Dear Mr. Spider,
I am writing you because you’ve been living in my shower drain for three days now and I think it’s time we had a talk. I hope this doesn’t come off as rude, (then again, I’m not the one invading other people’s bathrooms) but you are not really the kind of company I like to keep. Like, seriously, you’re the worst.
Granted, I could have worse flatmates. You don’t make any noise, you don’t steal food from my fridge, you don’t get upset when I play the same song on repeat for an hour an a half. But MAN are you a bathroom hog! I’ve had to wash my hair in the kitchen sink TWICE since you’ve “moved in.”
Maybe you moved into my bathroom because you don’t have any other friends (possibly because you ate them?). Maybe you, like me, think it’s getting just a tad too cold outside these days. Maybe you really just want to be my friend. I’d like to assume the best of you, but I’m really having trouble mentally getting past all eight of your legs (which I’ve counted several times because – let’s be honest – they’re a little obtrusive now, aren’t they?).
I think, I should cut off his head with axe to…to… so he will not suffer…”
Running around like our heads are chopped off, we do it all the time. Don’t tell me that you don’t sometimes feel like the zombie-chicken so often referred to in the English idiom about panicked, hopeless people. Just don’t.
I finished my first whole week of teaching classes to children who don’t understand eighty percent of what I’m saying. This week I have met a half dozen people in a half dozen places and taken a dozen buses to do so. I’ve learned that if you get on the wrong bus it will take you all the way to the end of the line and then kick you off into the rain without even being sorry for you. I’ve started projects I have yet to finish, read emails and letters I have yet to reply to, and put on my running shoes twice before taking them off and falling immediately to sleep instead. Also, I’ve been pretty sick.
And despite the fact that I’m having an immensely good time here, I do tend to feel like I’m running in circles I can’t completely control (mostly because my life is tied to a bus schedule I don’t know well enough to be flexible with yet).
So when fellow teacher, personal guardian and something of a genuine friend – Hanka – asked me if I was joining the teachers for their TGIF celebration I almost said, “No, I have to catch a bus.” In all honesty, I had already missed my bus by that point. I make excuses to not hang out when I’m stressed.
But, I reasoned with myself, were you not telling yourself today how much you hate sitting by yourself at lunch? That it’s horrible and you feel like a total loser eating by yourself in a crowded cafeteria? You need to make friends, honey.
I feel like I have spent most of this last week on a variety of buses – some of which are lovely, comfortable and don’t smell, others of which resemble steel-framed bacteria labs. But the point is that all this time on public transit has afforded me a lot of leisure to think.
I hate to say it, but this week my thinking took a path towards the discouraging, to the point where Friday night – on my way home from a Czech language/baking lesson – I ended up asking God, “Really, what’s the point? Why am I here? Why are any of us here?”
In order to explain how a good girl, brought up in the church and spoon-fed catechism and theology from a wee little age, could possibly question why we even exist, doubt God or doubt his eternally divine goodness, I need to take you back to Tuesday.