Mental Rental (and why it must stop)

When your ex’s friend sees you in the supermarket, looks you up and down with the slow burning judgment of the truly malicious and then snarks that ‘from the looks of it’ my ex (who would have NEVER supported this, btw) was better off with the heartbreak than the ‘crushing disappointment’ of what I’ve become (“Really dodged a big, fat bullet” was in there), then your options lay gleaming before you:

A) Lie down and die
B) Go to jail for what you do to his face
C) Try to smile, then find yourself unable to continue but unable to stop, which leaves you quivering unattractively somewhere in the middle
D) Carefully school your features into a combination of, “Are we done here?” and “[unspeakables],” while secretly dying inside

D for $500. I stared at him with that infuriating smile my irate boss used to call my “&%$#@ Mona Lisa smile” until he got bored, then uncomfortable and then awkward, eventually shuffling off, muttering that my husband and I were truly a perfect 10- my fit husband being the one, and I the big, fat zero.

Big. Fat. Zero.

Quite so.

It’s taken me more time than I’m proud of to return to this space, where all my giggling devils come out to play. But it’s also where I tend to leave them, so here we go again. Maybe it’s the fact that I just won tonight’s super hard Environmental discourse translation class (“It’s not a competition” <– says me NEVER) but I’m truly over some of the things that have been destroying me inside. And as I do with all the things, good and bad, I’m about to drop some learnings on ya. Get ready interwebs:

GET OVER IT.

Yeah, you heard me. And what’s more, I heard me.

Get over it. Continue reading “Mental Rental (and why it must stop)”

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Is this thing on?

I almost feel like an apology is owed here. 6 weeks of silence. Shameful and scandalous. You cannot imagine how many posts I’ve written in my absence. Pithy, poignant, witty…man. You should have seen the blogs that got away. But really, let’s go ahead and blame that largely on my new life. I’m a call it Life as MamaMrsMastersMiss. You see I’m a wife and mom, and that’s one (two?) of my favouritest things bout me, the Mama and the Mrs bits. And I’m teacher, the “Miss” bit. As in, “Hi, Miss, do we really have to do work today?” “Miss, when you say do it on folder leaf, do you mean we should WRITE it on folder leaf?” and “Miiiiissssss, she’s bullying me just because I slapped her first.” And now I’m doing my masters. It’s in Translation, but where as most translation courses focus on one foreign language, I in my infinite insanity am totes doing BOTH Spanish and French. Because why should I ever do things the easy way? Ask me 6 years ago, I would have said creating back to back major campaigns was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. 4 years ago, giving birth. 1 year ago, exclusively breastfeeding the world’s hungriest baby. Today I can quite confidently swear unto thee, that THIS is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Every second of every day, I’m trying to accomplish ten million things, each JUST AS important as the other. Unless they’re MORE important. I’m marking papers, planning lessons, creating videos and slide shows and following up with sick students, absent students, that one girl who needs a detention and the other one who needs a hug. I’m texting my husband, and sending him funny tidbits from the day and trying to read at least the headlines of the links he sends me, staying in touch with what’s on his mind. I’m cooking, prepping lunchboxes, kissing boo-boos that were BEGGING to happen (#DearJude, you cannot fly. Please stop jumping off the stairs) and singing goodnight songs slightly ahead of bedtime. Because every day just before bedtime (which was almost a deal breaker for this sad mommy) I’m running right back out the door for 2-3 hours of mind-jacking translation-learning. Then I come home to do my own homework, prep for my next day’ lessons and figure out how much marking I have managed to NOT do. Again. As the pile gets higher and higher. And higher. And higher. Continue reading “Is this thing on?”

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