clean up

This is a tragedy.

I didn’t want to buy a car.

Under late capitalism, what single person clinging to the lower middle class would?

When I moved back to the midwest, my dad had an extra car he had inherited, so he gave me that car to drive.

Yes, I was in my forties, and driving my dad’s car.

All this capitalist-related shame retches up, being in my forties, having a professional job with heavy responsibility, and still not feeling financially comfortable enough to buy a car that is necessary to get me to that job.

Anyway I paid him for the insurance, and went on my merry way, completely broke as a grad student, then less broke returning to teaching.

And finally he was like, look, your credit’s a mess, you need a car loan, this old car is a death trap, we are doing this.

My father is the only person I will get up before 9 am for.

My father is aging, and has memory issues. Not the kind where he’s like, what is a banana for? Smaller ones, but real ones.

I insisted we get coffee before we got started car shopping. I tend to jump when my dad says jump, and while he was right to basically force me to go buy a car, I could draw a new boundary as a civilized person who says, we don’t go do things without ordering, sitting, chatting, and savoring coffee.

So he had black coffee because he’s a real man (who would rather die than go to Starbuck’s), and I had a latte because I’m a latte liberal. I mentioned that my elderly cat was having trouble breathing again, and my dad’s eyes shone with tears. “He’s your companion,” he said. “He’s always there for you, 24/7.”

Yeah.

Then we were off to look for and buy a car. I would rather get a root canal, or have minor surgery (with good insurance). I’d rather have a pelvic exam (with a gentle examiner). But cars.

We began the hunt at 9 am, and by 5 pm, we were sitting in an office that barely had room for the salesman, my dad, and me. His memory was getting a bit tired, and I reassured him that the deal was the deal he expected.

I guess we were thinking this might be the last time my dad helped me buy a car.

I grabbed half a xanax and signed the papers.

Tuesday morning, my beautiful boy Tybalt, he of the copper colored splotches and the gloriously white fur that reminds me of beautiful chicken feathers, sort of looked at his food and sniffed hard, trying to get enough breath.

I went to work.

This week at work we have had shut downs every day.

Shut down generally means a kid is in the hall refusing to go where they’re asked to go. We all hang out and wait. It’s generally very peaceful, but sometimes it takes a while. To settle the kids who are stuck in my room with me, I have them make bets on how long the shut down will last, and the winner gets a Starburst.

Well, it’s less a bet and more a reward for predicting the future.

Tuesday I ended up with a kid my room, basically in time out. I didn’t have a class that hour. The kid was full of energy, still pretty mad about why she was in time out. She started straightening my desks and chairs and organizing papers and books, and agreed to wipe down the desks, too.

“I was a good kid until [terrible thing happened],” she said.

“Yeah, well, that’ll mess somebody up,” I said.

She continued puttering around, straightening, and went on to tell me more details of the shit storm life had thrown at her so far.

All our students have shit storms. It’s an alternative school. I tend to actually know less about their traumas than at other schools. They have a lot more contact with a social worker at our school, one who actually has time to have relationships with them (though she busts her ass to do so, I assure you).

I felt in the background of my life calling the vet, saying, “I think it might be time,” and them using the word “euthanize.”

Also this week my right foot is sprained or something, so I’m limping around and I can’t walk off my anxiety like I usually would.

My student fed the fish, although I had already fed the fish. He’s an emotional support fish, so he sometimes gets overfed. Sully swirled his gorgeous peacock blue fins around and got to the top to chomp down some food spheres. Yum.

“You want to water the plants?” I said.

“Sure,” she said. She watered the birthing spider plant, the long wandering heart shaped leaf plant, the baby cacti, and when she got to the African violet, I didn’t tell her not to water him up top. I just let her water him. He bursts with purple blooms all over. At my house, he just barely stayed alive. At school, our huge windows inspire him.

I took my cat to the vet. My sister held him on her lap.

Then to spare you. You know. The vet and the crying and all.

This morning another kid was losing it in the hallway. He had knocked over someone’s coffee, leaving a blob of brown in the hallway.

Later I saw him, surrounded by adults, mopping it up.

“I’m glad you did that,” I said. There were some things to be glad about.