I don't think I've mentioned it, but I'm in nursing school these days. I've been so excited to get started; it's felt very much like we're moving forward with life. Just think, in two years, I'll be done with that phase of school...
What I didn't account for, though, would be the added stress...I know, I know...sounds ludicrous, right? But, seriously, I've been so excited to do it, that I didn't take in to account how it would mess with my sleep schedule, flipping between working nights and doing school during the days. And, don't get me wrong--I still really love it! I'm a total nerd, I know; but I LOVE school. The colorful highlighters, the studying, the focus, the scratched out notes, and the recorded lectures--the Facebook group full of more nerds just like me...
Unfortunately, when I come home, all the tests and the quizzes and the discussions and the dogs and the house and the laundry and the cat and my Dad's birthday and work and hard patients and the death of my heart's dad, J's, mother and dealing with all of that and the air conditioner breaking and the Emergency Fund depleting quickly just to make ends meet....it all gets to me. I feel that pressure, that edge, and Steven's the one who gets it. He gets the snappy me, the attitude, the narrowed eyes and thrust out chin. He gets the weepy me, the demanding me, the arms-crossed-oh-no-I'm-NOT me.
And, me?
I get spanked.
And, what sucks, is that I totally deserve it. He's been so good with me--all hugs and kisses and how can I help yous. He's enforced study time when I lose motivation, and taken me out to dinner just to show me how proud he is of my studying. He's promised a prize if I do well on my first exam come Monday. He's gone with me to study groups, just to spend time with me, even if I'm just spouting off answers and attempts that are about half wrong. He's been the picture of lenience, even when my attitude gets a smidge snippy.
But I just keep edging up to that line, glancing up at him, and tipping a toe over.
Aw, who am I kidding? I barrel right on over that line and don't look back. I take off running as far over it as I can get until he jerks me back. Then, I have all the good grace to look utterly bewildered as to how I wound up over his knee or the couch or the bed or the other myriad of positions I've visited over the last week. He keeps trying to go easy on me, to stop as soon as I surrender even just a little bit--and I'm good then...for all of five minutes.
I feel terrible about how I'm being. I know I'm being a total brat, and he SO doesn't deserve it. I have got to pull it together. I do.
And, yet, underneath all my competence and dedication and effort--
There's that sharp edge that wants to dare anyone to mess with me, much less to lead me. I want to toss my head and narrow my eyes and do it all on my own, my own way. And I don't have the first clue why, or where this rebellion is coming from.
Or if my bottom is ever going to not be sore for the next two years.
Ugh.
