So, the big Job Fair I’ve been so excited about rolled around. Needless to say, in the house of Chef, this is cause not for celebration but for consternation and crap behavior on his part. To start with, the night before the job fair, I went to bed feeling a bit punk and quickly developed both a fever and a sore throat. This was Chef’s cue to forget to brush his teeth, check his blood sugar, take his meds, and inject himself with insulin, which put us on a ride on the Crazy Bus.
When his sugar is too high, he’s combative, whiney, and argumentative. Too low, and he’s the same, coupled with completely unreasonable and borderline psychotic. And let’s not forget the special hell of something big happening with his family that day that sets off anxiety and depression. All together now: let’s keep the girl awake. Let’s start shouting that she’s snoring loudly, even though she’s been awake with a sore throat and fever for more than half an hour, then let’s jerk upright screaming hysterically that cold fingers touched the small of his back. (Impossible, due to the barrier of quilts between us, a 102 degree temperature, and more important, had I wrapped my fingers around any part of his body it would not have been anything as innocuous as his back.) I finally slunk out to get a bit of sleep on the sofa before rolling out of bed and getting ready to go.
Naturally, it rained a bit, and I had trouble finding parking, and I ended up driving down the street car tracks a little by mistake…but I got there, and I interviewed, and I stood in line for hours with an empty stomach and dry mouth and pounding head and poured my heart out to school principals. Dear God, I need a job, not just for the power of having money again, but because I’m at my best caring for and guiding children. I’ll figure out the rest later—how to take care of my dog, when I can see my parents, how to fit the Chef into all these plans—but oh, to be able to call myself a teacher again! That will be a wonderful, wonderful thing.
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