Socorro

I opened the back door of the house, tired, and the whole yard was wet with rain.  Lola darted out.  I heard the birds that live in the bushes squawking and started running.  Lola had one of the birds in her mouth.  A baby.  I screamed for her to drop it and she stood there, confused.  I brought her back inside and sat inside myself, afraid to go out and see what was happening.  I finally went out there and saw a baby bird, dead, with its mouth open and clouded eyes staring toward the sky.  I had to pick it up.  I was freaking out.  I got a file folder and closed my eyes while I drove it up under the bird's dead body.  I stared upward, so I wouldn't have to see it crumble. I looked at our fence line, where all the other birds were staring at me, hoping to peck my eyes out.  

"Your pulses seem great!"  the guy that gives me acupuncture exclaimed. 
"I'm sorry, that's impossible.  They should be screaming HELP ME."

I'd been painting our kitchen.  I had a ten week summer break this year.  I wanted some sort of balance between enjoying myself and getting things done.  And then, in late June, I put painting the kitchen on my docket.  I thought it might take a week.  It took a week to clear out every dish and piece of food, shelf and blind, as well as scrub everything down.  The rest is a blur.  Scrubbing, painting, contact paper.  Laying on my stomach painting woodwork.  Watching Alec and my sister precariously balanced on books and counter tops, trying to get a clean line of paint on the ceiling.  I honestly don't even want to talk about it because it was so horrible.  I would open my eyes in the morning and want to climb under the bed.  The whole house was a disaster.  If we wanted a fork we'd have to walk through multiple rooms, looking for it.  Our coffee maker was balanced on a chair by the TV.  I forbad any type of cooking in the kitchen after I went through the horror of scrubbing grease.  For approximately four weeks, I did nothing but scrub and paint the kitchen.  I remember taking one day off.  When it was finally done, and again, I can' t even talk about the details without freaking out, I only recall tip toeing through the kitchen and marveling at pulling open a door and seeing exactly what I needed laying inside.  I only recently allowed hot food to be prepared in there, after we got a new hood installed.

And then, one week later, school started.  I felt sort of chill.  I came in, pretty cool.  I picked up my badge and my key to the trailer and walked out back, greeting co-workers.  I unlocked the door to the trailer and hesitated, because where I was about to put my foot had no floor, just joists.  I jumped over the floor-less area and surveyed the situation:  all of the classroom furniture and my boxes of stuff were crammed in one corner.  Multiple parts of the floor were missing, as was part of the wall, that had been replaced with plywood.  I walked through and dragged a paint bucket to a safe part of the floor and turned it upside down so that I could sit on it.  I dragged the internet stuff around, wifi was out, and got it up and running.  I put my computer on top of an upside down trashcan and tried to figure out what to do.  

I let the school year begin.  

*Photo, Doll's Head Trail