Showing posts from December, 2012

I want to write.

I don't know how to do what I would like to see my future self doing. I like writing. I spend most of my time so caught up in my own thoughts that it seems natural for me to write. I overanalyze. Actually, I overanalyze every...single...situation...that I am in any small way connected to. I make up crazy what if horror filled scenarios that might end my life, cause me to fight for survival, or potentially maim me in some way practically daily. I create personalities and lives for people I meet in random circumstances that enable me to explain the behaviors they briefly exhibit. I constantly talk for Leah and Latimore...full conversations that enable those around us to "understand" what they must be thinking. I do all of this habitually, without trying or even wanting to in some cases, and yet when I sit down to write...I'm blank. Words flutter around. Sentences pass by. Single words plead with me to use them..."build me" they call out...and nothing.


Story Short--Skydive Switzerland

The only time I've ever been skydiving tears saturated my eyes and blurred my vision as the plane made its way to the altitude required for the jump. My hands were so sweaty that I couldn't grip the tiny window's edge as tightly as I would have liked. Instead my fingers kept slipping off adding just one more "problem" to my current list of things out of my control, all of which began after I made my initial decision to make the jump.

I remember thinking, questioning amid the ascent, how the hell I managed to convince myself that this was in my ability range. I am one of those people who get nervous driving over bridges. Although, I don't know if my fear when driving over bridges is due to the height or the very clear images I entertain of my car driving through the guard rails and plummeting straight down. This succession of images is not wholly unlike those I face when flying. Again, is it a fear of heights or simply the constant playback of another plane t-…

Story Short-- Latimore's Sandbar

Last summer, husband and I took our pups down to the Salt River beyond the floating parties and groups of people. The park entrance zigzagged off the main road, and compared to the tubing and barbecue parking lots, it was secluded and quiet...perfect for a walk with Leah and Latimore. We traipsed along a trail that bordered between a cliff wall and the river. Even though the trail was shaded well by the tall trees growing along the river's edge, it was still Arizona hot in the summer and as the trail gained elevation, the trail rose out of the trees and the temperature rose with it into the sun.

We eventually turned around as we didn't bring any real hiking supplies nor water for the pups, and the heat was almost unbearable.  As we made our way back down to the water, we found a beautiful spot where the river had branched off from its main route. This portion of the river was a mixture of fast and slow moving water with the fast current nearest to the shore. As we stepped into…

Flowers Grow within the Shit

It's been a rough week--the worst I've had all year. This will be short.

A student from my first year teaching sent me this Christmas gift: an edition of the Stranger autographed by Macklemore. Completely unexpected, it warmed my heart.  It is hard to grasp a student knowing my happiness like this. Thank you Jacob!

And then today, I received this card. I find it essential to mention that this particular student is the same one who asked my husband last year if he knew what chloroform smelled like. He is also the same student who I had to boot from class today for the first time all year (coincidentally).

Students can be such little shits sometimes...and then they do stuff like this to remind make me think I like teaching...and them. And it works.