After almost 30 years of marriage and adultery, my dad’s moving out of my parents’ house. A day prior to hearing the news, Rob and I had another one of our huge fights that ended with a break up*. And now? My temperature has been fluctuating on the higher side of things, the highest being 103.8 F, my body is all kinds of weak and achy, and I’m pretty sure the tightness I feel in my chest has something to do with anxiety and/or panic attacks. Because to make things worse? Since I’d been skipping out on class to spend time with my mom and to love up on Riley while he was sick, I’m barely hanging onto my high average for the marking period. And the nanny just told me that she’s leaving tomorrow.
I’m trying to keep it together enough to make all of my writing and contributing deadlines, but. It’s So. Fucking. Hard. And these headaches I’ve been getting? They’re no joke. In New York, I have a support system of amazing people who would babysit at a moment’s notice. But here? Let’s just say that my two options for tomorrow are: 1) Let Rob – who has a hacking cough – take care of Riley while I’m at school, or 2) Take it upon myself, Ms. Mysterious and Probably-Contagious Tropical Illness, to take care of the little one.
Not great options. Not. At. All.