It's roughly 3:34 in the morning. I've been sitting at this computer since 11 p.m. I've come to understand that sleep is merely a casualty of war in the battle against worry.
I have an impeccable quality when it comes to worrying. It happens at the most convenient times, because, let's face it; when is it not convenient to worry?
It doesn't have to be about anything big either. No, just little things like, "If Mom shows up randomly at my house tomorrow, is it clean enough for her to come in and feel comfortable?" to things like "Is my pathetic little heart going to beat enough times while I sleep tonight so I will wake up in the morning?" Maybe that last one is a little less pathetic than the first, but I do the ranking here so what I say goes!
Just to be clear, my house is clean enough for my mom to drop in and feel comfortable.
Tonight's worries include the ones stated prior, but they span to this following week more-so. On Wednesday I'll be driving back to Mesa town alone. It's only two hours, but let me tell you, I can only sing Glee out loud to myself so many times! Jake has his externship in Winslow and work on Thursday so he gets to bow out of the Glee singing festivities.
Doctor's appointments are taking their toll on me. I think it's definitely more of a patience thing on my end than anything. At the last appointment I had quite the panic attack in the doctor's office when the specialist was an hour late getting in to our appointment. How crazy is that!? I knew he was busy, and I had two voices of reason (the Momma and Jake) trying to tell me to be patient, but I was not having any of their patience-ness! I'm a big pro at over reacting to things I have no control over at. all.
I'm to the point where I just want a pacemaker instead of all the yucky medicine I have. The kind that makes my skin crawl. The kind that kill my baby-baking eggs. The kind that make me stay away till 3:34 writing weird blogs that my neighbors will read and make fun of me for the next day (Please do, Karen!) But honestly. . . the meds that make my skin crawl makes my brain actually feel really great so I secretly loves them.
On another note, I was offered a stylist position just this evening before I even had my model in at Aveda in Flagstaff. That's so swell and made my day temporarily, but I would have to work on Sundays and I am in love with my primary class so I have to decline the position. After I thought about it for a while, Mombabe was right. It does kind of smell weird in there!
My primary class is the best. They love Harry Potter more than anything. I give them stuff when they ask me about Ron Weasley. None of them have seen the second part yet because they're only 11 tops and HP is pg-13. Aren't they such little role models? Little Rhett told me this last week though. "As soon as I turn 13 I'm going to call you and Brother Denham and we can watch all the Harry Potter movies and eat pizza." We also have time at the end of class because I'm still getting the hang of teaching them and we usually talk about building forts, eating doughnuts, watching TV, what is the best recess game, and what the Nephites really used to do when they were bored because "Nephites are older than the pioneers so they probably couldn't play the weird games pioneers played."
Seriously. Best. Class. Ever.