Wasting Time

So I'm at school in the computer lab because we got out of orientation for work two hours early, and I now have two hours to kill. I could have gone back home for dinner, but then I just would have had to backtrack to get back to Indy. So here I am.

I brought Pride and Prejudice and Zombies with me to read and I have my class notebook, which isn't my journal but would do. So it's not like I have nothing to do.

I'm super tired today. Didn't sleep well last night and had to get up at 5:30 this morning to go to orientation for my new job, which officially starts tomorrow at 9 am. I have to do a bunch of training modules online but I don't have to get my CDA because I have enough credits from my Masters to suffice. So that's good news. And I get paid for my traning modules, 1 hour.

There was a lot to take in today. Six hours of listening to everything and trying to remember it. I need to read the employee handbook yet too. Tomorrow should be interesting. I hope and pray that Miss Combs and I get along. I have a feeling we're going to have different ideas on how to teach, but I hope this doesn't become a problem.

I am so tired!!

I should probably be looking over stuff from class and getting organized. I still have an hour to kill. Sigh. I just want to sleep. I realllllly don't want to drive home in the snow tonight. Four hours of class is just long enough for the roads to get slick. Visibility was horrible on my way here, so I'm sure it'll be worse in the dark. I just don't like driving in the dark. Especially on 465.

The people in here are annoying me!! I'm going to a conference room to read I guess.

Until next time...

Identity Characters

From Eric Maisel's Deep Writing...

Human beings are psychological creatures. This may seem self-evident, yet the writer who does not write, or who writes but does not write deeply, rarely turns to herself to ask, "What's my nature, and what in my nature is the problem?"

I am definitively a psychological creature.

I write, sometimes deeply (Maisel defines deep writing as writing that is passionate and well written), and sometimes not.

And yet, I have had to turn to myself and ask Who am I? That is a very close question to What's my nature?

An activity I have engaged in that my therapist (yes, I have a therapist) suggested to me is called Cast of Characters. What you do is you take all of your identities, all those hats you wear, and assign them roles based on how prominent the identity is.

My main character is the Critic. I am very self-critical. I'm never satisfied.

I think this identity can also answer the question What is my nature? It is in my nature to criticize everything I do, think, or say. This critique extends to my writing. Not that I am self-critical of my writing, because, in all honesty, I'm not. But my self-criticism comes with a certain sense of self-knowing that is beneficial when writing.

I know myself and I strive to get to know myself when I write. Like therapy, like meditation, like writing, self-knowledge is inherent.

Teaching

I was only awake for about five hours yesterday. Yes, that's right. I slept all day. Beautiful. Then I had a 5:30 AM wake up call this morning. Sigh. Did NOT want to get out of bed! But it's worth it to go see Samuel and Lizzy! Sam is so cute! He's sleeping now.

Sometimes, like when his little fingers grasp mine when I'm feeding him his bottle, or when he smiles, I almost feel like I might want kids of my own. But it's only almost. Not that that is a concern right now, as I'm single and not seeing anyone. And definitely not financially secure enough to adopt, if I should want to.

Lizzy just woke up. There goes my peace and quiet ;) Kidding. She's watching Mickey Mouse. She didn't even start crying when she realized that her parents weren't here! I'm shocked. She threw herself on the floor, but she didn't cry.

I've had far too much coffee and not enough food.

I'm looking forward to starting my job/orientation for my job on Monday. I have most of my Instructional Unit done for my class, so hopefully I won't get overwhelmed by working full time and going to school full time too. It's all about time management! And I'm good at being organized.

I'm still anxious about student teaching, and it's more than a year in the future yet. I'm not even sure why I'm anxious. Hmm, let me think. I can't work so I have to have money saved up for that time period. And I have no money right now, let alone money saved up. So I only have a year to save up money. I need to sit down and figure out how much I need to save up to survive for five months or so. I can do this!

What else? Hmm, maybe I'm anxious about how I'll do, teaching in general, how I'll interact with the mentoring teacher and the students...I want them to like me. I want me to be able to teach them, to reach them. So yeah. I'm a little anxious.

But looking forward to it at the same time. It's a new phase of my life. Sometimes I doubt if teaching is really what I want, but I know I like working with kids, and I like being able to teach them because they soak up so much so quickly. They're fascinating.

Maybe I'll finish school and be an overeducated pre-school teacher, maybe I'll teach Kindergarten or First grade, or maybe I'll go on to get my PhD in Educational Psychology. Maybe none of the above. Maybe I'll discover something new. Life is, after all, a process of discovery.

Sadness Believes in Me

I believe in sadness, in a way that you can only believe when you know that sadness also believes in you. I have grown old with sadness. My fault, but yours too.

I started writing tonight about memories, things I have been. In some life not relate-able to my current one. Memories that have a scent, a texture, a song to be heard if only you listen. My song has changed over the years.

It's haunting, these memories.

And then there's you. And this hole in me that I never knew was there until I realized that you had filled it up. Which, ironically, is like losing your virginity. You don't know what you've lost until you can't get it back ever again. But I had found you, in this hole in my heart, and when you left, you took it with you. Good thing I don't need it anyway.

But, sometimes, in the dark, or near dark...sometimes when I'm writing...just sometimes...I miss it.

And then I'm reduced to that little lost girl with wild flowers in her hair and coldness in her empty bed. It's a role I've played for years.

How odd that a little lost girl can also be a firefly princess. But it makes a sad kind of sense. My firefly side drew you in, but the little lost girl couldn't keep you. Which is me?

Yes. Sadness believes in me.

Blessed

I have been blessed!

I start my new job on Monday and I'm super excited about it. It will be so good to be back in a work environment and around little ones again after so long of being unemployed. It feels kind of like the first day of high school in a way though. "Will they like me? Will I do well? Who will I be around all day?" All those stressful, anxiety provoking thoughts. But mostly I'm excited.

God has renewed my spirit for teaching in a time when I was getting bogged down in the details of homework and doubt over my future. I am looking forward to being a teacher in a way that gives me hope. The doubts are still there, but so are the options and opportunities for growth.

It helps of course that my life seems to be falling into place, in a neat little line I can travel without fear because I can see what's coming. I passed the Praxis, I'm driving more and more even though I still don't like it, I'm learning (which is always good for me), and I still have the free time available to do what I want to do despite being in classes again.

I have a future, a hope, a destiny. And even when my life isn't a neat little line, I will trust that even though I can't see where I'm going, God can. And I will not be led astray!

May it be so!

English Language Learners and Me

So I had my first class last night. It's Structured English Immersion. I am learning primarily about the history of English Language Learning so far. We have to do an instructional unit--a three day lesson plan--teaching to both the content standards and the language standards. It's hard to try to mix language learning into content!! And I decided to make it easy on myself and do a Language Arts, Reading lesson with Kindergarten students and it was still difficult to think of how to make it fit together!!

So my Unit is going to be a lesson on word recognition and rhyming. The first lesson I will read the first few pages of Horton Hears A Who and then we'll talk about the letters, words, sentences connections and then about how some words sound the same. We'll progress to creating our own rhymes. It should be fun!!

Kindergarteners are still learning English as it is, so it should be easier to teach English to Language Learners because you're already kind of teaching it. I didn't just pick Kindergarten to make the assignment easier though. I want to teach either Pre-K, Kindergarten, or First Grade when I graduate.

Eventually I may get my PhD, but that's a ways away and I haven't decided if I want to go into Educational Psychology yet or not. Don't get me started on Educational Psychology...I could talk about it for awhile.

Sometimes I question my decision to go back to school, but there are times, like now, when I feel like I've made the right decision.

I majored in English Literature for my undergraduate degree and while I loved it and wouldn't change it for the world, I haven't found much use for it. I was going into publishing, but that didn't work out. Turned out it wasn't what I wanted after all.

Then I sort of fell into working with children. They grow on you ;)

So here I am.

Right now, from where I'm sitting, the future looks bright. And coming from me, that's an amazing statement.

May it be so!!

Timed Write

I got a book by Natalie Goldberg called Old Friend from Far Away: The Practice of Writing Memoir. It was not exactly what I expected, but something I needed regardless.

This is one of the timed write prompts: Tell me about a time you washed the dishes. Go. Ten minutes.

Here is my response, proof that you can write about anything and have it turn out worthwhile.

A year or two ago, at Thanksgiving, I washed the dishes by hand in order to escape socializing with my family. I feel as though I don't fit in with my family so avoiding conversation with them isn't that far-fetched. So, I'm washing my grandmother's rose patterned china and silver silverware in soapy warm water. I think someone might have been drying while I washed, but I remember this experience as solitary, so perhaps not.

Your hands get all soft and pruny under water and you know they'll become rough and dry when you dry them off, so you don't really want the dish washing experience to end quickly. It's also very relaxing and mechanical. It allows your thoughts to wander, or like meditation, to focus in.

The washcloth or scrub-brush gets all that left-on food off and you are a million miles away.

Perhaps you're dreaming about graduate school or thinking of what a mess you've made of your life. Perhaps you're simply acknowledging that you are avoiding your family. Either way, you can escape the world when you wash dishes. It's a cleansing, baptismal experience, like communion. You feel as clean and washed as those dishes, even when you come away dirty and ashamed.

***

It's not all good of course, but this timed write ended on a promising note. This is what I love about writing. There's always something to say. And out of the trivial can come pure gold. If I revised this timed write and went with the last sentence as a guide, this could make an excellent free write.

For instance:

I washed the dishes by hand last Thanksgiving in order to escape socializing with my family. I'm not that great at socializing anyway, so they weren't missing much. I don't feel like I fit in with my family. I don't think they'd like me very much if they knew me. And they don't know me beyond a surface level.

But there's nothing but surface when you're washing dishes. Dishes don't ask mundane questions about your life or try to find out who you aren't dating. Doing the dishes is peaceful. It's a solitary experience that allows your thoughts to wander, or like meditation, to focus in. Your thoughts can be as far away as you like.

Perhaps I was dreaming about graduate school, or thinking about what a mess I've made of my life. Perhaps I was simply acknowledging that I was avoiding my family. Either way, washing the dishes allowed me to escape, to recuperate from interaction, to dream a little, to think.

Washing the dishes is a cleansing, baptismal experience if you do it mindfully. You feel as clean and washed as those dishes, even when you come away dirty and ashamed.

Salvation and Ruin

Once in awhile I have too much to think.

You know when your thoughts are so fast that you can't possibly capture them all? Writing is a way of slowing down. Like meditating in a way. In order to write (to be understood) you must slow down your thoughts and capture them on the page. Self-aware.

Last night was one of the nights I had too much to think. I couldn't sleep. Too much circling around and around. I'm starting a new job at the end of the month. My next class starts on Monday. And the pressures of breathing in and out are getting to me. Tension is all I know at times like these.

It's funny how sometimes being self-aware can be bad.

So, as I couldn't sleep last night, I wrote a few pages in my journal. Trying to get all the thoughts out so I could find some rest. I only half succeeded. I'm tired today. So perhaps I'm not making sense. But there are times when writing is my salvation, and times when it is my ruin.

Truth, Love, and Life

I am a writer at heart. I've had a personal essay published, and a few poems. But that doesn't make me a writer. Not really.

I am a writer because writing makes sense of my world.

In life there is truth and there is untruth. I would say lies, but not all lies are untruths. If that makes sense ;)

In truth, I can believe that life has some meaning. But it's so easy to fall for untruths. To question and doubt things you once thought were true. Like love for instance. Love is a grey area.

How is it possible to have loved someone and then fall out of love, and then question whether you ever really loved the person to begin with? Love should not change. Yet it does. Too often.

I write primarily poetry, and too often I write about a boy I loved. I don't want this boy in my life anymore, yet I write of him as though he were the only love I'll ever know as truth. Why is this?

It is true that this boy has made my expectations higher for life, for love, for me. Perhaps you could say that he has ruined me. Or drawn out who I was meant to be. And I am grateful for that. Is it possible to mistake gratitude and affection for love?

I try to be as truthful as possible in my writing because, really, where else and to who else can you truly be yourself completely and honestly and without boundaries and limitations? The only place I never lie is in my writing. Everything I write I have believed fully when I wrote it. But truth is never absolute. And like love, it changes.

Life is funny that way. The only thing constant in life is the fact that change will occur. Sometimes swiftly, so swift that you never see it coming. Sometimes slowly, gradual as the change of the season.

I am a work in progress, that's for sure. And the great thing about life is that there's always the potential for more. To be better than you were yesterday. And that is meaningful.