This morning, I decided to do something I don't normally do: relax in my classroom. After settling Oatmeal into his classroom cage with a handful of spinach and his wooden toy ball, I decided to look through pictures from spring break last year. And what I found was a very near-perfect memory of less anxiety and way more fun.
We were driving down the Golden Gate Bridge, with all of these window views i had never seen: green rolling hills, misty ocean views, drinking hand-poured coffee from this place that smelled like coffee heaven, Sunday morning, windows rolled down, and Eve starts playing....
"Sister Christian
Oh the time has come
And you know that you're the only one to say
Ok."
And I can feel us all grinning, we are all mumbling the opening verse lyrics, trying to breathe normal while seeing whats in front of us, drinking coffee, smelling the perfect misty air.
Alex points to a green rolling hill.
"They used that scenery for Windows 95 background."
I immediately text my dad. Epic.
"Where you going
What you looking for
You know those boys
We were driving down the Golden Gate Bridge, with all of these window views i had never seen: green rolling hills, misty ocean views, drinking hand-poured coffee from this place that smelled like coffee heaven, Sunday morning, windows rolled down, and Eve starts playing....
"Sister Christian
Oh the time has come
And you know that you're the only one to say
Ok."
And I can feel us all grinning, we are all mumbling the opening verse lyrics, trying to breathe normal while seeing whats in front of us, drinking coffee, smelling the perfect misty air.
Alex points to a green rolling hill.
"They used that scenery for Windows 95 background."
I immediately text my dad. Epic.
"Where you going
What you looking for
You know those boys
Don't want to play no more with you
It's true."
And here it comes. The four of us, sing through our grins.
"You're MOTORIN! What's your price for flight? And FINDING Mr. Right?!"
Eve turns to us from the passenger seat.
"Cuz we're motorin'!"
We drive through wine country and it is nothing but winding roads that lead to more winding roads, old pick up trucks, miles of grape vines and wavy grass fields that never seem to end. You never want them to end and they listen to you. And we stop at a roadside wine shop and buy a local bottle and some sea salt chocolate and drive to the ocean and hike through grasses and find this view from a boulder that's laying on its side and we have a picnic and stare at the water and breathe in all the air and Alex and Paul go and climb on every hill they can and Paul disappears behind a huge cliff and I think he's dead and after way too many minutes he comes back grinning with the camera and I breathe in all the air. I stare at all the water. I don't move, I don't want to leave, I wouldn't have left if I could've stayed.
I had another half-panic attack at the mall Saturday. I felt like some sort of addict that relapsed. There were so many faces to avoid, too many people to feel safe, not enough control of the paths to walk around them. I put the passenger seat of the Jeep all the way back as Paul drove home and closed my eyes. The sun was too bright and my stomach hurt. Then he turned on a song about not bein' around and how he misses his person. And I cried like I always do with songs about not bein' around and how he misses his person. And I got mad.
Not like the mad that makes you punch people in the butt. The mad that makes you change things. I am thankful for that mad. It makes you move on and do things that scare you.
I am over crying at everything: the shirt at Old Navy that says "Everything Will Be Awesome," the radio songs about leaving and me feeling like I'm already divorced, the way I have to stuff myself into a fake happy elementary teacher every single day when I just want to be sad and angry and sleep in the big puffy chair, and the way that our life is poured into 13 hours a weekend, where we miss all of the things marriages/relationships need, where I have to force myself into the mall because when will we be able to go to the mall again??
It's not that it's time for a change: the change has already happened. It's time to move on and settle into a life of mountains and coffee and real good air. Lets fight over what to watch after dinner. Lets talk about baseball and funny faces. Let me try to make you a vegetarian. Lets go, dude.
We're motorin' again. June 2013.
And here it comes. The four of us, sing through our grins.
"You're MOTORIN! What's your price for flight? And FINDING Mr. Right?!"
Eve turns to us from the passenger seat.
"Cuz we're motorin'!"
We drive through wine country and it is nothing but winding roads that lead to more winding roads, old pick up trucks, miles of grape vines and wavy grass fields that never seem to end. You never want them to end and they listen to you. And we stop at a roadside wine shop and buy a local bottle and some sea salt chocolate and drive to the ocean and hike through grasses and find this view from a boulder that's laying on its side and we have a picnic and stare at the water and breathe in all the air and Alex and Paul go and climb on every hill they can and Paul disappears behind a huge cliff and I think he's dead and after way too many minutes he comes back grinning with the camera and I breathe in all the air. I stare at all the water. I don't move, I don't want to leave, I wouldn't have left if I could've stayed.
I had another half-panic attack at the mall Saturday. I felt like some sort of addict that relapsed. There were so many faces to avoid, too many people to feel safe, not enough control of the paths to walk around them. I put the passenger seat of the Jeep all the way back as Paul drove home and closed my eyes. The sun was too bright and my stomach hurt. Then he turned on a song about not bein' around and how he misses his person. And I cried like I always do with songs about not bein' around and how he misses his person. And I got mad.
Not like the mad that makes you punch people in the butt. The mad that makes you change things. I am thankful for that mad. It makes you move on and do things that scare you.
I am over crying at everything: the shirt at Old Navy that says "Everything Will Be Awesome," the radio songs about leaving and me feeling like I'm already divorced, the way I have to stuff myself into a fake happy elementary teacher every single day when I just want to be sad and angry and sleep in the big puffy chair, and the way that our life is poured into 13 hours a weekend, where we miss all of the things marriages/relationships need, where I have to force myself into the mall because when will we be able to go to the mall again??
It's not that it's time for a change: the change has already happened. It's time to move on and settle into a life of mountains and coffee and real good air. Lets fight over what to watch after dinner. Lets talk about baseball and funny faces. Let me try to make you a vegetarian. Lets go, dude.
We're motorin' again. June 2013.