I am going crazy with the kindergarten application process for Lola. We have two more days before the deadline comes for TAG programs (TAG stands for Talent and Gifts other than pecuniary). We have already missed the deadline for Ethical Culture by many weeks. I am a mess. I have not been able to concentrate on living since losing my beloved dream of ethical redemption through networking with the rich. Why else would I care about Ethical Culture?
I am waiting for the bus to take me to PS 116. I have double-vision and I need to drink some water. There is no water nearby. I am taking my Samsung out of the much used pocket book. I’m scrolling down through the Ethical Culture’s web page to see to whom I shall send an email inquiring about her application. I need to apply. I may get some scholarship for Lola. My hand is trembling. Last night I dreamed that I visited my therapist with mom. She was telling Lynda, my therapist, that though she, mom, brought me up to become an embassy attaché (to what?) all I had succeeded in was to get an off-Broadway understudy role. To her complaint I replied that I am bringing up Lola to become … and I woke up. I was mad that I did not keep on dreaming so I get to my innermost hopes about Lola.
Why on Earth am I putting so much energy on kindergarten applications?
I cannot take it any longer. I need money. And right now I need to take a shower. My Honey just does not care about my hopes. He planned to take Lola to Holland to visit Madurodam. Can you imagine? Madurodam!!! Ah, I feel like vomiting.
Then, once I apply I need to prepare the little munchkin for testing for the TAG schools. The testing is supposed to take place in December or January or who knows when. And the ERBs… If only Ethical Culture would give us another chance. All I want is the Bonfire of the Vanities …Those people. Connecting with all of them. The entire Wall Street world for my little girl. All the bankers…It sounds awful. I sound like pimping my little girl.
“Scream Stela” I hear my thespian self. “It helped when you delivered Lola.”
Indeed as soon as I felt the pain I started screaming “I want an epidural. NOW!” I did it a few times until everybody heard “the uninhibited Puerto Rican”. They were wrong in using that ethnic stereotype, but I was in now shape to correct them. Four reruns of Larry King interviewing Elizabeth Taylor and I had Lola.
“I cannot let it all go to hell” I tell myself. “I need to stay focused a few more days and then I can collapse.”
A few more days. And then a few more years.
Scream Stella! Scream!