Classical Sass

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(343) Back-to-Back

Among the Ruins, by Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema

In my head, a three hour rehearsal followed by a two and a half hour rehearsal followed by three hours of teaching is totally feasible if I just allow enough warm up and travel time in between.

This is vastly incorrect. It is always incorrect. My brain is incorrect.

I forget that eating makes me less axe-murdery and rehearsal tends to go better if I’m not on the news in the middle of it. Also screaming incoherently doesn’t often make children play more intune, so it’s better if I am fed and not still harping over whatever disaster mess squatted on my sanity in the last rehearsal. 
I forget that even if my events mathematically line up well, that doesn’t mean I’ll be in a place to greet them well. Even if I’ve gotten better at stumblefucking my way through a back-to-back day without catastrophes, I’ve done so at the cost of the space and breath I need to still be me throughout the onslaught.

By the end of the first event, I have shuttered the me that is jovial while hunting her errors. By the end of the trek to the next batch of concentration, I have turned a frigid cheek to people’s upbeat attitudes and hopeful mediocrity. As the close of the second event saunters itself to its belated end, I have closed the casket on my ability to manage my emotions and am banking on the amazingness of others to get me through the sticky ticking hours without upending civilization.

When I have finally slimed my way into my car for the last twenty minutes of my work day, I am fully back-to-back with my humanity, my grace; myself. My shoulders have squared at the idea that I might need to filter yet another minuscule facial expression, my cheeks have twitched at the mere mention of a traffic jam. My back is to my heart, my insides are out and unfettered, and I am awake and rampant when I should be doused in duvets and a hearty sandwich.

In my head, these back-to-back days make perfect sense. They fit all my requirements in a single day and push my week towards the apex of Socially Acceptable Drudgery that I have been somehow loathe to achieve no matter how many waking hours are designated to the trudge. 
In my head, the fleeting seconds between the moments are all I need.

But I am not there. I am facing the sky and the sea and the salty breeze; my back is to my mind and will stay there until my thoughts miss the waves.