I want to break out. Break out of this thing that continually has it's palms resting on my shoulders. It is as if there's some kind of membrane that has encapsulated me and I want to tear it open; birth myself out of this perpetual yuckiness. But I don't know how.
I wrote this while working today:
8:40 am. There are still five hours and forty minutes before I'm done here and I'm bored senseless. All I can do is think about the shitty bed I sleep in every night and how much, at this very moment, I'd like to crawl back under its covers and close my eyes. I want to pretend that this reality is not mine. That this life, at the moment (excluding my husband) is not mine. Tomorrow there is no work, at least as of right now, I haven't booked anything. Is it possible to be both relieved and irritated at the same time? Tomorrow I'll sleep in, then get up and eat breakfast. After watching some of the news, I'll change and go to the gym. When I get home from the gym, I'll shower and eat lunch. While eating lunch I'll search in vain for something reasonable to watch on TV; chances are I won't find anything. So, I'll climb the creaky stairs to the ashtray scented office and attempt to burn up some hours on the Internet. By then it will be three or four in the afternoon, I'll consider what to make for dinner, make it and then wait for Big Red to come home.
That is my typical day. You might think I'd want to use my spare time to write or read, but the fact is, I READ FOR A LIVING. That's what I do when I'm subbing. I read in stretches of six or seven hours. I love to read, but I don't need to kill it. And as far as writing goes, I haven't really been inspired. I've tried to set my pen to the page but nothing has happened.
Tomorrow, while I'm trying to keep myself from ramming my head into a plastered wall, Big Red will be hanging out with his best friend. He happens to have the day off, in return for working this coming Saturday. He has plans. He has something to do. And am I jealous? You're damn right I am. Absolutely. I wish I had my best girl friends close enough to visit for the day. I'm closer in proximity to them now that we've moved back East, but still a few hours drive away.
Maybe things wouldn't seem so terrible if we were in our own place, surrounded by our own belongings. If my environment was inviting, comfortable. Truth is I'm stuck in a house with a person that irritates me. Is it possible to be thankful and irritated at the same time? I am thankful that they're letting us stay here. Really I am. I just can't stand it here. I've grown to hate the sound of a beer can being opened, the smell of cigarettes and hairspray in the bathroom when I get up in the mornings, the steps that won't ever be salted, the freezing temperatures INSIDE, and the ridiculously endless conversations the subjects of which are food. Food that isn't even GOOD!
My newest stop on the daily tour de Internet involves a trip to Craig's List. I'm starting to view the listings for apts. I want so desperately to be on my own again, it almost hurts. We're in limbo at the moment though and that's what's preventing us from getting on with it. My/Our hope is that I sign a contract for full-time work in the fall. This would allow us a more comfortable renting budget, perhaps one that would even allow us to rent a house. That would be awesome. A house all to ourselves.
As if I'm not feeling crappy enough, during my planning period I wandered into the library in search of magazines. I came across their magazine table and found a stack of the English Journal. I recognized one cover in particular and knew exactly what page to turn to. Sure enough, there was my poem, with my name. It was both wonderful and sad to see my words, my name in print. I wanted to raise it high above my head and scream to the obnoxious crowd filtering in: YOU SEE! I'VE DONE THINGS AND I'M A GOOD TEACHER. I'M WORTH HIRING.
But I didn't yell anything.
I just closed up the magazine and left it there on the table.