, my husband chided me about as it's been several months now. I am a creature of habit, and it has been ingrained in me to dread autumn a bit, to brace myself for the sheer work of lesson planning and grading. Please don't get me wrong, though I do grump about teaching high school a great deal, part of it is some nasty experiences I had that are very specific, and this kind of sour experience has bled into other, very good experiences.
And tomorrow begins this new journey. Orientation and graduate instructor training. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.