Just Another Cottage in Blogville

Wilting

Sitting in my cozy carriage house home, listening to the sounds of the electric kettle starting to boil for my evening tea, the dishwasher drying another day's worth of dishes, and the bathroom fan on to alleviate some of the chemical odors from just being cleaned. One of my resolutions as an adult is to dedicate fifteen minutes to housekeeping each day. Today, the bathroom was scrubbed. Hooray! As I can't afford to live in a pigsty for my own sake, nor to hire a cleaning service, this is my solution. We'll see how long it holds up.

There are still piles of boxes and things to take to work, donate, or discard scattered about the living area. It's driving me insane. I just want a home to settle in -- and I have to wait five more days for garbage night. The donations will likely go tomorrow. So will the work stuff -- I'm trying to build up my classroom library, and consequently have boxes of books from my own teen years that I haven't touched since ready to go out the door.

Today was the first day that homesickness hit me fully. I was driving home from a chiropractor visit and broke down sobbing in the car. If traffic hadn't been so congested, and if I hadn't been in a work zone, I would've pulled off to the side of the road. It seemed safer to keep driving, forcing myself to breathe as slowly as possible. Worries compounded on the homesickness. This month marks the 18th birthdays of some of my former students -- who often got themselves into serious trouble with no regard for consequences. I grew to love these students despite their horribleness, and I mourned the inability to watch them graduate this spring as I work across the state now. Teaching involves more wounds than I ever predicted.

My goal for tonight is to get to sleep before 11pm (ha -- we'll see), and to wake up tomorrow at 7 (and actually get out of bed when my Fitbit vibrates). Each day is so packed with things to do. Adulthood is just an endless series of tasks that you don't want to do but have to; not because your parents are beating you for it, but because you actually have to.

Hope this blog entry was semi-coherent. Wilting.