Navigating flex time and trying to not live in my head

Last day. 

I got a little sunburned yesterday (pinkish, not omg burn)-- it felt so good to be outside. Then my boss told me not to even go in today, but I will-- it would not look good to not be there for the final staff meeting (he says, five min. meeting), and then go to the gathering at 3pm. So, I'll go in, tidy a few things more, and shut down my work computer for the summer. 

I'm usually quite excited about this part, but I feel a strange melancholy. Maybe it's because work is one of the maybe two or three constants I can depend on in this turbulent time. But summer is going to be good for me, I think. Yes, I have that AP conference, but it could be interesting. The organizer seems nice (through email, anyhow), and I will be much more confident about teaching those classes as a result of training. And I have the poetry seminar online to look forward to!

And I hope I can work on things that I've put off; there are some cleaning/reorganizing projects. And I want to print out a bale of poems, work on others, and maybe put together a collection to start sending out. I don't even know where to begin with that, so maybe that's my big summer project? 

There will be plenty of Holly time, too; Tim got offered a job (yay!), and Meg will be working. G is always working, but I will have the flex time to help with things. She'll be at her summer camp four mornings a week, but there's the drop off/pick up that needs to be sorted out, and afternoons if Meg is sleeping. So, we should have some fun.

I just have to avoid living in my head too much. I worry about things that are out of my control, and that is not useful. So, when I'm home, I think there will be music playing a lot. It helps drown out the stressful inner voice.

This summer may be a tinder box, socially and politically-- all signs point to an incendiary stretch of time. So, I'll keep to my home base a lot. A friend posted yesterday, "what can we do?" and I suggested that we create safe spaces for others, and check in with folks often. That much, I can do. I'd also offer up that we have a duty to fill our lives with things that sustain us-- we are no good to ourselves or others if we become so stressed that we can't function. (Read: I'm lecturing myself here.) 

Maybe that's the source of melancholy; is it dread? Maybe a little, existentially. 

Hug your loved ones. And keep in touch.

C