Taking Care

Officially in the chapter of life where I consider what's best for me. How obnoxious.

Take Friday. I was tired by 10, but couldn't sleep because of night cramps. Tried to gather some enthusiasm about ancient behavior. It was common in Chicago for me to come home long after Puhg went to sleep. I had my little rituals. Stopping by the Philly Cheesesteak storefront for a large order of seasoned fries or maybe Walgreens for Ben & Jerry's. I'd climb the four flights up, change into sweats, and have my little snack at 1 AM while watching Catfish. Sometimes I'd have work at 8 downtown the next day. Sometimes I'd get up at 6 to grade a few papers before running to the train.

So Friday I was already doomed to be awake. Luckily I had a pint of Netflix & Chilled in the freezer for such an emergency. Then I just had to be logical, didn't I? "Eh, that much sugar this late isn't going to feel so good in the morning, best wrap up in this blanket and drink more water." How dare I?

I was still up at 5 AM. Slightly out of my gourd from lack of sleep and dull pain and too many TikToks when I had the deepest truest craving for McDonald's breakfast. I haven't had McDonald's breakfast since 2015. When they introduced all day McMuffins and I got one for lunch after teaching English 101. I was violently ill later. A hashbrown? Maybe ate one in 2005?

But yesterday, dawn about to creep in, memories of childhood flitting around, I wanted nothing more than a pile of McDonalds. I filled my Postmates cart full. A McGriddle, oj, a macchiato, pancakes, McMuffin, biscuits. Did the butter still have a little print of corn on it, I wondered? Like it did when I was in pre-school and I'd rip the sausage out of the sandwich before mixing the pad with jelly. "I'll try to sleep first," I told myself. Next thing I knew it was 10:30 AM. Puhg already up, worked out, showered, coffeed, ready for his day. I urgently remembered the McDonalds. I googled when breakfast ended. I had half an hour to make it to the drive-thru.

Ah, but would that be wise? A greasy little feast while I still had greasy hair, had yet to move my body? No, no. Time to be responsible again. I sighed and put on my light pink exercise shorts. Cardio for half an hour, brushed teeth, shampooed, shaved, soaped, skin regime. I baked a tin of Trader Joe's biscuits, thinly sliced organic cheddar, fried two eggs in oil, added vegan bacon. Ate the next best thing on the patio.

Day in the Life, October 9

Turning the keys before 7 AM. The apartment is quiet, Bisque still sleeping. Wake up, wake up. Walk to the train in breaking light, One-D my soundtrack. Wake up, wake up. No seat on the el, so I stand with feet far apart and strong squatted thighs holding Ghosts by Chuck P. The train gets fuller and fuller, downtown emptier and emptier. It's just me and three other ladies by the time I'm at the end of the line.

First meeting at my new teaching residency. Google the neighborhood. Police officer shot and killed 17 hours before I arrive. I have a new hot pink Mace, and I tuck it into my seafoam scarf. Packed bus, everyone sighs when the wheelchaired person has to get off. Bless wheelchaired folk on buses. Bless them.

My new boss is a happy man who keeps his wrist limp. He brings six donuts to this kickoff meeting. Me and this happy sweetie and this fresh-faced creative writing ginger. The box is opened. "I got three of my favorite kind to make sure even if you both wanted that kind I would get one." I like this style. I have the favorite old fashioned. It is thick with hardened sour glaze. We walk to the train and men yell at me. We ignore them, but it isn't easy. "What is that smell?" my boss politely asks. "Oh, weed." I say. "Ah," he adds.

And then we're back to the rest of the world with skyscrapers. I stop in the Claire's and debate buying corn dog earrings. I don't because I don't have money for corn dog earrings. This shouldn't even be a consideration. People who don't have money for corn dog earrings should not even hold corn dog earrings to their faces. In my office adjuncts come and go. Sometimes the conversation is like grad school and real and potentially useful and sometimes its like, "Ohmygod how many times do people have to discuss music videos being terrible to women?" I guess they still are, so.

The students got into partners, and the students from the country south and the student from the country east were paired. They made up analogies. Some work too hard on these classroom exercises, and that is good. Grading papers, grading papers, grading papers. Scheduling classes, making plans, Next semester, money, lesson plans.

I collapse at home. "I'm sorry," I tell my man. "I need two minutes. What I ate today: a donut." I fall asleep sideways on the couch, and he wakes me up with a tiny pot of beans. I feel gooped. Brain whack. Like a confused baby being fed. Go to the theatre, have an audition for some little show. It's exercise like anything else. Audition, audition, write, write, write. I'm home grading papers again, always, forever and ever, in my grave, underground, so many student emails, "Can you tell me everything I missed today?"