Cracking up

This final full week of classes has turned me into a lethargic, anxious, ill-tempered wench. I'm constantly tired, constantly peevish, and constantly on the brink of what feels like an unjustified mental collapse. Joe wants to go to the beach this weekend to relax and drink beer and sit in front of a bonfire. Sounds nice, right? Not to me apparently, who, at the mere suggestion of said trip, had some kind of brain circuitry shutdown. In other words, I had a fit. And I'm not entirely sure why.

So, as I sit here, watching my middle school gifted class take their much-dreaded though not-much-studied-for test, I'm going to try to figure it out.

Things are changing again, that's one thing. I'm not very good at dealing with change, and though that might seem like a strange thing to say since I moved to Korea, thereby shocking myself with one huge slap of change, it's true. It took me a long time to feel comfortable here. And though I'm not leaving just yet, not moving out of my apartment, or saying my final goodbyes, I am at the end of some things. I'm at the end of my first year of teaching. I am at the end of interacting with these kids that I truly enjoy. I am at the end of having a normal work week. I am at the end of seeing my co-workers. And while all of this has definite and much-anticipated upsides, like sleeping in every day and not doing any work, it's still a major shift in my daily life.

Then there are the almosts that are already starting to gnaw at me: I almost don't have health insurance any more; I almost don't have a steady paychek; I almost have to move out; I almost won't be walking distance from work; I almost won't be seeing the friends that I have made here anymore. Almosts are the worst.

Then there's the rain that has been steadily pouring for days. Yes, it's taken some breathers and the sun has popped out, but this is monsoon season, and more rain is inevitably just around the bend. Typically, I love rain, but the humidity mixed with the rain is giving me annoying eye-aches, which contributes to my general peevishness.

Then there's money. I always worry about money. That depression-era worry passed down from my grandpa combined with the terrible economy and subsequent dearth of jobs makes me worry.

Then there's the fact that our friends are starting to trickle off for vacations and trips back home. There's this weird sense that we'll never see them again, though I know we will. And not just some year when we meet up somewhere in the states--we'll see them in a few weeks when they get back from their trips and start up or finish out their contracts again.

And then there's the actual saying goodbye to my students. The physical act of it. My methods of telling each class have run the gamut from flippant to near-hyperventilation. For some inexplicable reason, I told one class, "that's life" in the most annoying tone after I said I was leaving, cutting off any further things they or I might have had to say. Then there was the class where my heart was pounding so fast and had jumped into my throat that I could barely get the words out without gasping for air. Then there's the class where I promised they could all stay with me in Chicago if they ever came to the states. All of them.

Which brings me back around to this weekend and the proposed beach excursion. It feels like, with so many things seemingly beyond my control, with so many things that are ending or starting or changing in the way that things do and should, I guess I wanted something familiar this weekend. Like just staying home. And watching movies. And drinking a bottle of wine. And being with my husband. I guess I didn't want to be whisked off to some other part of Korea to be inundated with more new things--new people, new surroundings, new everything. It introduced more questions, like how do we get there, and how do we get back, and how much will it all cost, etc.? It sent the question/panic machine into overdrive, and turned me into a crazy person. Even though the beach sounds nice, really nice. And a bonfire sounds beyond nice. And I'm sure when it's all said and done, and Joe and I are back in our familiar apartment come Sunday evening, I'll be glad that we went and happy for the memory. And I will have (almost) forgotten all my concerns.