Summer will begin in a few hours.
A summer so full of things (good and bad) that I’m not sure how I am going to write enough to meet my goals of having a publishable manuscript completed and still do enough massage to pay bills over the summer while ideally saving a bit to help during the first few months of school.
A summer where I won’t spend a third of each day in tears—like I did last year, if only by force of will.
My thirty –second summer.
When my dad was thirty-two, he had me. He and mom had been married eight years already.
I feel behind, nearly a decade behind. I still want children. I still want marriage (though not entirely when I’ve lost who I’ve lost). I want to have a writing career. I want. I want. I want. Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.
When I hear someone else is thirty-two, it seems like they still have so much life left—that they are really just starting. I don’t feel that, although I’d like to. I feel old and kinda used up.
Ok, happy. Choose happy.
Today, my sixth graders are graduating. Some that I’ve had since fourth grade. One that came to me without being able to read and write. Without being able to spend time in a regular education classroom.
While still far from where he needs to be, he can read now (thanks to a team effort). He can function more normally in relationships, and he has skills that he CAN choose to use to manage his anger. And, without pride, he wouldn’t have had these without me. I’m immensely proud of his accomplishments and his effort and how he has worked to begin to change his life.
I have a nephew. A gorgeous nephew. His only drawback is that he will forever tie me to Colorado. Every day I am desperate to flee from here. I’d stay for my friends, but even many of them talk about a day when they will live somewhere else. I won’t leave my family, and won’t leave my nephew. He is the biggest gift I have been ‘given’ in my adult life. Days where I don’t think I can continue or go on, I spend with him. Life is no longer about me, it’s about him. It doesn’t matter what is broken or hurting inside, when he is in the room, those things are gone and enveloping him with love is all there is. What could be better?
Black Coffee Tables
1 year ago