I’m Not Letting it Get to Me

800 bucks. 800. Missing 9 days of work with no sick leave left will get you $849 dollars for your monthly check.

I am so done. I’ve officially hit rock bottom with stressing, with freaking out, with cursing my existence.

There is a way to make this work. I know we will figure something out. I am done worrying. I’ll see if we can file an amendment form to see if we can get Connor’s tax care credit after all. If we can’t, it’s fine. It’s fine.

Maybe I’m in shock. I don’t know. But I feel an incredibly deep peace because the second I saw it I said to my self, “God has got this. I’m not going to worry about it.”

Do I expect someone to bail me out?


Do I expect food to fall from the sky?


I expect nothing, I expect that it will be okay. It will be. It. Will.

Now I have children to go teach, I haven’t had band this week (it’s a tri-weekly course, yes I invented a term, and they are expecting musical magic!)


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