Friends, I turned down a terrible contract. I attempted to negotiate, the director of online programs not only refused to negotiate, he refused to return a phone call or an email. If he had said, “Heather, we have no staff and no extra money and we really need help” I would have been said “How can I help?” and then immediately regretted it.
I decided it would be great to take a break from teaching in what was sure to be another gnarly semester. I’m still on deck for vaccinating and testing, and it looked like my services (sob) would be needed, and I was content.
Not one day later I was working with a different university and a different department and, the Friday before classes started — I took another teaching position. Just one that I had zero time to prep for. I’ve been doing this for long enough that I knew it would suck to begin without a solid schedule of assignments. I also knew that I had the skills to enter a classroom, meet my students, and start to develop our rapport and skill set on Day 1.
Here are some pictures of me so fucking happy at work:
My students have been patient, my nursing classes are interesting and I’m so happy to see my classmates. The team I joined for work is so kind and helpful. I was even able to attend a live event for my fellowship with the MHC on campus last.
Screeching halt today, though, as Little P was deemed a close contact at daycare and we got the call to stay home at . . . 7:30 a.m. as we were heading out the door. I’m here, now, in my beloved office that smells like ideas and potential. I don’t even care that the window doesn’t really shut. I am gathering my thoughts and a few books as I prepare to work from home for next 10 days. It feels so selfish to articulate just how bereft this all makes me. We are all safe and healthy so far, and that is the greatest worry. But the fear and frazzle and knowing what it has felt like to have space and room to THINK and leaving that all behind is just, a little devastating.
I’ve been chugging along today, working so hard to channel my energy into a solution instead of feeling grumpy about the problem because, well, what the fuck am I going to do about it. P and I will get into a rhythm just like we did the last time. I’ve already lined up very careful help for the one event I couldn’t miss. We will be okay.
I’ve been having Mary Oliver intrusions over the last few months and the most frequent interrupter is this fragment from “The Uses of Sorrow”: this, too, was a gift. I say it over and over again, but as “this, too, is a gift” and open back up to what will happen next.