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.