They don't tell you it's going to be like this. This constant frustration. The compelling need to hit someone, something. Like you're going to explode if you don't get it out. No one talks about this.
How sometimes, you just want to scream. Or run away. Somewhere the little demons can't find you. You get so fed up.
You lock yourself in your room with the lights off. You can hear them in the other room, playing. Hitting each other. You hear one scream, but then it stops. He's okay. You hear banging, but figure if they aren't screaming it's okay.
You just can't take it.
How long can I go on like this? Working three days a week after school until 10 pm. Then getting up at 5 am the next morning and teaching all day. Something's gotta give.
I've been looking at doing homebound instruction. You know, helping kids who can't - for whatever reason - make it to school each day. We are bound, by law, to provide services for them. It pays $20 an hour. Which is almost 3 times what I make at the bookstore. Which means I could do this 6 hours total a week and make what I'm working my ass off for now. It makes sense. Why would I not do this?
Because I love being at the store. I really like the people I'm working with. And I'm scared I won't know enough. What if I have to instruct some kid in Calculus? Chemistry? Physics? French? I don't know that stuff. I would be worthless. At the bookstore, I'm never worthless. I know most of the answers. I'm hot stuff there. I'm the one they turn to when they need their card percentages up. Stick me on a register and let me go.
Why can't I give it up?
And now I'm home. The demons are finally in bed. I'm drinking wine. It tastes good. I need to relax. I'd take a bath, but I'm afraid I'll fall asleep. Maybe I'll just read. From the large stack of books next to the bed. I do work at a bookstore you know.