Living To Tell The Story

My life the ultimate tragicomedy. A frustration-enlightenment-apocalypse-adrenaline-procrastination soup.
A life perfect for writing about, but occasionally hard as hell to live. All of this because Murphy's Law (or Fate) finds its primary target in me.
That's why I'm sitting on a bench in front of Walmart; 0ne eye on the parade of circus folk who make up 99% of the population of Livingston, Texas...one eye on the "baskart" holding the contents of my car (a red suitcase, laptop bag, Ralph Lauren, Levi & Sephora shopping bags, a few library books, and a hooded hair dryer). I'm sitting here now, waiting, because at 4:00 pm on December 27, 2008, I did not die.

At 3:59 pm, I was cruising along US Hwy 59 headed south to Houston after a week-long absence...to my messy house, to my daughter's presumably underfed cat, Bastet, to my absent-minded boyfriend (thus the starving cat).
In some gap between time and space, in a place not governed by man, Fate appeared. Having already carefully laid an invisible sheet of water on the road, she lifted her arms to orchestrate the uncontrollable.
My car became her instrument.
I became the audience.
The tires slid across the water, turning sharply to the right, then the left.
The steering wheel jerked out of my hands. There was spinning, and squealing, and spinning. Spinning across lanes into the grassy median, backwards, then around, into a small but sturdy tree. Finally, as if perfectly timed, the song ended. The nose of the car jutting perilously into oncoming traffic.
Fate or God or I guided the car backwards then parallel to the road, safely in the grass.
Then I breathed...only because I was not dead...and somehow, my brain did not need my consciousness to do this.
I watched an unbidden instant replay and registered what had just happened.
My life had not flashed before my eyes. Only fear. A being-pushed-out-of-a-plane, gun-barrel-to-the-back-of-your-head type fear...and random regret. For a moment I turned the regret over in my mind. Not sure what to be sorry about, I gave up and turned off the engine.
The car, covered with patches of wet sod, sent whispy white smoke signals from the hood to the sky.
What followed was a drama of choking-sob phone calls, starring chipper insurance agents, dip-chewing city cops, a haggard old tow-truck driver (who looked eerily like the Gordon fisherman), and a hearing-impaired Walmart security guard. It was like a rainy day musical, sans music... and choreographed dancing. I watched.
My car will go to Kenneth's Complete Car Care of Kingwood. I will go home. Enterprise will pick me up...Monday.
All because I did not die.

I've gone through a range of emotions so far. Fear, Confusion, Helplessness, Anger, Depression and finally, Gratitude.
One day, this will make a great book.

You may want to reserve your copy today. Donations welcome.

Breathe Again

It has been too long since I last wrote. I have no real excuse, other than the fact that I've been inordinately busy.
Two days after Thanksgiving, Leila came down with a fever, swollen glands and sore throat that lasted, unabated, for 4 consecutive days. I took her to the doctor who diagnosed her with "the strep test was negative but we'll send her swab off for further testing, meanwhile give her antibiotics."
The antibiotic, expensive as it was, did nothing to lessen the symptoms. I called back. The doctor amended her previous diagnosis to "it must be viral".
Fast forward 3 weeks...Leila STILL has a nasty cough and nasal congestion.
She's tired of it, and so am I.

The last few weeks have been spent trying to teach the freshmen how to use figurative language to express themselves, more specifically, to describe who they are. The culminating event was a poetry night. I dashed between meetings, classes, rehearsals, Big Lots and local dollar stores in a desperate attempt to get everything ready for big night.
It was definitely worth it. The students' performances were amazing.
That night, I was proud to be a teacher. I was proud to be THEIR teacher. Whether or not I continue teaching in the same capacity, I know that giving people an opportunity to find and express their purpose is MY purpose.
This I must do.

Now that the holiday break has finally arrived, I can finally relax. Let the pressure of classes, planning and special programs slide off of my shoulders. I feel the fingers of overcommitment release their vice-grip on my throat.
I need this break. Leila does too.
Can't wait to breathe again.

The day the dam broke

For a number of reasons, the last few months have been quite difficult financially. So far, I've been able to put on a brave face to the world...juggling bills and paychecks...eliminating luxuries like pedicures and hair appointments. But today, the levees broke.
A quick check of the bank account before making my pre-Thanksgiving visit to Kroger brought me to tears. The money I thought was there...was not. Two unexpected debits from my account had sent things spiraling.

Before I could stop it, several months of pent up emotions crashed through my carefully constructed walls. I was crying. Choking, sniffing, wailing tears. The more I tried to stop, the harder I cried.
Even now, my soul feels so heavy. Weary.
I'm not just another struggling single mom. I refuse to be that. Why does it seem that the cosmos is so set against me?
Finally, the sobs have subsided. I am spent. But there is no time for self-pity.
I've already broken out the calculator, made a few phone calls, transferred funds.
Leila will still get her glasses today.
I will still bring a dish to Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow.
I will smile.
I'll keep right on living.

Seasons Sequesterings

This, after all, was the month in which families began tightening and closing and sealing; from Thanksgiving to the New Year, everybody's world contracted, day by day, into the microcosmic single festive household, each with its own rituals and obsessions, rules and dreams. You didn't feel you could call people. They didn't feel they could phone you. How does one cry for help from these seasonal prisons? - On Beauty- Zadie Smith

'Tis the season. Right? That must be why the only recent calls on my cell phone are to/from my mom or bf. Conversations with both consisting almost entirely of inconsequential details or random reminders.

Mom: Can you believe they're having the wedding shower in Sherwood? The wedding invitation didn't even have her parents' names on it!

Me: Sherwood's right across the river Mom.

Mom: It said something like ___ and ___ request the honor of your presence at the wedding of their children. Her parents' name nowhere to be found. What kinda stuff is that?

Me: (melodramatically) Oh my God! How dare they! Surely they don't expect you to GO!

Mom: Stop it....so disrespectful! You do your best to raise decent children and this is what you get. What did I do wrong?

And so goes my holiday. At the start of it we all wish each other well, and scatter like so many billiard balls. Impenetrable holiday walls rise up around families. The season demands we spend quality time with people we suddenly (annually) realize that we barely know....are tired of... or can't stand.

The characters of my "normal" life have all exited stage left, each to his own family gatherings. Who can I call? Who can I text? Who's probably not doing anything?
I'm left standing alone...early-bird sale commercials blaring in the background. Is this the break I had longed for?
I think. Yes.

Leila and I sit on the couch, stealing glances at each other, thankful that it's just us. Without the pile of grading between us, I notice for the first time that she sighs deeply, at random, just like I do.
How could I have missed this?
And then I understand the reason for the season (other than baby Jesus, boosting the economy, an old fat man's improbable mission, or eating). Americans live too fast.
If we weren't made to stop, hole up for a few days, we probably would be too busy living to see who we're really living for (besides ourselves).
Be thankful.

Working to Relax

I pushed myself through hell to get to this week. Thanksgiving break. A glorious week off of work.
And now that it's here, I find that I'm facing an even bigger dilemma than how to 15 year olds to care about literary analysis and objective mastery.
My problem: I don't know HOW to relax.
I mean, I think I know what it means.
According to dictionary.com, relax means "to reduce or stop work, effort, application, etc., esp. for the sake of rest or recreation".
But what do you do when you've BECOME work? How does one stop being?
It's almost like I don't know what to do with myself. No bells, no weekly action plans, no meetings. How the hell am I supposed to schedule my life?
Sad, huh?

It's always like this the first few days of a holiday. It takes me several days to decompress (sometimes weeks).
So far, I've resorted to domestic duties...cleaning, grocery shopping, cooking. But any efforts at relaxing are interrupted by restlessness and (dare I say it)... boredom.
As always, I need to formulate a plan. I think I'll make one for every day...to replace the lesson plans and action plans I live by. You can't expect a girl to go cold turkey, can you?

Today's Relaxation Plan

I will...

• work on my cross-stitch
• read On Beauty until I get tired of reading
• watch several episodes of TLC, HGTV, or Food Network programs
• play a game with Leila

I will not...

• grade anything
• think/worry about lesson planning or event planning
• argue/debate anything with my boyfriend
• pay attention to the time

Let's see how it goes. I'll update you tomorrow during 5th period.

S.M.U.R.F.S.

Today I stayed home from school, recuperating from yet another bout with upper respiratory issues. For the 3rd time in 6 weeks, I was blindsided by some coughing-sore throat-headache combo, this time accompanied by a rather scary-sounding hoarseness. I went to the doctor yesterday afternoon. One hour in the waiting room and 5 minutes of routine poking and take-a-deep breaths later, I was diagnosed with chronic sinusitis and handed a prescription for an antibiotic.
I was mildly disappointed. It seemed like this disease that keeps reincarnating itself every 2 weeks should be called something more rare-sounding than sinusitis. It first appeared disguised as the flu, reappeared about 3 weeks later bringing with it runny nose, watery eyes and sneezing fits, this time...coughing and post-nasal drip (gross...I know).
You'd think that the last few years of teaching would have made me immune to most of the diseases passed around by the germ-infested youth. Guess not.
Anyway, thanks to the internet and several episodes of Mystery Diagnosis, I've figured out EXACTLY what I have.
Semi-Mutating Upper Respiratory Facultative Syndrome (S.M.U.R.F.S)
Aptly named seeing as, right now, I sound a bit like Papa Smurf.The treatment for this disease is antibiotic (cefuroxime), cough medicine (preferably something that will make you delirious), plenty of water (to wash down the nasty antibiotic horse pill), food (to be vomited up due to the antibiotic) and pain reliever (for the headache and dizziness caused by the stupid antibiotic).

Ideally, one would have a few days in bed to rest. I had one....half of which was spent responding to emails, grading week-old exams and obsessing about how on God's green earth I could finish grading and teaching everything before Thanksgiving break.

Medical researchers (like me) are still seeking a cure for S.M.U.R.F.S.
Donations are welcome.

Yes we did

This year, I am not the only one for whom change will come. If not the change itself, the promise of it.
I am without words.
I am...
I'm in shock.
I'm excited.
I'm anxious.
I'm nervous.
I'm hopeful.
I'm proud.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood

The last few weeks have been hellacious. Frantic days, restless evenings, random outbursts of tears. These were just the aftershocks, but Uncertainty is the fault line.
When I began this blog 2 months ago, I thought I had it all outlined. Grad school would be the focus and this writing project would be all about getting there. Now, I'm not sure.
Relax.
I'm not trying to say I've changed my mind.
But I have had to change my course.
The road I once thought was wide and all-encompassing, has diverged.
I THINK both lead to the same place (not that I can be sure).
Down one path, I must continue giving my whole self to a rewarding, yet highly-demanding job, hoping to parcel out enough time to apply for and attend a low-residency master's program. Obstacles have already begun to appear along that path. Extra responsibilities, special projects and programs, due dates, unresponsive and unappreciative students. The people and things neglected in favor of my life-job are beginning to revolt. I feel lost.
But I've come upon another path. The entry is narrow, but it seems to open into a wide field of possibilities. However, it requires that I put down my life-job and open myself to others...positions that would give me room to breathe and be.
For the first time in 4 years, I'm beginning to believe that I could live a life which INCLUDES a job, rather than having a job that IS my life.
I've broken out my binoculars and peered down this path. There are some promising opportunities out there. So, I'm brushing up my resume and sending it on ahead of me via carrier pigeon (since internet seems to be a illusive luxury both at my life-job and my home).

For now, I must continue down the other road (stalling isn't an option). But you better believe I'll be watching for the carrier pigeon to come back with the message that all's clear. I'll cut a hard left so fast, God'll do a double-take.

Both paths appear to be an uphill climb. The sign for where they both lead is hidden in the fog. But I believe in God (and Flannery). Everything that rises must converge.

A change gon' come

Due to unforeseen mental and emotional stress, Faith is temporarily closed. I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause. Teaching and parenting will continue on a special schedule until further notice. Check in often for updates.

Life renovations are underway.

Drug-Induced Fog

Finally, the frantic pace, lack of sleep, healthy food and me time... have caught up with me. I have come down with The Funk. The Funk is something like the "common" cold combined with flu symptoms and an indescribable general malaise.
Body ache. Loss of appetite. Intermittent fever. Congestion. Fits of coughing. Short-term memory loss.
I am taking a cocktail of medicines, all intended to function as general anesthesia. I really don't care if I feel better at this point...as long as I don't feel at all.
So, I'm off to the couch...if I can remember where I'm going after I stand up.

Criminal Mischief

My car blew up.
Well, not literally, but it overheated to the point where the engine could have blown out. This is a recurrent problem. The last time my car overheated in this fashion, I was on my way to Dallas to visit friends. Leila and I ended up in Dew, Texas at a greasy spoon called The Dinner Bell, where we waited for 2 1/2 hours for a tow truck. Wheel of Fortune played on a television set perched perilously on a rickety wall-shelf. Alex Trebek's voice was barely audible through the static and over the banal conversation of the three backwood retirees who managed to not know the name of the street we were on when I mustered up the courage to ask. Apparently NOBODY in Dew, Texas knows the address to The Dinner Bell, not even the employees.
But I digress.

This week, the car had to be taken to the shop. Without a car, I had to rely on my bf to shuttle me back and forth. I came home each day to feed and water the cat, change clothes, etc. On Tuesday, I made sure to lock up carefully before leaving. Wednesday, while feeding the cat, I noticed that the front door was unlocked.
"Huh, I coulda sworn I locked that door. Maybe not"
I locked the door and left.
Thursday, my bf picked up Leila from school (I had open house at my school that evening). When he arrived at my house, the garage door was wide open and the front door was unlocked. He checked out the house, but there was no sign of theft. Everything was exactly as I had left it (in moderate disarray).
Everything was locked and checked, the automatic garage door unhooked from the motor and locked from the inside.
Friday, Leila and I came home (in our car!) for a chillout evening on the couch. I went to the door first, pushed the handle, and the door swung open!
I called for the cat, scooped her up and backed out the door.
Episodes of CSI-Miami flashed through my mind. There was most certainly a crime scene in my home. I just hadn't seen it. Not wanting to compromise the scene, I sat in the car and waited for Horatio Cane (my bf) to investigate. He did, but found nothing. We both scratched our heads and waited for the police.
I called them at 7:35 pm. They arrived at 12:35 am.
"Ma'am, it doesn't make sense that someone would come into your house and not take anything. There's nothin' much we can do about it. S'not really a crime 'less we have evidence of theft, or we have a person."

What???

So there's nothing wrong with someone unlocking your home, coming in and then leaving it unlocked as long as nothing is taken? So the criminal doesn't exist if they're not still in the house?

Add this to the absence of yellow tape, flashing lights or white-gloved specialists dusting my house for prints. No ultraviolet lights were used to identify blood-spatter. Nothing more than a flashlight waved across the door jam and, occasionally, in my face.

According to the police, this did not qualify as criminal mischief, because nothing was damaged or stolen.
But it's trespassing, isn't it? What about that?

I went back in my house, which was determined NOT to be a crime scene, and tried to go to sleep.
Not a crime, huh. It ought to be a crime for the police to take so long to come to investigate. It ought to be a crime for them to be so nonchalant about a citizen's concerns.
I imagined that they rode off sipping on their free coffee, brushing donut crumbs off their laps, grumbling about having to come out "for nothing".

I feel neither served nor protected.

PS. The locks have been changed.

The Love Song of Mrs. Jones

I'm in the process of collecting work for my graduate application portfolio and came across this little poem.  Just thought I'd share.

The Love Song of Mrs. Jones 
 

The voices of the children are like tinkling glass

And for a moment

Their song is all I hear.

A ray of morning sun shines through the window,

Skips atop the baby girl’s sandy curls

And lands on my folded hands.

Once slender and smooth,

They now creak and bend as one tries to smooth away

The wrinkles of the other. 

I do not tell them how you held that hand

As Sade played,

Because they would not understand that it wasn’t love.

Was it.

They do not know how friends can sit in silence

And just comfortably be

Like you and me.

But even in the silence

The words danced between us.

They hovered above our heads mid-conversation,

Ever threatening, but never managing,

To manifest themselves into something other than a thing.

A thing we had once

At times

Still

Always 

And now I sit here gazing at these beautiful children

Who are not yours,

Listening to the shuffling of the morning paper

In the hands of a still-strong, black man

Who is not you.

I think we knew, even then

We would live our lives out separately,

Happily. 

But today

When my grandkids asked me to explain “forever”

I wanted to tell them your name. 

AFH

6/7/07

Back to Life, Back to Reality

(I bet somebody started hummin' the song)

I've realized that everything that I post here need not be life-changing news. Besides, most of the time, we are unaware of the signficance of life's daily events until long after they've passed.
I don't know how much this afternoon will matter in the grand scheme of things, but I do know that, right now, it matters.

I need it.
It very well might be my last stress-free Sunday evening for a long while.

Usually, Sunday afternoons are fraught with the panic that comes from realizing that tomorrow is Monday and there's still a whole weeks' worth of lesson planning ahead. In spite of random bouts of binge-grading throughout the weekend, the pile of quizzes/papers/homework is still hurricane storm surge high.
Sitting at the computer for hours, hands on my forehead, trying desperately to squeeze out meaningful, culturally-relevant, student-centered, intellectually-stimulating activities and assessments for a group of people more interested in L'il Wayne than writing analytical paragraphs. (And I doubt L'il Wayne could write one)

This. Every Sunday of the school year. Without fail.

But not today. Today, I will eat orange-cranberry scones and watch B movies on DVD with my daughter and bf. They will be spared my desperate, semi-rhetorical questions about objective tracking. Their "Did you see that"(s) will be met with something other than a grunt from behind the electric glow of my laptop.

No, this afternoon probably won't bring breakthrough in the field of college-preparatory education for under-privileged youth, but it will be good for me.

Makes me wonder which life is real. This one? Or the planning-grading-teaching-meeting frenzy that is my other life?

Stir Crazy

This is day 7 away from home.
According to CenterPoint Energy's new schedule, power should be restored to my neighborhood by Monday.
So, I'm stranded here, in Katy, at my bf's parent's house (good Lord, I use a lot of commas...and parentheses).
I've been trying to make myself grade, but I keep getting distracted by Disney specials, news updates, political commentary, the 3 books I'm trying to read simultaneously, my daughter, new snack ideas, and impromptu naps.
I need to get back to business. I need Houston to bounce back before I turn into a....who-knows-what.
As much as I hate to admit it, I like schedules. I find myself trying to map out my days in 55 minute increments. Teacher mode.

Today's schedule: (purposely NOT 55 min increments...trying to live on the edge here!)

9:00 - 10:00 - watch tv with Leila
10:00 - 10:30 - make and eat breakfast
10:30 - 11:35 - check emails, blog, etc.
11:35 - 12:35 - do something domestic (laundry, tidy up, etc)
12:40 - 1:30 - grade!
1:30 - 2:00 - make and eat lunch
2:00 - 3 ish - read and/or take nap
3:30 - 4:30 - take Leila to the park
4:40 - 6:00 - try not to be bored....perhaps try to do some lesson planning
rest of the evening - TBD

Sounds thrilling huh!
I must say that I do feel a little better having a schedule though...even though it's unlikely to bring me closer to self-actualization.

(shrugs)

UPDATE - 9/20/08

Lights!!
Electricity was restored Friday afternoon. I'm back at home now. I'm still a bit queasy after cleaning out the refrigerator. It was torture.

Fates Worse Than "Certain Death"

Houston...home to the Johnson Space Center, Astros, Rockets, Comets & Texans, a booming oil industry, live music, theatre, ballet, opera, museums, and millions of people.

Millions of people without electricity.

I am one of them.

On Friday, Sept 15th, at about 8:15 pm, the lights went out. I thought I'd be ready, but at that moment, pangs of uncertainty stabbed at my chest.

Leila was in the bathtub. No clothes were packed, no furniture had been secured and Hurricane Ike was most certainly coming. I darted around in the dark, lighting candles, collecting supplies and trying to lay hold on some sense of calm.

Even with all the news coverage, severe weather warnings, updates and preparation suggestions...no matter how many times CNN reporters uttered the phrase "certain death" , I still wasn't ready for Ike. The 70mph wind gusts and heavy rain tore at my house, peeling off tiles and thrashing it with tree branches. Lightning flashed every other second...for hours.

Finally it stopped.

I had not died (though others were not so lucky).

Saturday morning I ventured out to survey the damage.

My house was pretty much intact (minus a considerable number of shingles and the wooden fence that, at one time, separated my meager yard from my neighbor's).

It would just require a little clean-up. City officials reported significant damage in other parts of town. Flooding in homes, fallen traffic lights and trees, windows blown out of high-rise buildings downtown. They estimated 2-4 weeks before all 2.2 million Houston residents without power would be able to turn on their lights.

I shrugged. "There's no way it could take that long".

Saturday evening, already tired of the stiffling heat, we headed over to my bf's parents home in Katy. They had just gotten power. We'd go back home as soon as we got the word that power had been restored at our house.

Sunday passed, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Still no power. I cringe to think about what the contents of my refrigerator is doing right now.

But I have precious little time to worry about it. You see, with schools cancelled all the way from Galveston to Huntsville, I've got a little time off work. And being the glutton for punishment that I am, I offered to babysit my bf's sister's two children...ages 5 & 19 mths.

Just think....1 hurricane aftermath (including fuel shortages, closed businesses, general uncertainty) + 3 children - the patience of Kate Gosling (from Jon and Kate plus 8) ...or Ghandi.... and you've got a fate worse than "facing certain death." I'm not exaggerating (very much).

Not convinced? See below.

Child #1 : I'm bored

Me: Why don't you girls play a quiet game?

Child #2: Okay, let's see who can flip off the couch!

Me: No. No couch flipping.

Child #2: See! I told you she wouldn't let us do it. Stupid.

Me: Don't call her stupid.

Child #1: I'm tellin'. She called me stupid! (burst into tears). You not my friend no more!

Child #2: So! You called me names too! For real! (turning to me) She did! Yesterday.

Baby: Bababahhhhh!!

Me: Where's the baby?

Child #1: He wanna go downstairs

Me: (darting over to the stairs....for the 33rd time) No! Come back here!

Baby: Awan bah! Awan bah! [translation: I want ball]...(bursts into tears)

It goes on...really.

But I'll spare you.

Let's just say that I make a waaaaay better high school teacher than stay-at-home-mom.

Seriously, in times like these, we're tempted to complain about our circumstances. I know I am. I mean, I do. But then I think about the reality of all of this.

Thousands are worried sick about their businesses, their families, their homes. We don't know when everything will go back to normal...or if it ever really will.

But for those who stared down "certain death" and survived, even for those only slightly inconvenienced by a lack of electricity, there is much to be thankful for.

Helen Keller said it best..." Life is an adventure or it is nothing"

Imagine what life would be like if nothing unexpected ever happened. Now THAT would be a fate worse than death.

Fits and Starts

Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!

I thought that would help, but not surprisingly, I still feel like crap.

I'm not sure whether it's the lack of sleep, hunger, pile of grading, housework, miscommunication with my S.O., absence of visible progress towards life goals, or the Hannah Montana re-runs my daughter insists on watching that's to blame for my general malaise. It's probably a combination of all of 'em (but definitely exacerbated by Hannah Montana).

It feels like I'm about one "Faith, do you think you could..." away from a fit.
I need some Fruity Pebbles.

[Insert words of wisdom and inspiration here]

Really, I have no answers of my own. No 12-step plan to a simple life. But do I even need one?(that plan or that life?)
What I want out of life is not simple.
Guess I'm just a glutton for punishment. Or crazy.

Ugghhhh!!!!

Okay. That's over...for now.
Dinner cooking, litterbox cleaning, bedtime story reading, short essay grading, laundry drying, lesson planning and intermittent incapacitation await!

Depth perception

I find that whenever I don't have a clearly defined plan, I don't get anywhere. - Laura C.

The teacher's lounge is a veritable buffet of spontaneous wisdom (and unique conjugations of the word "sh#t").
My colleagues are a unique collection of workaholics...true martyrs to the mission*. But sometimes I wonder if keeping our eyes on the prize keeps us from seeing where we are.

"Depth perception is the visual ability to perceive the world in 3 dimensions." According to Wikipedia (the obvious authority on all things) "it is a trait common to higher animals". And I...am a higher animal. I think.

In the physical world of vision, images projected onto the retina are 2-dimensional, but are perceived in 3 dimensions. I've realized that it is the same in the philosophical realm. If we're not conscious about it, we "higher animals" can fall victim to 2-dimensional vision. Seeing ourselves only in the light of what IS, rather than what can be.

I find myself guilty of 2-dimensional vision.

1st dimension - who I understand myself to be

2nd dimension - who other people think I am

3rd dimension - who I COULD be

I think depth perception can change my reality.

The pragmatic in me (currently sharing residence with the procrastinator and perfectionist....an unholy triune) forces me to narrow my focus to the reality I CAN control.

Time for a little backwards planning.

I could realize my vision of becoming an academic and published writer by getting my master's degree. The course of choice (not of practicality) is an MFA in Creative Writing with a focus on Creative Nonfiction.

As of right now, I have absolutely no way of paying for it and no time to DO it. Oh and I don't have any money (which I may have mentioned earlier, but am repeating for emphasis...you know, epanorthosis**)

Ignoring these facts, I have narrowed my options down to 3 MFA programs, and then narrowed things down to what I have to do this week to get in one of 'em.

Step 1 - Apply for a fee reduction to take the GRE
Step 2 - Research financial aid options
Step 3 - Write a personal statement
Step 4 - Pray

Heading off into the 3rd dimension. You with me?


*see www.yesprep.org then add 50-hr work weeks, community service projects, week-long field trips, conviction to make learning meaningful, limited resources and higher academic standards...and you've got yourself a YES teacher.
** epanorthosis: n. a rhetorical device in which something just said is repeated and stronger or more apt words are substituted. www.thefreedictionary.com

The Tipping Point

Tipping Point:

the moment of critical mass, the threshold, the boiling point; the point when everyday things reach epidemic proportions.

www.pbs.org/strangedays/glossary/T.html



Today was the last day of many and the first day of more.

Hunched over the dining table, one hand resting on a pile of bills, the other on a "Notice Prior to Administrative Wage Garnishment" for student loans, I lost my tentative hold on hope.



"What do you think you're doing, Faith? You're still barely getting by. Nobody's coming to save you. Five years from now, you'll still be here."



And I knew, at that moment, that I was destined for mediocrity. Nothing in the days leading up to this one would bring about the future I dreamed of.
Don't get me wrong. I am passionate about what I do...I'm just not doing what I'm really passionate about.
Make sense?

I'm a teacher...and I'm good at it. There is a certain sense of fulfillment that comes from opening up the minds of pubescent teens and pouring everything you know into them...hoping that your enthusiasm and curiosity is infectious...that these kids will become SICK with the desire to learn more.

But this is not enough. I was made for more.

I'm not supposed to just be a teacher. I'm an academic, an educator, an activist and a writer.

I realize that I've been afraid of what it would take to pursue my passion. For the last few years, I've been settling for what I have and not pushing for what I could be.
All I have to show for it is a chronic stress and the pile of bills in front of me.

Something's gotta give. Thus, this blog.

Over the next year, from September 1, 2008 to September 1, 2009, I'm embarking on a mission to redirect the trajectory of my life.
I'm inviting you to come with me.

Follow the ups and downs, challenges, successes, observations, realizations and random events in the life of a woman in transition.

Warning: You may learn more about me than you want to know...but more importantly, you may learn more period.

And so begins the Pivot* Year.


*Pivot: - A turning point or condition; that on which important results depend; as, the pivot of an enterprise.
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