Staring at Clocks

Recently I've found myself unable to live in the moment.  Instead, I find myself constantly searching out and staring at clocks.  Perhaps it's due to my new-found compulsion to count how many hours I have left with my husband--a habit that I am sure is as unhealthy as my many other neuroses (patting my left then right pockets for keys and cell phone every time I exit my vehicle comes to mind).  This new obsession came into sharp relief over Thanksgiving, when Cody and I were able to spend four nearly-glorious days together.

As has been mentioned countless times as being the bane of our marriage, Cody's and my sleep schedules once again became an obstacle over Thanksgiving.  A prime example is Saturday.  I woke up when Cody came in from working third shift, and we went out to brunch at one of our favorite hole-in-the-wall places downtown.  After overfilling ourselves on our favorite breakfast fare and having a waitress spill gravy on my thigh, we walked back to the apartment. Since Cody wasn't quite tired we relaxed together in the living room, talking about everything while he played Skyrim.  (This resulted in a discussion comparing and contrasting this fantasy world to Middle Earth...oh yes, we're those people.)  Finally, about three o'clock, Cody decided to go to sleep.  I believe a combination of not having grading to do and tryptophan made it so that I napped a lot over break.  I decided to join Cody, but I didn't sleep long.  I woke up at four, and Cody asked me to wake him up around five thirty.

So what does this have to do with clocks?  This sounds like a lovely beginning to the day!  After leaving Cody to sleep, I lounged in chaise-bliss watching ridiculousness on Netflix, all the while keeping an eye on the clock's minute hand slowly winding its way around its mahogany face toward the six.  "Twenty minutes until I need to wake up Cody."  "Five minutes until I need to wake up Cody."  When I descended the three steps into our bedroom, however, I was greeted with grunts about the need to sleep more.  Try seven.  More time passed.  "Twenty minutes until I need to wake up Cody."  "Five minutes until I need to wake up Cody."  More groaning mingled with the reply, "Let me sleep until 8:30."  This dance continued until 10:30, giving me a full six and a half hours of clock-watching.  I understand that Cody couldn't know how much sleep he would need.  Sometimes he can function perfectly after sleeping for a mere three hours; other times he needs a minimum of seven hours of unconsciousness to be able to drag himself back to work, especially after having a difficult night with clients the night before.  Regardless, I felt trapped in the apartment, doomed to watch campy television shows and stare at spinning hands as my mini-vacation slipped away from me.  If I had known that Cody would have needed that much sleep, I would have perused Barnes and Noble or sipped a mocha at Starbucks (or perhaps both, since B&N was so clever about that combination!).  Yes, Cody could have just set an alarm, but we both think I provide a much nicer wake-up service than the buzzer on Cody's phone that sends anyone in earshot jolting out of whatever piece of furniture happens to reside under their buttocks.  Plus, my mother instilled a near-phobia in me of being out and about by myself after dark.  This coupled with my overactive imagination makes it a wonder I haven't stabbed some innocent bystander in the eye with a key yet...  But back to the point: I couldn't enjoy that time I had as the sole conscious being in the apartment because I was so busy counting the time until Cody would wake up and how much time we would actually get to spend with each other over break.  (Not counting the couple of naps we took together, we were in each other's company for a grand total of 23 hours over the course of fourdays.)

Now that I am back to my normal weekday life of teaching and exhaustion, an interesting thing has happened.  The clock in my classroom started seizing.  New batteries didn't help the matter, and even after taking apart the clock I couldn't figure out what its issue was.  Suddenly there is no clock to tell me how much time I have left for instruction in a class period.  There is no point on the wall upon which students eyes become fixed and glaze over about five minutes before the bell.  My students keep begging me to put in a work order to get a new clock.  I'm not sure what I'll do; it's honestly quite nice to have a place in which I do not feel the need to stare at clocks.

My Students Saw "Kendra" and I Saw Cody

For readers that do not remember what I do for a living, I work as an English teacher in a rural school in west central Indiana.  One of the new classes that I am teaching this semester is an introductory debate course--the first to be seen at my school.  I love that I am able to bring new electives into my work environment and expose students to different sides of English, and working with debate takes me back two years to my senior year of college.  At that point in time, I was a coaching assistant for West Lafayette's debate program (which, for those unfamiliar with debate in Indiana, is a seriously competitive program), and I enjoy teaching more now that I am able to bring research and persuasion skills into my classroom with an enthusiasm that only debate can instill.

Last weekend, my students and I took a short bus (complete with a plethora of problems from randomly dimming headlights to a slipping transmission) to my husband's town in order to compete at the local high school.  I truly enjoyed being able to take my students to see my weekend world.  They loved how big the "city" was, how many shops and restaurants there were to see while driving through the downtown area, and that they could ask for a review of a given business and--ninety percent of the time--receive an opinion from someone who has been a patron of the establishment.  I acted as a tour guide, telling them where I frequent, which beautiful buildings to note, and what area of town I call my home away from home.

As much as I enjoyed chauffeuring my students around town, my time in the city was bittersweet.  After waking up at 3:30am to get my students to the debate tournament on time, knowing that there was a comfy bed just across town that almost literally had my name on it was torture.  Added to the fact that I knew I wouldn't get to see much of my hubby, I was all but ready to tell the kids to drive on home while I reveled in the comfort of an apartment in which I spend too little time.  Passing our Saturday market, our Sunday coffeehouse, and the gardens in which we like to eat brunch and people-watch made me especially other-homesick.

Thankfully, Cody made the fantasies of abandoning my students to their own devices in order to have my normal weekend disappear.  He was able to support me in my new coaching position by judging the congress section of the debate.  Even though he had worked third shift that night, he came to the high school right after he clocked out and was ready to go.  His dedication to fulfilling one of my needs with regard to work is just another example of how considerate and selfless Cody is.  Since last weekend was his weekend off, he even drove back to our hometown and stayed with me for the duration of Saturday and Sunday.  Granted, my fifteen hour day on Saturday put me back home at what seemed like an ungodly hour of the...evening (especially after having driven for six and a half hours that day), I managed to find a second wind when I reached home solely due to the prospect of having time with my husband.

Unfortunately, next weekend brings another debate competition.  I am looking forward to bringing new debaters to a tournament--and those who went last weekend can attest to how wonderful and awe-inspiring of an experience one's first debate competition is--but I am loath to lose an entire weekend with my husband. He works all weekend, so there is no chance of him sneaking home this time.  I suppose I just need to think positively.  In seventeen days, we will have a long weekend for Thanksgiving, and I already know what I am thankful for.