Lately I was graced with the opportunity to experience new
levels of being tired. My lapse in blog writing is due mainly in part to my
much delayed furthering of education known commonly as the Master’s Degree.
What’s funny is that nowadays a Master’s Degree is like an iPhone. Everybody
has one. Those who don’t have one wish they did. Furthermore, once you get it,
a newer and more efficient model is born. Therefore, we are somehow predestined
to be one step behind and always wanting more. I hadn’t really considered going
further than the Master's until the other day when I received a wedding
invitation addressed to the usual Mr. and Mrs. How cool would it be if it was
addressed to Mr. and Dr.? (Doctor being me!) To appease that thought I think I
might just address an envelope to myself with the title and save myself the
insanity.
While balancing my five classes, my part time home-school
and remedial teaching, lesson planning, cooking, cleaning, laundry, dog
walking, textbook reading, reflection paper writing, popcorn addiction and of
course liming (or lack thereof) I was able to successfully get the flu,
question my existence, have a minor panic attack and lose a few pounds.
Thankfully, I think this was an adjustment phase and I am back on track, no
thanks to the pounds regained.
One day, on my way to school, while stuck in traffic to the
usual spot (the lighthouse) I looked over and saw a child driving a car. (Enter extreme exhaustion.) At the
same time I thought to myself that I really needed to buy print for my inker
and that I hate literally every song on my ipod. I really just do not want to
“boom bang bang with your body-o” ever again. Thankfully the song “Bumpy Ride”
is forever deleted from my ipod and I anticipate only smooth rides from now on.
As for you Lana Del Rey, I love, love, love(d) your song “Young and Beautiful.”
Vivid memories of Leo dancing (with that girl from Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps and Drive) in his
mansion of scintillating objects of grandeur with champagne flowing and
confetti raining down. Ugh, any girls dream right? Wrong! This song is bipolar
dream. From manic highs to melancholic lows, from dancing to being no longer
beautiful and having nothing left but an aching soul? Meanwhile I’m picturing
my husband looking handsome, youthful and tan while I have a grey haired bun,
wrinkles and a ghastly hole where my face used to be. Who wants that?! I did the inevitable. I pulled down my
visor mirror and looked in. You know when you flip the view in your camera
phone to take a pic of yourself? That ugly distorted face you see? Haha, it
happened. My nails were seriously un-manicured and my hair was in need of some
“serious highlights” as Elle Woods would say. Needless to say, Lana Del Rey is
reserved only for instances where I’m glammed up and would not be ashamed to
walk into a Gatsby party, not for school traffic.
Saturday mornings are twofold. I am rested for the first
time in a week. Then, I check my Instagram only to find out that everybody was
doing something exponentially cooler than I was. By something, I mean anything.
If this is a sign of things to come (child bearing/motherhood) I’ll go for the
Ph.D.
To add to my wedding vows:
I will get out of bed every morning and “put on a face”
I will dress as if I’m going to see meet the Great Gatsby
I will take Vitamin C
Most importantly, I will always reserve time…..
……………….for a latte.
