Catharsis

First, off. My web quest prodcution went extremely well. I really had to restrain myself my running up to Sheryl during class and giving her hug when she said it was "incredible." I thought it was good, which was enough for me, but to have a prof that I respect tell me that it was "incredible" and refer to it telling others to check it out was so exciting!!!

Can it really be February 26? Or more specifically February 26, 2007? It seems unnatural that the day after tomorrow I will be teaching full-time. Wasn't I supposed to feel older?

Looking over my previous posts, I think that I failed in making my blog be just about teaching. Or maybe I succeeding in proving that teaching is not just a 7am-2:30pm job but a way of living. Either way, here goes.

Yesterday, I went home for the afternoon for the first time this semester. I can say it was a trip that I wished I hadn't had to make because it was for my friend's funeral. I used to say I didn't hate anything, but I'm pretty sure that I do in fact hate cancer. Each time that I hear someone talk about cancer, I go back to Julie, age 15, learning that her daddy has cancer or taking care of him or realizing that at age 17, my daddy wouldn't be coming home with us from the hospital. Or, I go back to losing my cousin's wife, who could be labeled feelings-wise more appropriately as my big sister. Vicky, a beam of sunshine with a grin just as infectious as Daddy's or Terry's, was diagnosed less than a year ago in July. Vicky who died before the spring came again.

I thought about a lot of things on the way home yesterday. Ever the English major, the word "catharsis" came to mind. What if I got diagnosed like Vicky did and heard that I would have less than a year to live. What would I do? One thing that came to mind was reconciling the relationships that have ended badly.

I started with my "divorced" ex-best friend/ex. We saw each other twice yesterday - once at the funeral and never spoke a word. I spent five years with the guy, and I couldn't even tell him hello. I knew that as angry and hurt (read: resentful) as i was I had to remain safe -- text messages. When it went well, I figured it was a good time to start with James. This one was harder. He really hurt me. It feels empowering to be able to say that and not cry or not want to claw out his present-girlfriend's eyes out. I finally was able to reclaim all of "our" music. I told him that I wished them and his son well. And the best part was that I meant it. Two down, skipping the two little ones that didn't mean anything (read: rebound) and never caused me hurt, left me with Dave...

Is it really a break when it's really just a compromise? I'm not sure. I'm tired of being strong and invested in a relationship that the other person is not invested in. If I'm going to be strong alone, I will be strong alone. As cliche as the Kenny Rogers song is "I can't make [him] love me." And it just made me frustrated and powerless to try. Fight the fights that you have a chance (any miniscule chance) at winning. I can't fight this fight alone. I texted him that I'm ready to give him the break-up that he wanted. I haven't heard from him yet, although I did see him earlier today walking with a girl (read: friend girl? or something more? I don't know), and I wasn't angry. I was listening to the song "Seasons of Love" from Rent, and it made me smile. So far, each of my "big three" relationships have been seasons of love. Each with its own intensity and vibrance, as well as ending. And one day I'll find someone who will be able to love the me that I love and together the two of us will make "me" into "we." Sappy, I know, but it's part of my catharsis.

No Man Is an Island, but Women Student Teachers Are

This week, I disagree with "No man is an island" or let's just say it doesn't apply to women. I feel like an island today. It's 9pm, and in 31 minutes, I'll be late for my bedtime. That's right. 9:30pm is not most college seniors bedtimes, but it is mine. In less than a week and a half, I'll start full-time student teaching, which means that I'll feel even less like a student than I already do. As it currently is, I have to schedule time with my friends -- and Friday and Saturday nights simply don't hold enough hours.

I feel like I've compromised a lot for student teaching already without losing more friends, but I guess I can't blame losing Dave on it, I just tell people that in the hopes that they won't ask what's really wrong with me. The truth is I'm not sure what's really wrong with me. So what if I want a long term relationship? Am I such an awful person? What if I'm precise? There are lots of perfectly happy obsessive-compulsive people in the world. Is there a sign on my back that says "Rebound here. She's a doormat."? Obviously, this is just venting; however, being the "STRONG" person that I am sometimes I'm forced into venting to my computer. At least it doesn't talk back -- except through my conscience.

The worst part of this situation is that it's simply my fault. I chose to graduate in 3 years. I chose to do my student teaching as an undergrad. I chose to begin having fun this year -- I think. Maybe not sure on the last one -- maybe having fun found me last year. Either way. I'm not losing any more sleep about it tonight. I'm either going to sleep or going to talk to my friends. Sweet dreams.

Introduction

Today, in my instructional technology class, I decided I have a story to tell. Maybe it won't be a very interesting one, but it will still be my story. In less than four short weeks, I will officially begin my teaching journey beginning my teaching assignment with three sections of English 12 and one section of English 10.

I will prepare four units. For British literature, one will be on satire from the Restoration, and one will be on poetry from the Romantic and Victorian periods. For world literature, one will be on Africa (and I will be teaching Achebe's Things Fall Apart), and one will be on Persia.

Last week, I felt that my life could be a section of Things Fall Apart. I was completely overwhelmed with unit planning, classwork, going to my school, working at my other job - Intramural Supervisor for Rec Sports, going to my sorority recruitment (Phi Mu), and trying to handle the fact that my boyfriend and I are going through different times in our lives and both facing difficult roads ahead. To be trite, I was overwork, underpaid, not appreciated -- and I couldn't handle it anymore. Any normal person would quit some of these activities, but it's important to note at this point that I am not normal -- but I do have a story.

I will tell you my story as accurately as I can - in the hopes that my experiences will help you along your journey. I'll leave you with my metaphor for teaching and life from my favorite poet, Robert Frost.

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;	5
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,	10
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.	15
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.