No Verb

Literal? Figurative? Absolutely.

Yesterday we signed the papers; today we should be getting our key.

2005 is shaping up to be quite a year for me. Since February I have spent a weekend in Switzerland, quit a job, quit a band (which was just recently signed - congrats to Josh and Dan, who I feel definitely deserve it), spent a month in Europe (France, Scotland, Germany, and - briefly - Luxembourg), got engaged, moved out of CA and back into my parents home in AZ, started a new job, was best-man in Chad’s wedding, bought a car (with J), and bought a condo (also with J). And between now and the end of October, I’ll remodel that condo, move in, get married, and go on my honeymoon.

If you can prove you’ve had a crazier 2005, I’ll buy you lunch.

- C

Dear Wells Fargo Home Mortgage,

You are a total pain. But thanks for finally getting your act together and submitting the proper documents so that J and I can sign ourselves up for indentured servanthood to you.

Yours truly and still-irritatedly,

C

A genuinely sincere apology for subjecting you to the worst poetry ever written. Bouts of anti-technology rage are apparently good at waking up the uninspired muse.

I’m about to start what will probably be a good few hours worth of grading and planning for school. The work is starting to pile up, and I’m only beginning to feel overwhelmed at the amount of work I’ll have to do in the weeks ahead. I’ve been really trying to figure out what it means to be “a good teacher,” especially in the first year. I certainly want to do my best, and I want to figure out the best way to challenge my students to learn, but I need to find a balance. It is the kind of job where I could spend every waking moment planning and grading and thinking up new ideas, but there comes a point where I have to be able to accept my limitations. I have limitations brought on my inexperience, but I also have limitations in time and possible emotional investment. Part of me keeps telling myself that accepting those limitations is just being complacent, which I certainly do not want to be, but another part of me knows that it is much more important for me to be a good daughter, sister, friend, servant of God, and (in less than seven weeks!) a good wife. I truly believe that I can be all of those things at the same time, but I think that in order to do so, I need to find an appropriate limit for school. I cannot be a good anything else if I stay at school until 6pm consistently or if I do not sleep at night because I’m thinking about all of the things that need to be done.

Also, pray for us that we will be able to close on our condo tomorrow!

Unlike my tiny, sleek iBook, you
are a hulking piece of useless black junk.
Rebooting is a task which you cannot complete
in under ten minutes
or often a week.
You call yourself Compaq; I call you trash.
It may seem to be too brutal a name,
but you’re known in the school
for non-functioning fame.
It is true I can bring you to hither and far,
to organize, score and grade,
but really your worth is equal to tar.
I despise you.

*Written on a functioning Mac during 5 unbearably frustrating minutes.

Dear obnoxious girl in my seventh period class,

I understand your apparently inherent need to NEVER STOP TALKING, because I had the same affliction when I was in high school as well; however, I do not understand another issue that you seem to have. Whatever made you think it would be acceptable/polite/not absolutely infuriating for you to ANSWER YOUR RINGING PHONE IN THE MIDDLE OF MY CLASS AND TRY TO CARRY ON A SURREPTITIOUS CONVERSATION RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY FACE? The absolute, freaking nerve…

After an exceptionally nice weekend wherein neither C nor I got as much work done as we had originally planned (C chose not to; my school laptop broke), I don’t really feel like starting the week again. It isn’t that I don’t like school, because I do; it isn’t that the weeks drag by, because they don’t; it is just that the Sunday-night-hurry-up-and-finish-the-laundry-pack-the-school- bag-so-I-can-wake-up-early-and-rush-around prospect is kind of depressing. Honestly, every morning when I wake up, I feel sleepy and grouchy for a few minutes, but then I get over it and have a nice day. Not bad, huh? And I think I’ll sleep well tonight. Two Sunday nights ago, I slept about three hours because I was so worked up over the first day of school. Last Sunday night, I slept but had a series of stressful and really terrible nightmares involving school/the house/the wedding/various other sleep-invented issues. Tonight, I feel pretty confident about the week to come.

In other news, we get the keys to our new-to-us condo a week from tomorrow!

I received the following email as part of a Harry Potter discussion group I am now a part of (i.e. the other nerdy student teachers from Germany). When the last person finally finished the book the other day and gave us permission to discuss, my inbox pretty much exploded. This is deep stuff people. If you are in mourning, please take comfort in the following advice:

“Post Traumatic Literary Distress Syndrome is a real and documented malady. If you find yourself circling the drain, do not be alone and reach for the nearest Harry Potter (end of sentence deleted due to relevation of pertinent information). There hasn’t been as bad of an epidemic of PTLDS since CS Lewis published the last of the Narnia chronicles. Please in this time of need lean on each other. You are not alone. ”

Thank you, Mandi. That was just beautiful.

C: “Calculus camp was like my favorite thing ever. It was basically derivatives and integrals for seven hours a day, and then they (the cool kids, apparently) just threw snowballs at you and you had to dodge the snowballs. It was like being a ninja. A calculus ninja”

This weekend was fun. I ate good food, saw MJ, Mattie, and Amanda; I met some new people. I’m going back to school tomorrow, and I’m not even dreading it, which was what I thought I’d be doing a week ago.

About my dream last night…
I was babysitting for some people who kept their baby in a long, skinny metal planter. It was filled with water, and she was floating around. Apparently she had some disease that would cause her to die if she were dry for more than 10 minutes. That was my job: keep their baby wet so she wouldn’t dry out and die. I don’t think of ready for the responsibility of caring for some amphibious baby yet. I’m creeped out by the memory; you should be too.

I’ve officially survived my first week. Actually, it is only Friday morning, so I could perish at some point today. That makes things sound a lot worse than they are. In fact, the first week has gone quite well. I’ve very much enjoyed teaching and the students, who are so TOGETHER. Those kids in Germany? They were a disaster. My absolute worst kid seems like a prince compared to them. Isn’t that scary? No stomach aches, no panic attacks, relatively few nightmares. Everyone in Germany was right when they said that the kids there would make everything else seem easy. I hope it stays this way.

In other news, C and I bought a condo. It is in escrow right now, and we’ll be closing on the 29th of this month. You’ll just love it, I’m sure.

Oh my gosh. It is the first day of school, and I am having about fourteen heart attacks this morning. Also, I slept about three hours last night. Coffee is my friend right now.

Today feels like it was just about the longest day ever. I’m sure in about a week (school starts Monday!), I’ll laugh at myself when I come back and read this post, but for now it is what it is. Last night I just couldn’t settle down and my mind was racing. I spent the night in a series of disjointed, non-sensical, horrible dreams about all of the bad things that can go wrong with school. I woke up pretty much wanting to punch myself. It was one of those times when I felt like I was doing things that were way too grown up (i.e. getting married, having a college degree, a job, buying a car, etc.) and someone should probably stop me. Shoot, if I look like I’m 15, I should be able to act like it sometimes, right?