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.