Vigilance
Lock up the sharps.
Set the alarm and
backup alarm
(the shared calendar is
insufficient), and
dear God
prep the coffee.
Post your learning intention and success criteria.
Other people’s
children will arrive on
various levels of Bloom’s
at 7:15 am with their respective
needs and trauma.
Greet them in the
doorway and prepare to
carry it throughout the
next seven hours.
Hide the pill bottles.
No trip up or
down stairs without
laundry in arms, no
stroll to the
kitchen without trash or
dishes in hands.
Monitor social media posts.
Skip the staff meeting. Explain later.
Keep the rattling tray of
red and white Transfer-ware from
sliding
off
the
passenger
seat,
while calling for an
emergency appointment
hands-free, your glazed
eyes on the road in an
infinite ellipse of
drop off and pick up.
Practice self-care.
Looks like the day got
away from you before
you could work out or
write in your
gratitude journal.
3 thoughts on "Vigilance"
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I get a real sense of the urgency of the routine, the futility of doing it perfectly. Where’s the part where we offer you a big hug?
Awesome description with great rhythm and evocative detail. Excellent work
A personal journey of your vigilance and what a load it is! Well done Austen!