Context:

I'm sitting in an empty living room (that is, empty of people... besides myself, obviously.), chowing down on homemade avocado shake (whatever it's called), in my school-work clothes (whatever it is that student-teachers wear), exhausted after a day of high school classes, college classes, and talking on the phone with my mom about her college and high school daughters.

Memory:

Last night, I walked into the living room to find David laying on the couch watching the Giants game on T.V. I'm trying to find a place to include one particular detail in that sentence, but I can't find room for it, so I'll just add it on here: David is in a sleeping bag.

Me: (Laughing) "Why are you in a sleeping bag?"

David: "[something something something] ... I just bought a sleeping bag, ice cream, and beer. It's like I'm preparing for the best sleepover ever."

Me: "Did you really have sleepovers as a kid?"

David: "Yeah."

Me: "What do dudes even do at sleepovers?"

David: [without missing a beat] "Have pillow fights in our underwear."

Me: "Oh, ok, so just like us girls."

Womp womp.

One Order of Mental Stimulation, Please.

One of the hardest things about being a perfectionist is... despite the fact that perfection can never be achieved, a perfectionist never stops trying anyway.

= = =

My mind is in need of some stimulation. I've been getting an adequate amount of sleep every night -- to the point where I wake up before my alarm -- I sit in a high school classroom anywhere from 2-4 hours a day, perhaps grade for a few more hours, sit in a college classroom for another 4 hours, sit at home and do homework...

I'm bored!!!!

I'm used to getting almost no sleep, ruminating over my day, perfecting this, tweaking that, juggling schedules, interacting with students, hiding my smile when they unknowingly do something adorable, comparing notes with teachers, and just overall feeling like I was getting somewhere in life.

Why Teach?

"The thing about teaching is... you can't go in trying to be a hero. You can't see yourself as this great savior, trying to save the kids and all that. You just come in and teach. You do your best. Whatever happens after that, happens."

-S.T.

= = =

The past several months has been such a humbling experience. From getting rejected from my top two post-college choices, to teaching my own class for the first time, to meeting 60+ social-justice-savvy teacher credential candidates, I can't help but feel no better than Joe Shmoe just trying to make it in this world.

Making Room

A: "It's natural to feel embarrassed. But you shouldn't feel embarrassed about feeling embarrassed, because, well, it's natural."

I: "Yeah, you've gotta make room for it."

= = =

I'm making room for the other feelings. The other, "non-happy" feelings. I spend so much time trying to be fair and even-tempered; it's time to give all of my other emotions their time to breathe so that they may exhale from my body and leave me in peace. I don't want to combust.

I'd like to think that human emotion is more complex and meaningful than something that can be controlled, forced, or altered.

Just let me be. Let me be the way I am right now for now. I'll be happy tomorrow.

A little more about me... I'm a very emotional person. I don't want to say "over-emotional", because then it sounds like something's wrong with me when there's not. I just experience a lot of emotions. Also, they come at me full force. Yes, it's a little stressful at times (another emotion I feel when I'm feeling other emotions). But there you have it.

I write this disclaimer because I find that I've been hiding from writing -- something that has taken more effort to do than writing itself. I hide from writing because it is (insert valley girl tone here) so not cool to be, like, totally emo.

But if it's uncool to be emotional, then I guess I'll come off my high horse and do what it takes to just be me so that I can start writing again. My writing is emotional and personal; it leaves me naked and vulnerable to critique for its style and content. For my style and content.

There you have it, now you know, now let the writing commence. I want to clock in my 10,000 hours of writing practice.