Twister

So. I don't think I'm a nice person. I'm sure that doesn't come as a shock. Who me? Not nice? Who'd have thought?

But I often wish I were nice. A woman, in particular, is supposed to be nice. And gentle. And thoughtful. And well dressed. And five foot six and 120 pounds with thick hair that doesn't have split ends. I know all this. I'm not any of those things.

The reason I have concluded again tonight that I am not a nice person is that I am full of anxiety for all the wrong reasons.

As you know, we found Jonathan a nice private daycare/kindergarten where he has been very happy for a couple of weeks. Within a handful of days of deciding to keep him in this school full time, and giving notice to the afternoon preschool, something terrible has happened. The daughter of the director of the new school fell extremely ill, and had to be rushed to the hospital. The school was closed on Friday, and we'll find out tomorrow whether they can open again on Monday.

A nice, gentle, well-dressed person would be anxious for the daughter for unselfish reasons. I am very anxious for the daughter, but I have found myself feeling more worried that I won't have childcare again next week. I am tired of working late evenings and early mornings. I have a full time job here, and Tim has a full time job here, and Friday was 15 days of 60 without childcare. That's 1/4 of all my days in my brand new job. While both Tim and I are flexible, even the most flexible gymnasts can't contort their bodies too much or something will break.

Please don't let anything break. Please don't let anything break.

Meanwhile, a girl is in the hospital, and I've given far fewer thoughts to her.

I think my life is a game of Twister. Just when I thought I might be able to hold out through the semester, someone called out "left foot yellow". And all around me the other players are falling apart, but all I can focus upon is keeping myself in this crazy contorted position until the next spin.

Maybe I would be nicer if I cut off the split ends.