Mountains, Valleys and Roadblocks
I taught my 2nd class today. I subbed the Chair class that I time share. Three were new and terrified by the prospect of something new. Chair yoga isn’t limited to the seat.
I charmed them with my moves and corny jokes. Chaka Khan lifted them to their feet. We raised ourselves like mighty oaks, soared in our seated pigeons, and explored the depths of waters surrounding our islands thrones.
They want more. 15 or so members of an MS support group. They begged for a later start. Management won’t budge. They see themselves as an elite athelete facility. They don’t even acknowledge our servicemembers, even the elite forces, but would rather provide them their special branch (to be built). No. They won’t change to accommodate the group.
Instead, I will teach who comes to me. If they want change some will have to give. I’m willing to go over, around or through, but I’m wondering who will be there when get to other side?
Tired of my face yet? Not as much as the Y will be. One class down. Two more to go.
Command central for the next 45 minutes.
For my day off, I found and applied for three new jobs, tracked down my paychecks, picked up Tres from the dealership. Then I made English Breakfast, taught metric weight, mass, percentage conversions, history and comparative religion.
Then we had lunch.
A little economics with Robert Reich, then a field trip on spending and budgets at the pharmacy for The Rooster’s 2nd round of step.
Then light housekeeping while I plan dinner, sub jobs for next week, a dinner with a VIP, a networking/training and my year long project. All while pondering how friends sometimes misconstrue my sarcasm.
I need this bed.
Just because I married young doesn’t mean I don’t know the spurn of romantic intentions
I get rejected from jobs and the young men who provide them all of the time.
I still keep trying though.
I emailed the other gym where I subbed last month. You know… Because they haven’t paid me.
Yep. I should have been paid twice by now. Since they aren’t clear on mailing my checks, I guess I get to go down there. Sadly, the ritzy place has been pulling this crap, too.
I don’t need this before coffee.
Cue Existential Crisis
Tres asked me how long we should plan on remaining in our house. The one we were going to put up for sale in 6 days.
"6 months? Or as soon as one of us gets a job to pay for moving?" I offered.
"So I should buy you a new house for your 40th birthday?"
I sputtered, “I’m not turning 40. In si— oh yeah.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck.
On a side note, that Resurrection show didn’t help with these weird feelings of loss, revival and confusion.
• Seeing pictures of my niece’s birthday party. She was born on my father’s birthday, but he died before her mother was born.
•Her mother, my half sister, was 11 when I left to get married.
• Seeing my sister’s younger sister, all grown up, playing dotting auntie. She didn’t exist even as a pregnancy when I left.
• Knowing in 23 days, Tres will be done with the Navy. His family will be coming. My originals won’t. They’ve lived generations in my abscence. Like ferral hamsters.
The Well is Dry
The baby things are for an acquaintance whom I’m covering for during maternity leave. She’s helping me get on the regular payroll with some permanent work at her other gig, too.
One baby hat for a cutie to be named at a later date.