Sorry for not posting in awhile, all ye women in your thirties, but between parent teacher conferences, Tiger's infidelity, lesson planning, and the mini mental breakdown I had on Tuesday, I just haven't had the time for blogging.
My stress level confuses me. I don't understand exactly why I'm so stressed. I could use the move as an excuse, but I lived in China for three years for Pete's sake. It's not like Pleasantville is more difficult to adjust to. Teaching is a stressful job, sure, but I've been doing this for six years. You'd think I would have figured out how to handle the pressure by now. I like my job. I love my friends. And the men in my life, L and D, continue to wag their tails in happiness when they see me.
So what's up?
Friday, at a meeting, someone asked me what I was doing this weekend. I got that tightness in my chest that I get when I visualize my to-do list (which is very real, kept in my planner) and realize that there's no way I'm going to get through what I need to this weekend and have an hour or so of downtime to... oh, I don't know... sleep. She sensed it.
'You need to block off Sunday,' she said after I listed all I had going on this weekend. 'For you.'
A woman in her thirties takes a day off from herself. (Isn't that rule #1 once we enter this decade?) Today I'm doing laundry, getting my fat butt to the gym, making a nice dinner, and catching up on So You Think You Can Dance. I will not think about the lessons I have yet to plan, the Christmas cards I can't decide to whether or not to mail, or the poop that Daniel just ate while on a walk. There's only so much a woman in her thirties can do.