Monday

With the weekend over and the phone still off
Response from work email
After msgs sent on every platform .... making me that desperate girl

What to ...
Believe
Think
Feel
Know

I do not like this person I become.
I want a love that strengthens and delights me,
My love confuses and saddens me.

I must be:
Polite
Peaceful
Honest

Perhaps it is just a feeling that will pass,
but I am tired.
Tired of wanting.
Tired of working on things.
Tired of having lost my smiles.

I am not in love.
I do not like this.

From the silence of the mountaintop
As the dawn came down to day
And the fire of Autumn rolled like the sea
I was never more ready to begin something new.

And now...

Nothing has happened, but we need to talk.

I am tired.

Limbo

I think I have been dumped.

At the surface: Money issues. It seems I have taken more than he planned to give.

Unsure what to do now. Assume no response will be helpful or well received so I am just waiting for more information.

I believe that it is important that I make an effort to not repeat my past mistakes and the only path of action that feels safe is the path of no action. I can't sell anything else to get money. I can't shift accounts around any. I can't pay back the money I have used this week. I won't argue my contributions. I won't drown my sorrows in drink. I won't give in to the confused sadness. I have not found myself crying yet and I will not dwell on the sadness tht could cause tears. I will not give way to bitterness. I simply am right now. I do not know what else to do.

Praximity

9:00 am
OK WELL ... If I could ditch work right this second to go take the praxis I WOULD. If I have to explain myself more slowly and in greater detail to one more dimwitted teacher I may explode. Perhaps they think I'm just a dumb dedicated aide, or perhaps they just don't listen, but either way they are slow and unresponsive. Did the system kill them? Were they once bright lights that have since burnout? I may never know these answers.

I do however know that I must collect my transcripts and prepare my portfolio, schedule a praxis and get my shit together. I can teach. I will teach. I want to teach.

That feeling I had at ISTE when the wonderfully inspirational woman who spoke of having so much trouble in school that she came back to appeal to "that student" of future generations ... that feeling has remained. I was never that student. I was always the safe bet to pair up with "that student" for group work. Some how miraculously I learned to reach them. Now in my adulthood I realize that my life has been a series of steps in learning to teach them.

My student now is brilliant. His meltdowns humble me. I see my recent failings in them. I see myself on the idealic streets of Senoia, Georgia kicking the tires of my adorable scooter, cursing the universe, cursing Sean and wishing someone would literally just shoot me. I have behaved badly of late. I can only hope that this was necessary to understand. I was late arriving to the party, but I have learned to dance.

Amendment (1:20): Praxis scheduled for Saturday.

Sitting with depression

So .... On two separate occasions I was told by a stranger to smile. Because its a beautiful day. Because it can't be that bad. And I was only out and about for a short three hours. I had a terribly lonely weekend.

I did get an amazing pair of boots that quickly won me the approval of every man in sight, but that wasn't the point. And in truth probably only served to deepen the loneliness.

So as I ponder what to do about the incredible nasty blister on my heel (yes, a product of amazing boots) I also ponder what to do with my fragile self. I hate the space that has been growing between myself and the man I love. I hate the easy way I debate my choices. I read and I wait. I go to the gym and I wait. I drink good coffee and I wait. I wait for affection, I wait for love. I wait as I have waited some 3 years hoping that he will bring me coffee, that he would send me flowers, that he would buy me a present. I wait and I strive for 135 and dream that if I reach that fateful goal he will show me love. If I am skinny he will love me. And I curse my fat. And I cut my calories. And I carry on.

A Penny's Worth of Character

On warm summer days when I was little we would walk down to the railroad track with a handful of pennies. We would lay them down on the tracks and wait. Sometimes we walked on over to the swinging bridge, or walk on down the tracks, others we just played by the tracks. We waited for the pennies to transform. We waited for the train to press them into something new. I loved the game of finding the new pressed penny in the old dirty gravel of the track. The hot copper, shiny, promising. It had been a penny. Worth something to the world. Somehow it was worth more to me after. I liked it best when Old Abe's face was still there and longer and more somber than ever. A shadow of the penny it had been remained, but the work of art that it was overwhelmed me, warmed me, stung my hand.

I'm a little sad that I never pressed pennies in Newnan. All those walks over the tracks and not a single penny. I may only have the one chance to fix that. I have a month to save my pennies. I should, and should make jewelry of the results. Those tracks remember more than I do. Those tracks and I began with tears, and to tears we oft returned, but there were moments of such joy, beauty and gratitude as well. My last memory of them was not one of which I am proud. I think that is even more reason to end it with a penny. To wear a reminder that I am not THAT GIRL any more.

Now I spend a portion of everyday on a train. To work. From work.

Had it not been for tracks like these I suppose my life would be unrecognizable to me. I can't fathom. It is tracks like this that move the coal that fed me from before I was born. Coal is the heart of Kentucky, a deep black heart that could be a diamond but isn't quite done yet. And my families bread and butter went from the coal to the train cars.

Deactivated

When something brings you nothing but frustration you should just get rid of it ... right?