Guys. I was doing great until the coffee spilled all over the counter this morning, and then I just completely lost my shit. “Great” is relative. I woke up semi-rested. Tutoring kids in my dreams isn’t what I’d call great recovery sleep. It’s not particularly lucrative either. But no one fell down a well or anything, so we’ll call it a good night.
I meditated fifteen minutes. Got all centered and you know. And then, feeling ready to greet the day and the people who left my clean kitchen with midnight-snack dishes in the sink, I woke everybody up just as sweet as those yams I popped in the oven. I emptied the dishwasher, washed dishes, rewashed sticky pan the husband washed last night, loaded laundry, sliced the fruit I’m genuinely grateful to have, made the boy French toast—I had all the balls in the air so the husband could get to his virtual school, and the son to his virtual classroom. Everyone in their place. My toast in the toaster. The clothes in dryer, and I’ve wiped down the washer so it won’t get mold.
I hate that job. You have to peel back the rubber seal. It’s like trying to brush the dog’s teeth. I’m going to have toast and coffee and sit. Then I’m going to tutor kids all day who get online notes like this from their teachers: “Monday, April 6 will be a pupil free day!” Are you fricking kidding me? Every day is a pupil free day, lady. The set’s down. The actors left the stage. But these poor teachers are standing there holding up the metaphorical walls. And I know their arms are starting to ache. What would happen if they let go?
Resources are limited right now. The husband set up my pour-over coffee with a filter that he neglected to mention was too big for the cup. So when I poured it water began to seep over the edge of the filter, at first gradually, a little line barely perceptible but it all happened so fast, before I knew it boiling water and coffee grinds flooded over. We’d just had a three hour family clean-the-house-day yesterday. Coffee splashes against my cream colored bathrobe and slippers. The last three paper towels smiled at me and shrugged from the roll.
I just stood there and watched the muddy river run down the counter, into my dishwasher, over the moldings on my wall, and pool its way down, large dirty estuaries on my wood kitchen floor.
And then I pulled the husband off of the computer. There were about forty faces on his computer staring back, but I told him he’d better come because evidently I was about to lose my shit. I sobbed. I wailed. I hyperventilated. “I can’t take it,” I told him. The sweet potato timer went off. Harder I sobbed.
He cleaned it up. He gave me a hug. And then another one.
The sweet potatoes came out too soft. I had to wash my robe and wipe dry the washer all over again. I hate wiping the washer dry.
This whole mess doesn’t look like it’s going to clean up anytime soon.
I had some coffee and some toast.
My son came out of his online class a bit later.
“Did you hear me have a meltdown?”
I had spilled all over like the coffee. I was sure it had flowed into his room.
“Yeah. I was going to ask.”
I told him why. He smiled warmly.
“I lost it, I guess.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “There’s a lot going on.”
He’s sixteen. I don’t get a lot of hugs these days. So, as Larry David would say, that was pretty, pretty good.
#ilostmyshittoday. Let’s make each other feel better! How did you lose yours?