Thank God For The Little Things

Instead of making plans after I got off work today, I went home to spend the evening alone. I used to spend most of my time alone: going to movies, going out to eat, going shopping, baking, reading. Lately, though, I haven’t had that time and I always forget how much I need it. So, even though I spent way too many hours washing dishes at Subway, I came home and cleaned. I organized my living room, swept the kitchen, did the dishes. All things that most people consider just a chore. To me, though, it’s time to be alone with my thoughts, to disconnect from all of the stress I have during the day, and considering my 10 hour work days, that’s a lot of stress.

Since I started my second job teaching swim lessons I have done nothing but stress; even when I’m with my friends it’s impossible to disconnect. I always have something bothering me in the back of my mind and that became too much a few days ago, when I had my first panic attack in over two months. I’ve been worrying about whether or not I’m any good at teaching lessons (kids and pools are a terrible combination), whether I’ll be able to afford moving to Montana, whether I’ll be able to afford my car and loan payments. There’s a lot I have to think about and baking french bread from scratch while listening to a Colbie Caillat radio station on Pandora, then having a friend bring over corn meal (to complete the bread) and a Summer Shandy was the best way to destress. There’s nothing better than sitting on my front stoop with a cigarette, a friend and a beer then coming back into the house to the smell of baking bread and a freshly swept kitchen. Sometimes I realize I really am an old woman. Next I’ll be crocheting doilies and planting tulips. Good grief.

It’s after evenings like this, though, that I can step back and get some perspective. Yes, it’s stressful having 10 hour work days that become 12 hour days including commute. Yes, I hate feeling like even though I’m working almost 45 hours a week I won’t make enough to move away and start over somewhere, even if only for a year or two. But really, I’ve got nothing to complain about. I have a great house with a front stoop, it’s summer and the cicadas are out and even though I’ve got a wicked tan-line from my lame Speedo one-piece, I also have freckles all over my nose and shoulders and my hair is finally getting back to its usual shade of beach blonde. I have to remember the little things, since those have always been what got me through anything that’s pushed me to the limits of my sanity.