Last Day

(sigh) The transition will descend in 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . .

Today (or shall I say yesterday, since it's after 12 a.m.) was my last day at my Plan B job. I was kinda ready for that gig to be up. I must say that it was a nice little respite from the job that brought me to my knees which drove me there, though. A Spanish teacher turned math teacher. Boy, I tell ya.

It was less stressful, but it was also less pay. Much less pay. But when you're in the thick of a desperate situation, all you want is out. You don't care about the money, you don't care about nothing but getting out of that sucka. Anyway, it felt good to close that chapter of my journey to who knows where.

Now, this coming week is a week off, if you can call it that. I need to get my life together before the big move, which, due to circumstances, will actually be a gradual move. August 7th, I'm outta here. August 8th, orientation begins. August 10th, I can safely move into my apartment (just me, some clothes, an air mattress and toiletries). August 13th, I move all my stuff into my apartment (with help, thankfully). August 15th, classes start.

I'm just a bag of mixed feelings. I'm so ready to go off and do my thing, but I also hate moving. I hate readjusting for the millionth time. I hate the fact that I'm diving headlong into yet another state of prolonged temporariness. But, who knows? You never know. You got that right, I never know. I like the idea of a clean slate, though. A new, new, new, new. But newness can be stark and awkward. At the beginning, anyway.

So, how long is that going to take you? Two more years? Ha. At least four years. Four years? (Dude, it's a PhD, do you know what I'm saying?) Yeah, more work. Yeah, more papers. But maybe, oh, just maybe, more travel, too. South America. America del Sur.

Well, oh, well. We'll just have to see, won't we?

McCain Goes Back to Maverick

Aw, shucks! This is that McCain. The McCain who got crunk and gangsta and maverick on y'all behind. This is the McCain I'm talmbout, SON!

Wow. Just . . . wow.

Oh, really?

I haven't gotten political in a while, but Republicans need to drink a cold, tall glass of sitcho self ALL the way down. I never though a bar graph would utterly blow my mind. Are you serious? Sweetie, Democrats are willing to make some cuts to entitlement programs, Lord knows we need to, but we GON have to close some loopholes and raise some taxes too, dear.

It's raining again,

so, thank you for my sunflower umbrella, friend.

Friends

Sometimes I think of how blessed I am to have friends who love me.

I've connected with several friends recently who are so dear to my heart. We've met at different times in my life.

One friend, a young man I've known since junior high. We don't talk often, but when we do, we pick up where we left off.

Another, a young woman I met in undergrad who is a sister to me. God literally brought us together. The story goes that she was in her dorm room, praying for God to send her a friend who was a believer. Another friend and I were at the student center with our parents, attending orientation sessions. She gets up from praying, walks into the student center, and is confronted with my mom's poofy, tell-tale hairbow. "Are you Pentecostal?" she asks her. A few minutes later, my friend and I came out of our orientation session to a tearful, joyous meeting of answered prayer. The rest is history.

The last, a partner-in-crime I met in grad school. He's a little older, married with a family. We are so different in so many ways, it's amazing we're friends. But somehow, the shared experience of earning a Masters degree made us family.

I love these people God has placed into my life. There are many others, of course, but this week, I've somehow interacted with the ones I've described above. I'm thinking of them right now, and I am thankful for them.

Patience

I was reading out of my little devotional book one morning this week. Here's a quotation from it that zinged me:

"Patience takes away all want. Your desire for the thing you wish is perhaps stronger than your desire for the will of God to be fulfilled in its arrival."

Ooh, zing. It made my brain juices churn, the blood in my bleeding heart run cold, my melancholic background music fade to uncomfortable silence. It was part of one of the most beautiful, most unsettling definitions of patience I had ever come across.

Ah, patience. As my hair grows a little longer, my skin a little clearer. As I notice oh, so slightly deeper lines near my eyes when I smile. As I grow a little less insecure, a little more resigned to going with life's flow. In your patience, possess ye your souls.

To celebrate their 30th wedding anniversary, my parents are renewing their vows tomorrow. My brothers and I are taking part in the ceremony. I'm no stranger to taking part in weddings (even though this is technically not a wedding) and neither am I a stranger to the inevitable "Next time, it'll be you"s, the most recent round of which has already started. Perhaps they'll be right this time. Ah, next time.

Cracking UP

This is ridiculous, but so funny to me right now.

So, way back when, before I accepted the teaching job that brought me to my knees, I had to decide between two schools. Let me say this: there really was no lesser of two evils. They were equal evils, it's just that one evil was closer to where I live. Plus the principal of the closer school was kind of my hero. At the other school, the principal was a former teacher of mine back in the day, and, well, I remember her teaching. That's all I'll say. Also, ALL of the top administrators there were women. God, that sounds sexist, and it is. I hate admitting this. But the idea of too many women in one place being my boss at the same time made me antsy. I feel like I can say this, as a woman, knowing how the management style of women in a profession of mainly women functions. Okay. So suffice it to say, I chose the closer of the two evils.

So when things started popping off at the closer of the two evils . . . administrators galore came pouring in to "evaluate." There I was, dutifully standing at the door between classes and along comes the principal of the school I turned down with a smug smile admonishing me with, "See, don't you wish you would have come work for me now? At my school, we have a smaller population and we aren't having all the problems you all are having here. I tried to tell you, but oh, well. This is what you chose." I smiled weakly, and laughed fakely, but grrrrrrrrrr.

So, today, one of my coworkers at my present Plan B job just told me she was going to sign the contract to work at my former school. She's a tough cookie, made of much sterner stuff than I am, and a fabulous teacher, so I wished her the best. "Guess who's the new principal?" she asked. When she told me, I could but laugh. At least I chose my fate. This little development, I can assure you, was NOT by choice.

I wonder if she's remembering her smug little comment to me in the hallway that day.

Middle Bro is Back!

I kept a secret for over a month. Now the cat's out of the bag. Tha kid is back!

My bro has been overseas in Iraq since February. He had been planning to come home in August, but he revealed to me that he would be coming home a month early and swore me to secrecy. He super surprised my parents. Little bro is coming home from work in a little while and he has no idea . . . Hee, hee, I was the only one to be in on the conspiracy. What a lovely Independence Day gift.

One Month Till My New Life Begins

It's already July. Already.

This thing is creeping up on me. Tryna be all sneaky. I'm gonna turn around and sirens will be going off all around me signaling I've run out of time. Nope. No looking back. Take a deep breath and dive in.

I always complain about my itinerant life of gigs. The whine of my biological clock has grown increasingly shrill, always whimpering about some notion of "settling down." But what's a girl to do but enjoy the ride?

What I love about being in school is that each semester, you get a new life. Every semester, you get the chance to close a chapter and start anew. It's so funny . . . my whole entire life, I've either been a teacher or a student.

I didn't plan to get my PhD, despite everyone's encouragement, despite all the "you're too smart not to"s. You can spend a chunk of your childbearing years publishing or perishing if you want to. Shooo . . .

But something made me change my mind, real quick-like. It was a little hole-in-the-wall called Room 127 where you could get some pan-seared Señorita simmered in crazy served up on a bed of stress topped with fresh depression and a disrespected side of mixed feelings drizzled with an off-the-chain vinaigrette. Needless to say, there was a no-tip policy.

I know that had I never gone through that, I would never have applied to a doctoral program. I guess the Man Upstairs had to make sure I was going to live up to my potential. Really, if I had accepted the job at my posh little former place of employment I would be chillin hard right now. God said, "No, ma'am!" He won't let me rest till I pass the test. He used those little hellions to light a fire under my derriere. All right, Buddy. You win.

There's a bit of figuring out to do. Okay, there's a lot of figuring out to do. See, there I go again. Always trying to figure stuff out. (sigh.) When will I ever learn?

I must 1. pay my bills 2. finish off my latest round of Youth fiction 3. decide what classes I'm going to take. I know this: I'm SO taking a painting class. We're allowed to take stuff outside of the department. I'm going to realize my childhood dream of becoming a modern Monet. And I know French now, too? Aww, shucks! I shall.