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.