I think it's time that I finally admit it: I need help.
Take a deep breath and fasten your seatbelts because you are going on the rationalization ride of your life.
I spent the weekend at my Mom & Dad's house (sans Mom, who was at a chorus retreat all weekend) with Zac. I don't remember much of the weekend except that it involved copious amounts of pain followed by wonderful pain medication. The first dentist I saw on Tuesday had only prescribed me Vicodin, regular strength. After three hours in the dentist chair on Friday with the dentist drilling into my very soul trying to find the root of all of my issues, he prescribed by Vicodin, E.S. He moved the lamp back and leaned over the chair in a conspiratory tone of voice and whispered, "The E.S. stands for Extra Strength." "Really?" I thought, "this man is a genius and needs to be awarded some type of 'Dentist of the Year Award,' especially for practicing at a clinic that smells like human urine."
I was only being partially sarcastic. I've got much love for those that liberally prescribe pain medication. My offer to marry the man that gave me my epidural during child birth still stands.
Vicodin E.S. and I slept most of the weekend. I woke up on Sunday thinking, "Wow, these teeth still hurt like a bitch." I usually bounce back pretty fast, but the root canals had me on my knees.
I finally got back to my apartment late Sunday evening (which is like 6pm for my family and I) and once again the thought occured to me: I need help. This thought has been floating through my brain for the past couple of weeks as I've been trying to figure out how I can start incorporating going to the gym and taking better care of myself. I realized that the only hours of the day that I have free are from 5:30-7:30am. It's great because Zac is usually asleep (I am as well, I should point out). I was thinking that maybe someon from my apartment complex could come and hang out on my couch for two hours every Tuesday and Thursday, while I go to the gym. Then I realized - why stop there? Maybe they could unload the dishwasher, fold some clothes, for-the-love-of-God vacuum every now and then??
I started rationalizing that since I've started my new job everyone from the lawyers, to the case workers, to the receptionist makes fun of me for bringing my lunch every day. It's a habit that I started at the Food Bank where the closest restaurant for lunch was B.Y.O.H.G. (Bring Your Own Hand Gun) and shirts were optional. If you wanted to eat at that organization, you brought it yourself or took hour-and-a-half lunches. At my new job, downtown H-town, there are swank corner cafes, basement delis, and at least two Quiznos on every corner. No one eats in the office except me and the kid on parole in the next office over who has to leave early every day to finish up his mandatory community service.
By buying lunch at the grocery store, I spend about $2.5 - $4. If I ate out, lunch would easily cost me anywhere between $8-$10. So, I save between $15 - $30 each week. Before, I needed every last cent that I was saving to do little things like pay my rent and keep the electricity on. Now, I'm in a little different situation. I wonder if I really could pay someone $7/hour for 4 hours a week = $28/week to help me around the house and make sure Zac stays sound asleep.
What do you think? Do you think I should try and find someone? Am I out of my mind for even considering this? Should I just quit whining and put Zac in the free-low cost child care that some of the gyms offer? Should I just quit whining in general and suck it up? I can always take care of myself when Zac graduates high school.