My title of this post pretty much says it all. Why DON'T I just hurry myself along and finish up things I need to do to be ready to leave? Well. That's a good question.
I'm in that distractable state where I just want to play. Yes, I want to dart home, change into non-sweaty clothes, and then find something fun to do. I wish I knew someone who wanted a happy hour Thursday! I need more single people in my life! Not having a second job . . .well, I've been almost bored this week. Gasp. I know.
Speaking of jobs, my main job is going pretty well. I'm enjoying this new group of 8th graders quite a lot. Rather chatty but seem very good-natured thus far. I think some of the less savory characters were weeded out before these kids got to me. Right now I'm in the beginning stages of challenging them to read books on their own and to find a reason to appreciate poetry. I'm also trying to help them prepare to find topics they'd like to write about this year. And I'm getting to know them. They're really quite a friendly group overall. Really, most seem willing to help out.
Putting that warm, glowy moment aside for a second, I'm both tremendously excited and apprehensive about next Monday. Next Monday I begin the writing class I've wanted to take for a year now. Of course, then doubts assail me. I have a lot of ideas, but do I have the commitment to follow through with anything? That I'm not sure about. I've never made much time in my life for writing. But I've been thinking: won't I teach writing so much better if I actually spend time writing myself? I mean, the kind of writing appreciation and skill and WORKSHOP that I want my students to have, I myself have never experienced. So I think if I try this, I will improve. And that is pretty exciting.
And now it is after 4 p.m., kids have been gone for an hour, and I could have been gone too . . .enough chatter. Finish.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Two Days Can Feel Like 5
I'm not sure how much sense this will make as I'm almost deliriously tired, I'm drinking a glass of wine, and um, I think there was something else I wanted to go here. Oh well. I just completed rewatching favorite scenes from my guilty pleasure show, True Blood. Yes, the HBO series about vampires. No, not my typical show. In fact, there's some parts I just have to skim right through, but there's something about seeing characters from books you've read come alive. And since it's a t.v. series, I feel like I get to see a lot, versus a movie, where so much is cut. Granted, things are modified for this show, but really, I think the actors have a pretty realistic portrayal of what I see in the books. Except for Bill. I think he's an a-hole in the books, and I love Eric. But Eric is so . . .manipulative in this show. Or maybe that's how he's supposed to be. Anyway, love him and Godric.
Moving on, (see, told you this would be bizarre), first days of school went decently well. My classes are chattier than I expected them to be, but since most of them have gone to school together for years, I guess that makes sense. Today, the kids had an essay due about themselves (yes, I give them homework the first night of school--hehe), and a few of them were persuaded to read theirs. One boy, who I know a little from last year, referred to me in his essay and called me a "gorgeous goddess"--only he called me Mrs. Sullivan, so maybe he really meant my mom. The kids all giggled and looked at me; I almost interrupted him and then just let him finish the essay b/c I know he has this tendency to make statements like that to teachers . . .he has a very unique personality. He's had some trauma in his life recently. Anyway, so far, I've liked this class better than last year's as a whole. Cannot figure that out--last year's class had a lot of kids I really like, but I just feel like I'm going to like this one better.
Well, I must be off to my bed. It almost feels as if pieces of me are becoming detached from the whole. That makes no sense.
Moving on, (see, told you this would be bizarre), first days of school went decently well. My classes are chattier than I expected them to be, but since most of them have gone to school together for years, I guess that makes sense. Today, the kids had an essay due about themselves (yes, I give them homework the first night of school--hehe), and a few of them were persuaded to read theirs. One boy, who I know a little from last year, referred to me in his essay and called me a "gorgeous goddess"--only he called me Mrs. Sullivan, so maybe he really meant my mom. The kids all giggled and looked at me; I almost interrupted him and then just let him finish the essay b/c I know he has this tendency to make statements like that to teachers . . .he has a very unique personality. He's had some trauma in his life recently. Anyway, so far, I've liked this class better than last year's as a whole. Cannot figure that out--last year's class had a lot of kids I really like, but I just feel like I'm going to like this one better.
Well, I must be off to my bed. It almost feels as if pieces of me are becoming detached from the whole. That makes no sense.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
The Epiphany
I think prayers really can work. In my life, I've noticed a pattern that if I have reached my breaking point on something, such as I did yesterday, I want my mom. There is something about her that when I'm at my most fragile, she keeps all those pieces from crumbling apart. So I called her, bawled my eyes out, and she prayed for me. And ya know, I woke up this morning feeling hopeful.
Today, I met two young women, younger than me, actually, who are considering religious life. One, Emily, lives in Oregon and is about 95% sure she's joining a community in a few months. I met her first. Then our conference had a presentation on religious life today, and the speakers were very good. Afterwards, our small groups were supposed to discuss some questions regarding the talk and our thoughts on religious life. I suppose that would have been a good time for me to share my struggles, but I just couldn't get the words out. My eyes were full of tears as I focused on the table top and my fingers resting there. My throat ached from the choked feeling inside it. I could listen, but I couldn't speak.
Post-presentation and discussion, I approached the sisters and priest who presented and thanked them. I asked one of them for suggestions in finding places to talk to young women who were like me. I told her that I felt like a big weirdo, and she looked at me and firmly said, "But you aren't." I kind of believed her.
As I left, another girl, who wears her hair in dreds and a t-shirt that speaks of fair trade coffee, came up to me and said, "We should have lunch together today." Um, ok.
So it turns out that Emily, Katie, and I spent a rushed lunch talking about some of our thoughts and struggles. Katie feels called to a pretty radical lifestyle. She said she had visited some Maryknoll sisters, who apparently are very missionary and liberal. I think she felt that we would be good friends because of the red streaks that are presently in my hair. At once I felt both flattered and alarmed--I wanted to tell her that the red streaks are a short-term kind of thing, but I didn't.
Later today, we all had a meeting with our small groups--ah back to the group that doesn't do much for me--and we reflected on the different "mission" sites we had visited. The people in my group, including me, weren't too impressed with ours, but there was a group that went to see these Passionists who work with boys they are trying to save from gang life. Hearing my group members speak about that brought to mind my Detroit and Cleveland students and reminded me fervently of my love and passion for working with them. Well, maybe more my Detroit kids. Anyway, I shared some stories of that and ended up talking with one of my group members post-meeting about how much I would love to work with kids like those gang members and be, well, like a mother for them. And then it hit me--maybe that's why I feel a call to be a sister. I mean, if I were married, I would have to be committed to my family--my kids and husband. But I were a sister, I could be free to love people who have no one to love them. And I'm pretty sure I could do that and be really happy. Actually, I think I could give up what I thought meant a lot to me: clothes, shoes, traditional family life, "normalcy"--and be joyful and not feel like I was losing something but instead gaining my dream. And then during this prayer we had tonight in front of the Eucharist, I thought about all my favorite dreams as I've grown up. My ideal job would be to have a home for unwanted pets and kids. I would love to read to kids at night and listen to them as they figure out their lives and hug them and tell them how much I love them because I would. I've never loved anyone the way I loved my Detroit kids, and maybe this vision I have would be something like working with them again.
Amazingly, I feel a sense of purpose and hope that I definitely couldn't find last night. Maybe my enormous, impossible dreams have some relevance after all.
Today, I met two young women, younger than me, actually, who are considering religious life. One, Emily, lives in Oregon and is about 95% sure she's joining a community in a few months. I met her first. Then our conference had a presentation on religious life today, and the speakers were very good. Afterwards, our small groups were supposed to discuss some questions regarding the talk and our thoughts on religious life. I suppose that would have been a good time for me to share my struggles, but I just couldn't get the words out. My eyes were full of tears as I focused on the table top and my fingers resting there. My throat ached from the choked feeling inside it. I could listen, but I couldn't speak.
Post-presentation and discussion, I approached the sisters and priest who presented and thanked them. I asked one of them for suggestions in finding places to talk to young women who were like me. I told her that I felt like a big weirdo, and she looked at me and firmly said, "But you aren't." I kind of believed her.
As I left, another girl, who wears her hair in dreds and a t-shirt that speaks of fair trade coffee, came up to me and said, "We should have lunch together today." Um, ok.
So it turns out that Emily, Katie, and I spent a rushed lunch talking about some of our thoughts and struggles. Katie feels called to a pretty radical lifestyle. She said she had visited some Maryknoll sisters, who apparently are very missionary and liberal. I think she felt that we would be good friends because of the red streaks that are presently in my hair. At once I felt both flattered and alarmed--I wanted to tell her that the red streaks are a short-term kind of thing, but I didn't.
Later today, we all had a meeting with our small groups--ah back to the group that doesn't do much for me--and we reflected on the different "mission" sites we had visited. The people in my group, including me, weren't too impressed with ours, but there was a group that went to see these Passionists who work with boys they are trying to save from gang life. Hearing my group members speak about that brought to mind my Detroit and Cleveland students and reminded me fervently of my love and passion for working with them. Well, maybe more my Detroit kids. Anyway, I shared some stories of that and ended up talking with one of my group members post-meeting about how much I would love to work with kids like those gang members and be, well, like a mother for them. And then it hit me--maybe that's why I feel a call to be a sister. I mean, if I were married, I would have to be committed to my family--my kids and husband. But I were a sister, I could be free to love people who have no one to love them. And I'm pretty sure I could do that and be really happy. Actually, I think I could give up what I thought meant a lot to me: clothes, shoes, traditional family life, "normalcy"--and be joyful and not feel like I was losing something but instead gaining my dream. And then during this prayer we had tonight in front of the Eucharist, I thought about all my favorite dreams as I've grown up. My ideal job would be to have a home for unwanted pets and kids. I would love to read to kids at night and listen to them as they figure out their lives and hug them and tell them how much I love them because I would. I've never loved anyone the way I loved my Detroit kids, and maybe this vision I have would be something like working with them again.
Amazingly, I feel a sense of purpose and hope that I definitely couldn't find last night. Maybe my enormous, impossible dreams have some relevance after all.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Screaming with my mouth tightly closed
Um, so I don't have any idea how many people frequent this blog now that my European experiences are over for now. I just want to "warn" anyone who does still read this to understand that what I'm now posting is something I've only shared with a few people very close to me, and why I'm choosing to put this online now is merely due to the fact that I feel like something inside me might explode from trying to act as though this isn't something happening to me. I don't even care if that doesn't make sense. Just please, don't bring this topic up in my presence unless I've already talked about it with you or you do so privately, through email or something. Nothing makes me feel more vulnerable than this. I equate it with appearing in the nude before a huge crowd, where you can see the weird moles, flabby areas, and that roll around my middle that I loathe.
So I'm in Chicago right now. I'm giving up my final week of summer vacation to come to a conference called Catholics on Call. It's supposed to be for young adult Catholics who are trying to find some direction in their lives in various ministries throughout the Church. This can include lay and religious ministries. Even though I can't believe I'm saying this, I came here because I need a friend who's thinking about the religious side of it. Yup. Me. God, you can't imagine how much I don't want to think about this. I've been able to keep it inside for the most part and not think about it too frequently for 9 years, but I'm 27 now. So many people I know have found their forever person or at least are out there looking at my age. I can't look for a guy with much enthusiasm because I have this other burden I'm carrying around. And the worst part? The worst part is that I don't know one single other fucking person in the world who seems to be going through this, too, that I can talk to. I came here to Chicago purely in hopes to be in a group of people who could say they feel this agonizing struggle, too. But I'm in a small group of people based not on their reasons for coming to this conference but on age. Yes, I'm in a small group that happens to be the oldest people at this conference. It is so weird to be the oldest at a young adult conference. My point, though, is that I still feel alone here! I know there are other people, male and female, who came here for reasons similar to mine; why am I not in a group with them? Finding a friend or at least a supportive group who can empathize with my feelings is THE reason I am here. I'm not here to learn how to pray or what discernment is; I'm trying to find a way to deal with the questions, anxieties, and relentless "call" that I feel. I want someone to show me what they're doing; I want someone who is screaming the same questions I scream. How can I ever become comfortable with the idea of a religious vocation anywhere outside of my imagination? How can I be this "sister" and not flinch at the very sound of it? I mean, I've never wanted to do this. Look around at the religious sisters you usually see. Can't you just tell they're sisters by looking at them? They all have that haircut with glasses and godawful clothes and shoes. Shallow? I don't care. They pledge away their lives in service to others, which sometimes appeals to me, but they don't get to have their own families. Can I do that? HOW?
Coming to this conference was something I thought would make me feel safe in finally finding a place to discuss all this crap. But I don't. I feel withdrawn and tired. Why is this five days long? Why am I here? Is it worth sticking out, or should I go home and prepare for the start of school? I don't want to quit. I believe there is a reason, but I sure could use a little bit of connection with someone, a little bit of seeing the purpose for my presence here. Right now I just want to run away.
So I'm in Chicago right now. I'm giving up my final week of summer vacation to come to a conference called Catholics on Call. It's supposed to be for young adult Catholics who are trying to find some direction in their lives in various ministries throughout the Church. This can include lay and religious ministries. Even though I can't believe I'm saying this, I came here because I need a friend who's thinking about the religious side of it. Yup. Me. God, you can't imagine how much I don't want to think about this. I've been able to keep it inside for the most part and not think about it too frequently for 9 years, but I'm 27 now. So many people I know have found their forever person or at least are out there looking at my age. I can't look for a guy with much enthusiasm because I have this other burden I'm carrying around. And the worst part? The worst part is that I don't know one single other fucking person in the world who seems to be going through this, too, that I can talk to. I came here to Chicago purely in hopes to be in a group of people who could say they feel this agonizing struggle, too. But I'm in a small group of people based not on their reasons for coming to this conference but on age. Yes, I'm in a small group that happens to be the oldest people at this conference. It is so weird to be the oldest at a young adult conference. My point, though, is that I still feel alone here! I know there are other people, male and female, who came here for reasons similar to mine; why am I not in a group with them? Finding a friend or at least a supportive group who can empathize with my feelings is THE reason I am here. I'm not here to learn how to pray or what discernment is; I'm trying to find a way to deal with the questions, anxieties, and relentless "call" that I feel. I want someone to show me what they're doing; I want someone who is screaming the same questions I scream. How can I ever become comfortable with the idea of a religious vocation anywhere outside of my imagination? How can I be this "sister" and not flinch at the very sound of it? I mean, I've never wanted to do this. Look around at the religious sisters you usually see. Can't you just tell they're sisters by looking at them? They all have that haircut with glasses and godawful clothes and shoes. Shallow? I don't care. They pledge away their lives in service to others, which sometimes appeals to me, but they don't get to have their own families. Can I do that? HOW?
Coming to this conference was something I thought would make me feel safe in finally finding a place to discuss all this crap. But I don't. I feel withdrawn and tired. Why is this five days long? Why am I here? Is it worth sticking out, or should I go home and prepare for the start of school? I don't want to quit. I believe there is a reason, but I sure could use a little bit of connection with someone, a little bit of seeing the purpose for my presence here. Right now I just want to run away.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Just sittin' at the dock of the bay
I wish I were sitting on dock by a bay somewhere. That'd be so great. Instead, I'm sitting at a B&N wifi hotspot, which is undeniably a good thing to have, but it also means I'm on the road again, not at home, where I'd rather be.
It's up to Chi-town this week for a Catholic conference thingy-ma-bobber. I really hope it's worth the time I'm sacrificing getting ready for school, which, scarily enough, is staring me in the face again. I thought I was ready, but I'm so not! But . . .thanks to Beka, my classroom is at least painted. One three year goal reached at last!
Yesterday I was in Indy to bid adieu to my friend Marty, who is moving to China to teach English. In his words, I will see him again "between 1 and 20"--years that is. And for the first time in my life, I contemplate seriously visiting China. I've been promised a good time. Might be worth it.
It's up to Chi-town this week for a Catholic conference thingy-ma-bobber. I really hope it's worth the time I'm sacrificing getting ready for school, which, scarily enough, is staring me in the face again. I thought I was ready, but I'm so not! But . . .thanks to Beka, my classroom is at least painted. One three year goal reached at last!
Yesterday I was in Indy to bid adieu to my friend Marty, who is moving to China to teach English. In his words, I will see him again "between 1 and 20"--years that is. And for the first time in my life, I contemplate seriously visiting China. I've been promised a good time. Might be worth it.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
And your heritage is . . .?
Since childhood, my sister KC has been asked what her nationality/heritage/ethnicity, etc. might be. With her naturally tan skin, straight, almost black hair, and startingly minty green eyes, she doesn't look like your everyday girl-next-door. There is something rather exotic about her. Thus as a child, she could tell people she was part Native American. As a teen with her long cornrows, she could pass as half African American. Indeed some people went so far to tell her when she waitressed for them that "If you were white, I'd give you a better tip." (I'm not going to go on my rampage against the prejudices of the ignorant just yet--maybe another post). When she worked at the Barnes and Noble cafe and the Pak-a-Sak in Amarillo, people questioned if she were Brazilian. I believe even in L. A., land of the melting pot, people ponder if she might be Persian. Sometimes, out of sheer irritation or a sense of fun, she plays along with it and makes up a fantastical story as to her ancestry. Honestly, people will believe just about anything if you look "different."
Now I, on the other hand, have never had such questions. I'm the "whitey" in my family, the one whose skinned would burn, peel, and/or freckle growing up. It still does that to some extent, but honestly, since I've moved to OH, I've been able to get the best tans of my life. (Isn't that insane? I grew up in TEXAS!) Ok, yes, I've been envious of my sister. Interestingly enough, our eyes are just about the same color, but hers just look so much more striking because she has that fantastic tanned skin to set off the lightness. Mine just blends right in with my whiteness.
However, since I've moved to OH, people seem to find it easier to believe I might have more exotic origins than the Irish/German combo that created my genetic makeup. Not that there's anything wrong with those . . .I'm pretty proud of my heritage, especially the Irish part. But in the past year I've had more than one person ask me if I were Italian, in the past couple of months I had someone tell me I look "European" (whatever that means), and in the past twenty-four hours, I had one guy tell me I looked like I could have come from southern Europe or maybe Spain, and another guy question if I were Greek. Greek! I suddenly feel a bit more exotic than I ever have. And, yeah, I feel kinda good about that. Like I'm . . .cooler somehow.
Now I, on the other hand, have never had such questions. I'm the "whitey" in my family, the one whose skinned would burn, peel, and/or freckle growing up. It still does that to some extent, but honestly, since I've moved to OH, I've been able to get the best tans of my life. (Isn't that insane? I grew up in TEXAS!) Ok, yes, I've been envious of my sister. Interestingly enough, our eyes are just about the same color, but hers just look so much more striking because she has that fantastic tanned skin to set off the lightness. Mine just blends right in with my whiteness.
However, since I've moved to OH, people seem to find it easier to believe I might have more exotic origins than the Irish/German combo that created my genetic makeup. Not that there's anything wrong with those . . .I'm pretty proud of my heritage, especially the Irish part. But in the past year I've had more than one person ask me if I were Italian, in the past couple of months I had someone tell me I look "European" (whatever that means), and in the past twenty-four hours, I had one guy tell me I looked like I could have come from southern Europe or maybe Spain, and another guy question if I were Greek. Greek! I suddenly feel a bit more exotic than I ever have. And, yeah, I feel kinda good about that. Like I'm . . .cooler somehow.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Uploading, downloading, and basically frying my computer
Oh dear Lord.
I'm not taking the Lord's name in vain; I am uttering a prayer. Yes, I might lose it. Obviously, I'm utterly overwhelming my poor laptop. A moment ago, it tried to deny that this blogspot even existed. You can perhaps understand why I might find that exasperating as I know quite well that it does indeed exist.
I am also struggling with uploading my many summer photos: Kodak Easyshare is a joke that freezes all the time, so I downloaded Picasa 3, and still seem unable to upload my photos from there onto Facebook.
I've been trying to download new music. After a suggestion from a friend, I sought out Esau Mwamwaya and Radioclit are the Very Best; it's a free album that has taken me about a week to finally save to my computer. Then I'm searching the internet and iTunes for other songs that were suggested to me. . . .
You know that headache you get when you stare at a computer too long? I have it. It's pounding against my eyes, and I want to look away from my computer, but still, there are things I'm trying to get done.
My computer has started slowing down in all its operations again. I think it needs more memory, but I'm not sure the best place to go for that. One of my shift keys has stopped functioning . . .of course that's been a while now. I should send it to the Dell company while it still has a warranty, but then I won't have it for a while . . .
Whoa--I'm so whiny! I blame it on the time of day and this relentless headache. Tomorrow should be pretty good though--I'm picking out a color to paint my classroom. I'm planning on a soft aqua. Doesn't that sound pretty?
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