Why am I dreading it so much? It’s just a stupid check up for incoming first graders. This time, it’s not like I just got back from America the day before. This time, it’s not like I’m dragging along a jet-lagged preschooler and a toddler. It’s not like my dad has just died a few days ago. Not this time.
When Dad was so sick, in that darkened room, breathing heavily, it was like time stood still. Everything else was unimportant. Insignificant. Stupid.
The day I got back, suddenly this everyday bullshit was supposed to matter again. I was supposed to remember stuff, to care about stuff. And “stuff” just doesn’t matter.
And maybe I’m feeling that way again. A little sad, a little lonely. Lost. And how to time a kindy pick-up in order to haul ass to the elementary school, or the big, brewing, brouhaha over the kindy graduation party DVD is just… it’s beneath bullshit. It’s the shit from the maggots that feed on the bullshit.
I suspect we all know that, but voicing it is a humongous no-no.
And feeling it too deeply gets you a medicated time-out.
But I can’t wallow in that today. The two little things that are important want to watch a movie.