Wall-to-Wall

I have a cousin who is 5 years older than me. In kid time, that is an eternity. I always thought she was really neat... but she was kind of like a constellation to me: pretty, sparkely, and completely foreign and untouchable.

When I was 7, she was 12. We disappeared to her room on one of our infrequent visits to Jacksonville. She sat me down and gave me a full makeover. Okay, there wasn't much to make over... I was seven. But I clearly remember her applying mascara to my eyelashes... and her rolling her eyes when I blinked too hard smudged her artwork. My mom was none too happy about the mascara, by the way.

On another visit, she asked me if I liked the Police. I rifled through my brain, trying to seem nonchalant. Why wouldn't I like the police? They were good guys, right? Serve and protect... so I said yes. She saw through the ruse. "You don't know who the Police are, do you?" she asked, with only a trace of disdain. Yeah, seems as though she was talking about a BAND. Who knew?

The last time I spent any significant amount of time with her, I was about 12. I stayed at her house for a week over the summer. She snuck back in the house one night, after curfew, and crawled into her waterbed where I was feigning sleep... and I immediately rolled between the mattress and the bed frame. I tried to roll back out after she was asleep, but every time I was close to regaining some footing on the mattress, she would shift in her sleep, and I would roll right back into the crack. And the whole time, I just kept thinking how cool she was to have stayed out so late. I couldn't WAIT to break curfew!

My cousin and I haven't had much contact as adults. My father wasn't real keen on his sister's family knowing I am gay... so I just stayed clear of them for the most part. Then my cousin friended me on Facebook. I have to admit, I hesitated before I accepted her request. I mean, one look at my relationship status and 14 years of secret keeping goes down the tubes. But, then again, it was never my idea that my sexual orientation needed to be hidden in the first place. I accepted her request, and I waited...

She has sent me 3 emails in the past two days. She takes note of my status updates and comments on them constantly. She even wrote on my Wall. Seems like my cousin really was asking to be my friend.

I wonder if she still likes the Police? Maybe I will write on her Wall...

It was a Duncan, for those of you in the know...

When I was about 19 or 20, all the cool kids had yo-yos. Alright, alright. My friends were probably the only cats sporting a yo-yo constantly... but we WERE cool. Like a yo-yo posse, if you will.

My yo-yo was... wait for it... pink. I loved that damn thing. I had a trick book, which I practiced out of diligently. Totally fun, until I conked myself in the head ... which I managed to do with shocking regularity.

What I wouldn't give to be back at Epitome, drinking $1.60 cups of coffee, smoking cloves and yo-yoing for a few hours...

Light & Airy

Seems like the longer I am sober, the more there is to do. There are clothes that need to be washed, floors to be cleaned, lessons that don't plan themselves, and friends that I need to spend time with. But the problem is that this list of necessities, the "must dos," are taking the fun out of everything. Even things I enjoy have become just another chore to check off my list. Absurd.

Time management has always been a struggle for me. But now there just don't seem to be enough hours left in the day. When am I supposed to bathe the dogs? When can I straighten my room? Maybe prioritizing is my issue. I don't have to live in an immaculate house (and believe me, I don't)... but I do have a standard of cleanliness I would like to maintain. I am still fitting in running on a regular basis (along with counting my calories on a calorie counter... it's like a game! Kind of). And my students get a well thought-out lesson every class period.

But I have seriously neglected my spiritual activities since school started... um, a bit problematic when the AA program is based on, well, spiritual strength. I guess that is what is bugging me, in part. And I am willing to bet that if I made more time for spiritual endeavors that I would be able to relax a bit more and enjoy what I have.

Light and airy... Like popcorn... Seems like a nice ideal to aim for, no?

Tallahassee

It seems a cruel twist of fate when painful memories of a place can completely obscure the laughter and love also inhabited that place. Tallahassee is like that for me. The towering oaks, the rolling hills... it is all so familiar. But it brings back a tightness in my chest, an ache, that I find almost unbearable. I get homesick for Tallahassee, but too much time there brings up unanswered questions about who I am and the decisions I have made. I begin to feel unsettled...and a feeling reminiscent of grief casts a pall over the happy memories that attempt to surface.

Maybe there are too many reminders of who I was when I was there... selfish, childish, wildly out of control. But those circumstances have changed. Even the people who I feared would take pleasure in reminding me of the mess I made of my life have changed, moved on, chosen to forget, or simply forgiven me. I wonder why I struggle to do the same.

Here Comes the Sun...

I can say, with certainty, that I am currently enjoying my lack of desire to kick someone in the face.

My mood has been crap for the past week, and I am finally pulling through to the other side. Given my usually sunshine-y nature, a bad mood that lasts this long is almost unheard of. I have felt in constant disarray... worked up and frustrated, but lacking the energy to change anything.

But now, now I am ready to take on the world. Or take on the weekend. Either way.

The Answer is Always a Latte

Feeling a bit flat today. Not sure what that is about. I am typically pretty enthused on afternoons after I finish teaching... I know that I have a full day ahead of me tomorrow to catch up on grading, housework, whatever... But I still feel a nagging sense of frustration. Odd.

I decided to run the Gasparilla 5K in early February. Then there is a Strawberry Festival 10K that I am going to run in March. I downloaded a training program and am feeling pretty psyched about that. In fact, I would like to run tonight, but I won't have time before the meeting tonight. Why is it that I constantly feel as if I don't have enough time? It really is strange. I am accomplishing more than I have accomplished in years, yet I am always trying to catch up. Maybe that's where my frustration stems from... Nothing ever feels completed.

I head out to see my grandparents on Saturday morning. I am excited to see them. I think I will make dinner for them on Saturday night. I am just hoping my grandfather can hold back his stunningly intellectual analysis of politics and popular culture ... (read: I really don't feel like the constant debate about whether or not the 'N' word is appropriate. It is not. Not ever. End of discussion.). It is hard not to have a response to that kind of vile banter; but I know my reaction only serves to egg on his bad behavior. If I ignore it, he will stop. Sometimes it is just really hard to bite my tongue.

And, on a happy note, I am off to get my grande non-fat latte. Mmm... caffeinated goodness.

Step Outside Yourself

One of my former students came by to visit me today. He was in my ENC 1102 class for two semesters (he failed the first time and just scraped by the second). The first few weeks he spent in my class, I wasn't too sure about him. He seemed cocky. He was too mouthy. He was easily distracted and had a knack for distracting the others around him.

But, somehow, without my noticing it, he became my favorite student. I looked to him to offer intelligent feedback when the class discussion stalled. Conferences with him were engaging. He had a laid-back yet superior tone in discussions with his classmates that I found to be riotously funny.

He stopped by, unexpectedly, today. I had bumped into him in the hallways a few times over the past year, but we hadn't gotten to really talk. Today, he parked himself in my extra chair and chatted.

He told me about his horrid grades from last semester and his mini-meltdown trying to juggle starting a fraternity, working, school and a relationship. We chatted about what kids need to get out of the classes that I teach, what they come to the university system lacking. He told me what he looks for in a girl (a partner, as he called her). We discussed the reasons that we write, what types of writing we find fulfilling.

He told me he thought I was a spaz when he met me. I told him he is still an underachiever.

And we laughed about some of the ideas that have come to him when he was high... which shifted into an extensive conversation about perspective, in narrative and in life. And, finally (and why I think he really came by), we talked about his direction in life, his need for a life GPS... I think he misses his older brother (who is only 3 years younger than me), and he admitted unabashedly that he needs adult influence in his life. I cannot think of a more flattering reason for 21 year old kid to want to spend time talking to me.

He reminds me what is so brilliant about the university experience... the growth, the inquiry, the constant dawning of new ideas and new perspective. He made me proud of who I am and proud of what I do.

Run!

Okay, so not only am I venturing into the world of writing again, I am also venturing back in to running. I have been running on and off for a few years. It is the "off" part that bothers me.

I want very much to make running a part of my weekly routine, a part of who I am. Running presents a very specific challenge: Keep your feet moving, no matter what your mind tells you. This is empowering to a girl that has suffered for panic attacks since she was 15, who has to remind herself every day that she is an alcoholic and cannot drink, no matter what. My mind has gotten me into some serious pickles... running presents an opportunity for me to triumph over my mind. Quite thrilling, really.

But running is a challenge for me. I am not a naturally gifted runner. I fight a constant battle to stay in the moment when I am running, to not worry about the next 15 minutes, but to simply focus on the here and now.

If I made a "one step at a time" joke, would I be overstepping my bounds here? Yeah, I thought so.

And... SUCCESS!

Hold the presses! I accomplished something! Good God, it didn't seem like I was going to get anything done today. But I have written THREE recommendation letters (pauses for applause). Time spent dreading writing these letters: 3 weeks. Time spent writing these letters: 1 hour. I will never learn, will I?

Procrastination has been with me since I was a kid. I remember lying awake at 1:30 a.m. being paralyzed with fear because I had a book report due the next week, and I had yet to begin reading the book. I was in fourth grade. That was 24 years ago. Yet, I remain persistent in the procrastination.

Also, I have never been good at time management. I have no idea how long it will take me to do something. Like that book in fourth grade. I could have read it in one afternoon. (Actually, if I remember correctly, I DID read it in one afternoon and wrote the book report that night--after my bedtime) But I thought it would take me DAYS to read it. So I dreaded it.

I do the same thing with lesson plans. I never know how long it will take me to plan a lesson--or to plan the semester, for that matter. So, I dread it, and I agonize over it, envisioning this mammoth project that will eat up an entire day. But when I actually begin planning, it only takes a few hours of concentrated effort.

The first step to recovery is admitting I have a problem, right? Is there a 12 step program for Procrastination? (see, it is so prominent in my life that I had to capitalize it!)

Thoughts on a Monday Afternoon After A Latte...

Sometimes fear of the blank page causes me to avoid writing anything at all. As if, if my work is not perfection, then it has no right to exist. If my writing is not immaculate, then I count it as defeat. When, really, it is probably best if I put all of the swirling words down... easier to make sense of them that way, after all. And my crushing fear that maybe I am not as good at writing as I would like to believe I am... the fear seems to be taking on a life of its own, crushing every creative impulse I have. So, now I will boldly confront my fear, and I will write. (Boldly confronting my fear conjures up images of a cartoon me, with a cape, a tiara and a scepter with a star on the end, standing with feet apart, ready to kick my fear in the shins)

In 2009, I vowed to read "24 Hours A Day," well, every day... And, for the past 5 days, I have. I feel refreshed after my reading, refocused. But I can't help but notice that the past five entries say almost the same thing... I am to acknowledge my alcoholism, my powerlessness (by turning to God), and be willing to help others. Seems so very simple, like it needn't be said five times. But, hell, I have to repeat everything I say to my students three times, or they won't remember it at all. So maybe this is the same principle. Or maybe it is the subtle nuances that leave me feeling like I have something to ponder, something to return to in the middle of may day. My thoughts often need refreshing, after all.

Today was the first day of classes for Spring 09. I made it through with very little trauma. Okay, there was someone jackhammering during my class. So the kids and I had to yell a little bit to be heard. But there were no intolerable moments of panic. I got a little sketched a couple times in my last two classes. I felt hyper aware that I was standing there, the focal point of attention. And a few times I felt a bit detached from my body and voice... which sounds God awful, but is really just small potatoes on the panic attack front. So, I am going to give myself the gold star of approval for not only surviving my first day back, but flourishing... Hey, I made the kids laugh. That is no easy task. 18 year olds are a tough crowd. Trust me.