Reason #147

why I shouldn't leave the house dressed like a little teenager in furry boots: I run into an old crush.

Granted, this time I was "presentable" and not wearing sweats and messy hair, but I was definitely dressed as a kid in a loose dress, leggings, and very, very furry boots. Yup, I was right back in high school. Which is coincidentally where I first met said crush. Well I haven't seen this guy since high school, and it became infinitely clear that he did not recognize me. Since we were not exactly friends, but merely classmates, I didn't expect him to remember me, but at least a glance in my direction when we passed each other. Nope, not a head nod, a smile, or anything.

I think I fared better with the stranger-athlete at Waremart. Perhaps if I didn't look like I belonged in high school Mr. Old Crush would have said "hi".

Done and done.

Yesterday at 3:10pm I officially ended my student-teaching career. One school year is not a career, you might say, but let me tell you something: I feel like student-teaching has sucked 10 years of my life. Now on a Saturday, not only do I NOT have to worry about which assignments to avoid grading (and later feel guilty about ), I also don't need to worry about what the kids are going to do in class on Monday (I actually haven't done that for weeks now....oops). It's hard leaving the 'teacher' mindset though. I keep catching myself worrying about assignments students still haven't turned in, or thinking that today's a school day and I'm late for work. These are the scars I wear. To be fair, I enjoyed teaching at Central, I honestly did. But Christmas break is a MUCH NEEDED escape from being utterly, prudishly, and boringly responsible.

I may not be a college student anymore, but I sure feel like acting like one. Give me a moment to discard my hefty master's degree for a day or two, and become a lowly college student once again. The land of irresponsibility, asking parents for money (which I refuse to do), and sleeping in because classes don't start until noon -- those were the good days.

No, I cannot shed the degree I earned through blood, sweat, and tears, but I can turn my attention to more important things, such as: sleeping in, reading my arsenal of books, crocheting, writing/sending Christmas cards, wrapping gifts, watching movies, writing my novels, and packing for my trip home tomorrow. :)

Have a wonderful Christmas break everyone!!

Reason #109

why I should never step out of the house looking like crap: I inevitably run into handsome strangers.

Strangers is the operative word in the sentence above. I don't care if I run into my friends looking like crap because I've already secured their friendship. They've already seen me in my comfy mode (aka: in sweats and no makeup). But strangers have no idea that I can, in fact, clean up pretty well and look presentable. First impressions are very important, and I may have just given a very bad first impression to this handsome athlete.

To be fair, I was relaxing indoors and didn't feel like being very feminine when I went to the store to get some baking supplies. My choice of appearance: sweatshirt, men's sweatpants, glasses, no makeup, messy damp hair. I was all set to walk down the catwalk. Looking as stellar as I did, I bumped into a guy that I had seen a couple times around town. Of course he would never greet a stranger that gave every appearance of being a hobo, but he was courteous enough to give a polite nod and smile in my direction. Ah, if only I wore real clothes and actually put a comb to my hair that morning.....maybe then I would have gotten a "hello".

December thoughts

There's a reason why we're made the way we are. God had a definite plan when he decided to make me five feet tall instead of five-foot-eight. There's a reason I'm not model-shaped. There's a reason he gifted me with a voice to sing instead of fingers that fly across a keyboard. There's a reason I love sports but aren't especially talented at any of them.
There are some things that I am so impassioned about but can only watch from the sidelines. Music sets a part of my soul on fire with its rhythm, with its intricacies, with its flight between delicate notes and muscle depth. But all I can do is appreciate its worth. Sure I can sing, but I want more -- I want to play the language of the instrument.
Sports has never been something I can watch from the sidelines. I have this deep-seated need to participate whenever possible. As much as I enjoy playing soccer or rugby, I can not claim true skill or talent in either of them. I understand soccer through and through -- can see where the passing lanes are, calculate and execute a kick and compensate for foul weather, anticipate the opponent's move -- but I cannot react in time to do much good for my team. Yeah, I owe it all to my disastrous athleticism. I hate running more than I can say. I wish I could naturally run without getting tired five minutes later, but it is simply not the case. I don't mind lifting weights, doing a bit of kickboxing or maybe even some dance-aerobics, but straight running makes me cringe. So I must settle for being one of those overweight coaches who yells at her team from the side.
No worries, I've already become that woman -- complete with clipboard and whistle. It's a not-so-beautiful sight.

The truth about love

For the past year or so I have tried to learn as much about the concept of love as I can (as a single woman who has never been in love). I figured, before I can find it, I should know what to look for, right? Well along the way I have discovered plenty, but the most recent revelation is this: Love is not 50/50 -- it is no give-and-take relationship -- it is all about the giving. Pretty basic concept, one would think, but this hit home for me while watching "Wolverine" (oh yes, total chick-flick).

Don't ask me how romantic lovey-dovey nonsense fits into this action-flick. However, in the scene where Logan and Kayla are canoodling in their Canadian mountain home I realized that when it comes to relationships, you're not in it for yourself -- you're in it for the other person. Sure, it gives you great joy to be with that special someone, but first and foremost you strive to do all you can do make the other person happy. That is where self-joy comes into play. It really is a never-ending cycle that might be too complicated to try to explain; but the point is that you have to be willing to give all of you to see to the happiness of the other person. You have to be willing to put your needs aside, your pride aside, and be vulnerable in order to find true fulfillment in love.
That love is shown to the other person in the selfless act, in the willingness to show the true self and stand the risk of rejection, in giving up control, and in saying, "I can't do this on my own; I need you." I've never experienced any of this, but I am pretty sure it will be the single most terrifying thing I will ever do in my lifetime. So terrifying, in fact, that I don't know if I can go through with it.

I scratch your back, you scratch mine?

I can't stand it. I really can't. My shoulders have been so twisted up in knots, I think the only way to loosen them is to cut the ties completely and let them unravel themselves. Right now, sitting in a comfy recliner, I can't even lift my hands. They weigh ten pounds each at least -- maybe twenty the way I'm feeling right now. It's one of those pains that has built up over time (I'm thinking the last four days or so) so now my body doesn't even have the will to resist. I'll sit here for the rest of the night letting my poor head flop on my shoulders that are too stiff to really provide proper support. No aid for my neck, just shoulders that won't move even if you paid them -- not that I would ever advocate for giving money to my shoulders. If you were to give money to anyone/thing, then it might as well be to me. It's not like I get paid for working a full time job with thankless adolescents.
Back to the subject at hand....will someone PLEASE massage these knots out? Right now I have lost the will to live because these things are so stiff. I would love it if all the tension was rubbed out of my shoulders so that I wouldn't even care about this life of mine because I would be in such a state of relaxation.
Please? Any takers?

God spoke to me

He does from time to time, you know; only this time, it was in the form of a dream. I woke up a couple hours ago with the distinct impression that God was not too pleased with my earlier post concerning my favor of dogs over babies and small children. I dreamt that I had my own tiny baby. She was so beautiful and small. I knew the baby was my own and not someone else's because I had an overwhelming feeling of protectiveness over her that I can only assume comes with being a mother. I have no idea who the father was (eek!), but it somehow didn't matter to me. I distinctly recall the baby being blue-eyed with faint wisps of blonde hair (hmm...is this a premonition for the future?). I wish I could remember her name, but alas, that was the one thing that slipped from memory the moment I awoke. She had to be only a couple months old, but for some reason she was able to sit up on her own. She had no teeth yet, but loved gumming a small, light-blue and gray teething ring. I remember taking her everywhere with me -- to school to teach, around the house, running errands -- in my arms in front of me (even in one of those baby carriers where she just hangs in front of me in a sling). Her soft head had the succulent baby smell, and I breathed in greedily, knowing it would not last forever.
The only odd thing was that the child never once cried. She was the ideal child, not a realistic one. She smiled and laughed and looked at me in adoration. I want this child.

I need this child. She is mine; I know that. I just can't wait to meet her now.