The Netflix Cure

I’ve been running on my little hamster wheel as fast as I can.

Nick leaves for college in a week. I’ve made lists, ordered stuff, almost finished a quilt, set up his move-in date, transferred credits, paid tuition, figured out how to get reimbursed from the right fund for tuition, scheduled hair cuts, doctors, and dentist appointments, helped position an engine onto a transmission, and taught Nick how to drive a stick. I’ve nagged.

Finally, Nick bought his books, but he hasn’t yet emailed his new roommate.

Some of you already went through this part of mothering. I didn’t know. I have more compassion for you now that I know. If I missed it, I’m sorry I wasn’t more sympathetic. It’s a big deal. Big.

It’s been a really weird summer, not like a summer at all. I keep trying to take care of myself, but I’m slipping. My thyroid medicine needs to be adjusted. Again. The last setting only lasted two weeks before it fell too low, leaving me tired and dispirited. My vision is bothering me. I need to schedule my other cataract surgery. I keep trying to get enough exercise, eat right, and have a good attitude.

Fuck my attitude.

I don’t have a good attitude. I don’t. I try to blame my thyroid. I try. But I’m also going through a big adjustment and I’m just not going to be normal.

Can you imagine how much worse I’d be if Nick were dying? I don’t know if I’d remember to breathe.

I am still breathing now, maybe hyperventilating a bit. It’s exciting for Nick, exciting and nerve-wracking. But the whole thing leaves me feeling like I’m a little bit less. You know.

So, I’m going to go stitch a binding and distract myself with the new Queer Eye episodes on Netflix. I love those guys. I’m going to learn to love Nick from a distance starting eight days from now. I’m trying not to think about that too much. I won’t be good for anything except Netflix. I’m going to need the Netflix cure.

Thank you for listening, jules