sunday nights

Sundays, after 4pm, have inspired agita in me for 15 years. I mean, real agita ( i cannot stand that word, sounds so long-island-jewish-housewife to me, but it is the best descriptor i can think of right now), i can barely sleep. I don't hate my job, it's just so incredibly stressful and full of violence, tragedy and non-stop action that it's hard to get prepared for, and impossible to look forward to. We casually refer to our school as the 'emotional emergency room'. When I am there, it is ok, and I can still do it, and still well, i believe. I just brace myself against it. It's become too much. I have tried to become more of a glass-half-full person (still trying) but on Monday mornings, the glass is not only empty, it's fucking shattered. with glimpses of who I'd rather be, or could have been, just taunting me in it's reflections.