The Visceral World

I don’t know if it’s normal that I am triggered by smells and touch as much as I am. A single scent can spin my mind back to countless memories. I crave… no I NEED touch. I need the platonic as much as I need the romantic… probably more, actually. It doesn’t need to be a lot – a hello hug, a “you’re being a dope” swat at the arm.

This morning I decided to make a full breakfast – eggs, English muffins and coffee. Those combined smells sent me right back to my parent’s kitchen on a Sunday morning. Particularly the coffee. It’s not like I’ve never drunk coffee before. Heck, we drank it as kids – with a ton of milk of course, but I only recently started drinking it with any sort of regularity. I always liked the smell though, particularly fresh grounds. I used to love opening the packages of coffee at the bagel shop.

I can hardly remember the sound of my grandmother’s voice, but I remember the smell of her perfume. I can clearly recall riding in the back of the car on a winter’s day, snuggling up to her in her big fuzzy coat. It wasn’t real fur, but it was very soft and turned her into the best teddy bear ever.

If I get a whiff of Lagerfeld cologne I can’t help but remember my college boyfriend.

I can smell food and discern the ingredients. And yes, I’ve been called Remy because of it.

 

That can’t be normal… can it?

Gratitudes 11-9-13

I’m grateful that I can be resourceful when I need to. Yay for turning apples about to go bad into applesauce. Turned out pretty damn good too! Wonder if that’s how it got started in the first place…

I’m grateful for hot, hearty food on cold mornings. I do love autumn mornings though.

I’m also grateful for those occasional autumn mornings where I can sleep in (if you can call 7:30 sleeping in). At least, sleeping until sunrise. My bed really is just so comfy.

The Hardest Thing

It’s hard for me to admit I need help. It’s even harder to ask for it. But I’ve had my hand forced.

I’m always the one helping others. Always the rock. Always the reliable one. I’ve literally had people tell me they wish they could be more like me. It’s a lovely compliment, but it just adds to the constant pressure of being me.

That sounds insanely vain and self-centered, I realize that. But I feel like I have this image of me that I’ve built up, and admitting any weakness would shatter that.

But here it is: I’m broke. I have the complete and utter inability to say no to people, and as such I spend money when I know I shouldn’t, at the expense of the inability to pay my bills. I haven’t really adjusted to my new (lower) pay, and I never really recovered from August when I wasn’t working and consequently wasn’t getting paid.

Mom cornered me with it last night, and then finally at T and Boo’s I lost it when I realized I was once again having to choose between groceries and bills this month.

I now have a freezer full of food, a check in my pocket and money on the way from mom. It’s belayed the stress for now and hopefully I can at least get current with everything. *deep breath*

I’m a single, fully employed adult but I can’t keep my head above water? But there’s gotta be a better way…

Gratitudes 11-3-13

I am grateful for a freezer and fridge full of food. And never again will I underestimate the peace of mind these things bring.

I am grateful for absolutely amazing friends who give me what I need, even when I’m embarrassed to ask for it.

Rank and certification

I’m discovering the education world can be weird. When I was an apprentice I knew I wasn’t allowed to be in a room alone with the kids. Despite having taught informally for years, supervising teens and all my previous experience, I didn’t have a license yet. That meant that when my cooperating teacher was out, the sub still had to come in. Granted, they let me run the show, but a licensed teacher had to be in the room.

Today I had the first experience of the shoe being on the other foot – I was in the Dean’s office while about half a dozen kids were serving detention – one of whom has a paraprofessional with him. The dean had to run out and take care of something, so he asked me to stay for a few minutes. I didn’t mind but wasn’t sure why he needed me to. It wasn’t until the para pointed out that I had to – because she’s not allowed to be alone with the kids. It was kind of surreal to have this flipped on me. Like I suddenly matter.

I find it odd that a para can be held singly responsible for a special needs student, but can’t babysit a room full of kids in detention. The people who run these after school programs don’t have teaching licenses either, yet they’re in charge of a whole room full of kids. Maybe it’s because it’s no longer officially school at that point? *shrug*