It’s Going To Be A Good Day

Today was a good day because I was responsible for conveying to people I have never met the importance of student employment on a university campus. I did nothing, in particular, to prepare beforehand.  In fact, I woke up extremely late this morning at exactly 6:47 am.  If it wasn’t for the faithfulness of my husband calling me in the early morning hours, I would have slept in a bit longer.

Yes, this was the start to another one of my hustle and bustle days, where I am trying very hard to accomplish duties in one day that two people working simultaneously together would not be able to complete.  But each day I wake up optimistic that this will be the day that I succeed at completing the tasks that I failed so miserably to complete many other days before.

One of my first goals would be to leave work in the evening early enough to pick up my little one from her babysitter on-time.  My next successful mission would be to drive down our driveway, park under our carport that would be clear of wet mud and enter into our tidy and neat home; that I managed to clean the night before. Shortly after I would immediately throw on my apron and start dinner with groceries that I bought a few days prior; from a planned menu that I created a week before that!

Someone pour a cold bucket of ice water on me please and wake me up from this fantasy.  In reality, I am waking up a half an hour later than planned.  Feeling extremely sore from lying in one position all night bent and twisted like a pretzel during a restless night on a small section of my California king size bed. This is due to the fact that 75 percent of my bed has been taken over by my 8-year-old daughter; who only sleeps soundly and comfortably through the night snuggled next to me with her legs sprawled over the lower portion of my body.  Yes, my reality is waking up, rolling out of bed, body aching, stumbling over clothes lying on the floor, trying to make my way to the toilet. Only to be able to finally let go of urine that I have held inside for hours lying in a bed trapped by my child. Next, I slowly rise and look into the mirror above my bathroom sink to study my appearance before stepping into the shower.  At which point I stare a weary glare into the small mirror gazing at my thin and curly hair; wondering if I look fatter and or older than I did only hours before. Sadly, I come to the conclusion that I do.  Feeling defeated possibly depressed after showering I change gears to consider what articles of clothing I will put on today. A moment of concentration is put forth at this time only because my outfit will be a showcase to the world, not the whole world, just my world, of what if any fashion sense I have.

Feeling slight anxiety, pressure and overwhelmed of the thought of picking something out of my closet that will compliment my figure,  I move onto thinking of the daunting task of waking up my little girl from her peaceful sleep.  Yes, this is daunting because it will no doubt lead to me elevating my voice to a level that no one should at such an early hour in the day.  I would like to compare this routine to one of a rooster crowing loudly, in the early morning as the sun is peaking over the horizon, waking up those who have worked hard the day before in the field.  But in my reality, there is no rooster, field or sunrise only me standing wrapped in a towel looking at myself in the mirror repeating with a spirit of reluctance “little one, little one; little one please get up for school!”.

– excerpt from my daily journal originally written on 08-16-16

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