It’s three in the morning, which has never been my favorite hour of the day. I used to have all kinds of theories about three in the morning, back when I was working the graveyard shift at a pancake house. Seems like three in the morning is when people are at their lowest; their weakest. And three is when the demons of old memories, of mistrust, of worry, it’s when they’re at their peak strength.
There are worse things in the world than waking up at three in the morning with a troubled mind or a guilty heart, but that doesn’t make it any better.
I have speech class at nine—six hours away. Six hours is a full night’s sleep, easy. I dozed off around five in the evening and slept until just now, so it isn’t like I’m hurting for rest. I thought I could go back to sleep, but I should have known better. There’s no going back to sleep at three in the morning, not if you have something to worry on.
I do.
In the long run, my worries are small ones, but at three in the morning, they seem big and important and unsolvable. I missed class all last week: three classes, twice a week. It wouldn’t be so bad, but I’ve already missed one of them four times (once due to a flat tire, once due to a sickness my princess brought from her germ factory job, and now the sciatic nerve thing). I missed a test on Monday, which, so far, is the only grade in that class.
I also missed my algebra class. The instructor doesn’t allow late assignments for any reason. He doesn’t give a zero, I don’t think—he just doesn’t average it in. If I knew what the hell I was dong math-wise, this wouldn’t be an issue. As it is, I need every good grade I can get to raise my average for when I bomb a test.
Then there’s digital publishing. Not a bad class, really, except I don’t have any of the software at home, so I’m going to have to figure out how to get caught up.
Like I said—none of this is terribly upsetting. As I type it, I realize how trivial it all seems. What concerns me is that I know I’ll be missing another week of class at the end of the month when I return to my hometown. Plane tickets are already bought, no refunds.
What concerns me is that I’ve been missing a bunch of work lately. My paychecks have already been suffering because of the fact that I’ve been going to school instead of going to work.
This going-back-to-school thing was a financial tightrope to begin with. I never would have had the balls to try it if my princess hadn’t been so adamant about it, and so sure that we’d be able to afford it. I don’t think she factored in the work-time I missed because of my lousy injury, or the money we’d spend on doctor visits, drugs, etc.
Little stuff, all of it. I know that it will work out. Probably, it won’t even be all that difficult to work out. But at three in the morning, these problems seem overpowering, and failure seems inevitable.
At three in the morning, I can’t stop thinking about my empty wallet. Or the pile of books in the corner, filled with information that I’m supposed to understand. Or the pain in my leg that reminds me that no matter how many things I need to get done, I have to be able to walk first.
I have speech class tomorrow at nine. I suppose I’ll have to get my princess to take me. Driving with an unresponsive leg probably isn’t a good idea, and driving while taking pain killers probably isn’t, either. Once there, I’ll have to maneuver myself across the parking lot and up a flight of stairs. Since I got back from the doctor on Monday, the farthest I’ve walked has been to the bathroom and back—about ten feet, round trip. I stand up long enough to get a bowl of cereal, I end up panting from the pain.
I know I said I wasn’t going to bitch and moan about it, but we’re talking about my three in the morning worries here, and not being able to stand up or walk around definitely fits into that category. Plus, you know I always lie when I say I’m not going to talk about my ailments.
Also, it’s been several days since I posted anything, so I felt like I needed to get something new up. Turns out, I can’t write for shit when I’m taking pain killers.
So this is what we’re stuck with—me rambling on about my silly problems at three in the morning. The good news is, those bastards at the drug store shorted me on my pills, so we won’t have to worry about the pain-killer thing for much longer.
All right, that’s it. I think I can go back to sleep now. Thanks for listening.
posted 10/06/07
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