Really really really did not want to go to conferences. Because it meant that I would have to see people that I didn't know and people that I did know and I would need to be intelligible and remember things and in general be way more put-together than I felt.
Which meant I dressed nicely and wore heels and did my make-up and stuff. And it was apparently a good disguise because I also had my hair quite short and was wearing contacts for the first time in 20 years and even people who knew me didn't recognize me.
The rest of the day -- beading. I'm on a Van Gogh kick.
ALL DAY beading. No, seriously. Until I decided to check my emails and messages as I have been endeavoring to do lately.
Remember how I mentioned my view that opening email is like this: someone hands me a box that may or may not contain a venomous snake. Or it might not. And I need to decide whether or not to open it...
So Friday there was a snake in the box.
As per usual, education funding is not equal to the task.. and jobs are in question. And there was an email sent out to everyone at my job indicating how staffing cuts would be determined and who would be let go first (in general).
And then the rising tide of anxiety and stress suddenly tripled. And I felt like I might implode from the stress of not knowing what will happen with my specific job in the fall and whether I might even have a job in the fall and who will be let go because even if it isn't me it is going to suck. And this makes morale very crappy with everyone wondering and worrying.
And I projected that I might have to face this uncertainty for some time.
Perhaps I should work in a more stable field. A growth industry. Like mortuary science. The dead out-number the living and their ranks are growing day by day. An it is not dependent upon school boards and tax dollars and referendums and per-pupil funding rates and test scores and... stuff.
Here is the other thing: I am fairly certain that if it were up to my boss I would be able to stay where I am doing what I am doing. But it is something out of her control. And something out of the big boss's control too. They have to juggle the money they have with the staff-- and must place contract teachers first.
I stayed up until 2:30 am beading.
I woke with a screaming headache, went to teach with a claylike face and little energy, and beaded throughout my sons' piano recital. Even now I resent that I am not working glass beads into leather. I am uncomfortable without the needle in my hands.
If I allow myself time to think, I begin to spiral into stress again. I'm going to stop this and go back to beading now. Because of all the things I could self-medicate with I'm pretty sure it is harmless and I feel like I have burst at the seams and all my stuffing has come out and all that is left is the empty shell.
(Pretty sure this is what dysphoric hypomania looks like when ameliorated by mood stabilizers. It's a pity they aren't a magical cure.)
Quaker, teacher, parent,