The Price You Pay for Laughter

I had fun today. No students were in the building, staff were all burned out with their end of year tasks, and I had just finished having a conversation with my friend about poop in an effort to distract myself from the urge to cry at my desk all out there in public. I was walking down the hall to ask the technology guy about our email system and I saw the teacher from across the hall standing over what looked like a gurney or a surgical table or something. He was rolling it back and forth, asking the few of us out there in the hall what we thought it was. I voted for mobile surgical table.  So then he says "hey, someone jump on here. Let's take it for a ride." We all laughed and blew him off. But he said it again, and I thought "what the hell?" He stabilized it while I climbed on (not easy) and off we went down the hall with me screaming "I'm flying! I'm flying!" Teachers appeared in their doorways the length of the hallway. It was really fun.

My friend encouraged me to go out after work with everyone, but I declined. It is so much fun to gather with teachers at the end of the year. Teachers have a lot of steam to blow off, and drinks and summer are a lethal combination. I had to decline. I have been going home every day and crying or screaming myself to sleep for a week. I'm exhausted. I knew that going out, even for an hour, would wear me out like I had partied for 3 days straight, snorting coke and doing shots and dancing. Even if I didn't drink. I declined because my grandchildren are coming to visit tomorrow from the city and staying for 3 weeks. I declined because I still have work to do to end the school year and so I need to pace myself with taking care of grandkids, doing household chores, and taking time for naps. I declined because as fun as it is to listen to the teachers make witty comments about each other, the students, and the admin, it is a great lot of emotional and intellectual work to stay distant enough that I don't over share yet intimate enough to be a part of the group. I declined because I am fragile and raw, and if someone says something to me that I decide to take as a dagger to my soul, I might fly into a rage and loose the respect of those I work with.

I decided to go home, walk the chihuahuas for a few minutes, clean off the kitchen counter, and start a load of laundry. I cried a fair bit. I know it's bad when I do minor shit like blow my nose into my tshirt because getting off the chair seems undoable. Eventually  I rose up to get tissue, but my legs hurt like a mother fucker. I'm tired. This tiredness is a soul crushing, made worse by the fact I was carted down the hallway at top speeds laughing and screaming and having fun.