I am having a strange time, an odd, incomplete melancholy that brushes my skin. I am still grateful for my life and my job, still holding my own at work in the face of all those needy children and looming administration, but each morning since Friday morning have found myself waking up to a reluctance to go to work, to enter that particular fray. And I find myself coming to consciousness perturbed, troubled.
.
And I think I know what it is now, as I’ve pondered it in my heart these last few days. I think I am tired. I’ve become tired of waiting. I just want him to come and, yes, rescue me. I can do this job now, at least till the end of the year, though I only consider each day as it comes. That is one thing the horrible beginning to this school year taught me – to be able finally to live in the present, even as I draw to me my future. But I just want him to come. It feels like it always did – a life of just-around-the-corner, my time marked in one-more-day, -week, -month, -year. And I’m tired and am compelled to ask, “Is he coming soon?”
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