Brownout, blackout, burnout. (Part 3)

burn·out (bûrnout) n.

1. A failure in a device attributable to burning, excessive heat, or friction.
2. Aerospace

a. The termination of rocket or jet-engine operation because of fuel exhaustion or shutoff.
b. The point at which this termination occurs.
3.

a. Physical or emotional exhaustion, especially as a result of long-term stress or dissipation.
b. One who is worn out physically or emotionally, as from long-term stress.
Rob gets here in a week, I’ve been “hired” by a few more online employers*, and the debt I owe to Brooklyn College will be paid off by the end of May. These are all causes of celebration, and for this reason I’d spent the last 36 hours on an amazing high. But then Real Life came knocking at my door, saying, “These are all awesome developments, but you’ve got a lot more to do, lil miss,” and I was suddenly reminded of Real Life’s relation to Debbie Downer.
Lately, I’ve been dealing with problems of the “Is Rob a compulsive liar?” variety, a dubious question to ask a student who once majored in philosophy. Not only do Rob and I think completely differently, so that we could watch a car accident and come out with drastically opposing incident reports, but epistemology was one of my best and most favorite classes. One of the things that it drilled into my head was that even people who study knowing for a living don’t know when you know something.
Got that?
There’s something deeply disturbing with knowing that people with doctorate degrees in knowing can fundamentally disagree about how to tell if someone knows something. I mean, c’mon: If you can’t tell if someone knows something, how can you tell if they’re lying? Do you see my problem?
Another problem: Our maid housekeeper is quitting. I don’t know why or even when it’s happening because she won’t talk to me about it (she’ll only speak to my mom), but it’s happening soon, and my brother and I are weighing the pros and cons of having her replaced. Pros: Riley’s nanny would have someone to talk to, we’d have an extra person to boss around help us with housekeeping, and when the school grind comes back around I’d be better able to concentrate on studying. Cons: This person could steal from us, we could save money by not hiring anyone, and it would make me feel more like a “real mom” if I were doing more household chores.
Real talk: I’m upset that our housekeeper, Joy, won’t talk to me about what’s going on with her. I really don’t care if the reason she’s quitting is so that she can move in with some guy she met around the way and spend the day fucking instead of cleaning our fucking house. I’d just rather she say so to my face so I’m not constantly worrying that she thinks we’re awful, stuck-up, spoiled people and she’d want nothing more than to get far, far away from us. Or worrying that she’s pissed off for some strange reason and will suffocate us while we’re sleeping. [NOTE: sleep with the door locked until she’s gone.]
The anxiety. Holy fuck, the anxiety. It was non-existent until those questions about Rob and truth, and this stuff about Joy popped up today, and I have to wonder if the fact that I recently got on the pill is the real reason my heart is pounding and my nerves are extra crispy. There’s just so much going on. It feels like it’s more than I’ve ever experienced, and although I’m reveling in the heat of pressure, it also feels like I’m writhing in it (albeit, in a sexy, wrestling-in-mud kind of way).
God, I could really use a mud mask and a deep tissue massage… One more week. One more week, then Rob and I go on a mini vacay and all of this will get sorted out.
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