1. I would love, love, LOVE to work for Sesame Street. I checked. No job openings. I loved that show as a kid. I love it now. It would still be in the realm of education. I mean, I'd probably feel guilty because I wasn't really closing the achievement gap but I don't feel like I'm doing that right now anyway. Just think about it. How cool would that be?
2. I wouldn't really love it because well, I hate driving so much, but I would be a pretty awesome designated driver. I DD'd last night and it was kind of great. I don't actually enjoy getting drunk unless I completely trust the people I'm around. Which doesn't happen often. But man, I'm an awesome DD. I let my designated drinkers pre-game. Then, we went to a house party where there was a fire. I love me some fires. I could just stand there and stare at it instead of having to make small talk. (And no wonder I don't have any friends.) Then, I packed too many people into my car and drove them to the bar. Because I was sober, I could totally use that as an excuse to not dance AND no one looked cute so I didn't leave feeling defeated. Afterwards, I drove my designated drinker around looking for an open drive-thru even though I had to be awake early this morning. But I didn't order anything because even though I was hungry, nothing sounded OMG ssoooooo good. I'd say I made a great life choice last night and now, a potential future.
19 December 2010
09 December 2010
I'm Yours
if you want me.
And that seems to be the problem. I've been listening to this mix I made (title: On a Last Night) for someone I once thought I knew. It's just full of these songs that I can't help but sing along to and feel alive when hearing. Twenty-five songs full. Stuck in my head--in my life--is this song by Chris Thile. It just says everything. It's amazing. But do you know what would make it perfect? If it's a song someone wishes I would hear and think of him. And that's the problem with my music. As in, the music I listen to. It's so full of meaning. It means so much to me. So much that I want to share it. I want to share the message I've heard and felt and can't articulate any better, try as I might. It's so full that I want to share it. And so I do. And I share what it means to me. Or try to.
But as much of a problem as that is, the real problem is that I'm the one giving away songs and meanings and intentions like the ones in the songs I breathe by. I'm just giving it away. No one needs to question my intentions and my thoughts because I'm just laying it all out on the line. And for a while, I thought it was refreshing to have a person like me in my life. But now I'm thinking that maybe it's really annoying. It might be frustrating. It might be... emasculating. I mean, that's just if I'm being full of myself. I just think back to all those books I felt obligated to read when I gave into guilt and obligation. And I won't link to them but my goodness, don't read a book that's written for women by a woman AND her husband if you don't want to go crazy(ier). Because you might say things like this: Those stupid books that I didn't want to read but can't let go might be onto something. Maybe they were right about men wanting to pursue women. That we needed to make it a little easier on them by not moving so much. By not having our own lives and not being... real individuals. That we need to play those stupid games where the rules get hard to keep track of. Because otherwise, all you might end up with is playlists on a medium that may eventually become obsolete professing your belonging to another person who might have skipped over the track because he didn't like the key the song was written in.
Or something like that.
I'm not sure it's something I'm willing to change yet. But maybe I shouldn't wear my heart on my sleeve so much. Or maybe I should wear it on my sleeve but try to quit trying to give it away so much. I keep thinking there's got to be someone out there for me. But maybe there isn't.
And maybe that's okay. As long as Sarah Dessen keeps writing for the rest of my life.
And I say that in jest and not really so much in jest. I don't want to be alone. But that's what I am and I should make the most of it. So I willtry.
-Theresa
And that seems to be the problem. I've been listening to this mix I made (title: On a Last Night) for someone I once thought I knew. It's just full of these songs that I can't help but sing along to and feel alive when hearing. Twenty-five songs full. Stuck in my head--in my life--is this song by Chris Thile. It just says everything. It's amazing. But do you know what would make it perfect? If it's a song someone wishes I would hear and think of him. And that's the problem with my music. As in, the music I listen to. It's so full of meaning. It means so much to me. So much that I want to share it. I want to share the message I've heard and felt and can't articulate any better, try as I might. It's so full that I want to share it. And so I do. And I share what it means to me. Or try to.
But as much of a problem as that is, the real problem is that I'm the one giving away songs and meanings and intentions like the ones in the songs I breathe by. I'm just giving it away. No one needs to question my intentions and my thoughts because I'm just laying it all out on the line. And for a while, I thought it was refreshing to have a person like me in my life. But now I'm thinking that maybe it's really annoying. It might be frustrating. It might be... emasculating. I mean, that's just if I'm being full of myself. I just think back to all those books I felt obligated to read when I gave into guilt and obligation. And I won't link to them but my goodness, don't read a book that's written for women by a woman AND her husband if you don't want to go crazy(ier). Because you might say things like this: Those stupid books that I didn't want to read but can't let go might be onto something. Maybe they were right about men wanting to pursue women. That we needed to make it a little easier on them by not moving so much. By not having our own lives and not being... real individuals. That we need to play those stupid games where the rules get hard to keep track of. Because otherwise, all you might end up with is playlists on a medium that may eventually become obsolete professing your belonging to another person who might have skipped over the track because he didn't like the key the song was written in.
Or something like that.
I'm not sure it's something I'm willing to change yet. But maybe I shouldn't wear my heart on my sleeve so much. Or maybe I should wear it on my sleeve but try to quit trying to give it away so much. I keep thinking there's got to be someone out there for me. But maybe there isn't.
And maybe that's okay. As long as Sarah Dessen keeps writing for the rest of my life.
And I say that in jest and not really so much in jest. I don't want to be alone. But that's what I am and I should make the most of it. So I will
-Theresa
04 December 2010
What I was trying to say:
I'm hardly the person you remember. Different. A little the same. A little different. I don't know. I'm just not who I was.
03 December 2010
Of hippies and hipsters
In my life, I have been called both a hippy and a hipster depending on where I lived at the time and who I was talking to.
Here in Phoenix, they think I'm a hippy. I don't shower or shave often. I walk when I can. I like shopping at the farmers market. I like the way kombucha tastes. My favorite coffee doesn't come from Starbucks. My clothes are meant to keep me warm and I sort of ascribe to my own style.
I just feel like such a poser. Kalamazoo, aside from the people I worked with at Old Navy who probably just thought I was strange, wouldn't classify me as a hippy. I never once wanted to live at the community house. I like the way my legs feel when I shave them--I'm just too lazy to. Showering? I'd rather sleep in. Although, the people who did live in the housing co-op often got offended when I called them hippies...
Regardless, I was just thinking about Phoenix's lack of soul. Here, I'm a hippy to people because everyone has to be something. This was supposed to be a more well-thought out post. Meh.
That being said: I hate Phoenix.
-Theresa
Here in Phoenix, they think I'm a hippy. I don't shower or shave often. I walk when I can. I like shopping at the farmers market. I like the way kombucha tastes. My favorite coffee doesn't come from Starbucks. My clothes are meant to keep me warm and I sort of ascribe to my own style.
I just feel like such a poser. Kalamazoo, aside from the people I worked with at Old Navy who probably just thought I was strange, wouldn't classify me as a hippy. I never once wanted to live at the community house. I like the way my legs feel when I shave them--I'm just too lazy to. Showering? I'd rather sleep in. Although, the people who did live in the housing co-op often got offended when I called them hippies...
Regardless, I was just thinking about Phoenix's lack of soul. Here, I'm a hippy to people because everyone has to be something. This was supposed to be a more well-thought out post. Meh.
That being said: I hate Phoenix.
-Theresa
21 November 2010
Sundays
I'm going to church today for the first time in over a year. Well, we went to a Chaldean church for Christmas when my mom was here. But in the interest of... interest, it's been over a year. I'm excited and nervous. And a little worried that it won't feel like it used to.
And when I get back? Lesson planning and grading!!!! Yay! I have a break this week but I want to get on top of it all. And be a better teacher since they keep giving me these breaks.
Anyway, I should probably go take that shower I should have taken a few days ago.
-Theresa
And when I get back? Lesson planning and grading!!!! Yay! I have a break this week but I want to get on top of it all. And be a better teacher since they keep giving me these breaks.
Anyway, I should probably go take that shower I should have taken a few days ago.
-Theresa
19 November 2010
A mantra, of sorts.
Or, Too Much (Not enough) Information
Help me, Fiber, for I can't shit.
It's been five days since my last excretion.
Oh, I so went there. My tummy hurts. I'm probably going to hell for using my Catholic background like this.
Help me, Fiber, for I can't shit.
It's been five days since my last excretion.
Oh, I so went there. My tummy hurts. I'm probably going to hell for using my Catholic background like this.
15 November 2010
Four-day weekends and twenty-five
My goodness, this was a good weekend. I turned twenty-five and I spent the day just being. I cleaned my room. You'd be impressed. I haven't seen this much floor since before I moved in. I went shopping and spent time with people without worrying about where I had to be and when. And I didn't even plan one lesson. It was just... relaxing. Nice. Friday night? I recorded a Disney Channel movie based on a teen book by the same name (the book was totally better) in order to play Settlers. Then I slept in on Saturday and watched the movie in my pajamas. Being an adult isn't so bad.
But I miss my kids. Jeez. Did you see what I wrote? My kids. I mean, my students. But I like those little people. Even when they break my heart and a little bit, my spirit, I really appreciate them. We read The Kissing Hand again recently. It was a book we'd read on the first day of school but reread it for some comprehension objective I can't remember but could pull out a lesson plan to tell you. Regardless, we've been discussing what all the pictures are really showing. On the last page, Chester (or his mom) is giving the sign language symbol for "I love you." I explained to them what it meant. Now, about a third of the time I hear "teeeeesheeerrr, loooook," I see them showing me their loving gesture. The other two-thirds? A semblance of completion in a task or someone doing something wrong. Although, arguably, they're supposed to raise their hands and wait for me to call on them, which would mean that two-thirds of the time, they're breaking a rule. But that other third? It totally makes up for being called an article of clothing.
These little beings? They just wanted to be loved. Their eyes just get big with shock and sheer jubilation when I sign back to them that yes, I am so fond of them, I love them. Sometimes, I say it too. Even when I'm tired and cursing myself for not having prepared back-up plans for a substitute in order to call in sick, it brings light to my day. They know I get frustrated. I think they know I know they get frustrated. Well, most of them. But those moments when they sign to me, they're telling me it's okay. They're telling me to keep going. And in my gesture of love to them and of course, my words, the recognize that they are allowed to make mistakes. In fact, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone, I encourage it. It's how we learn. But I know for a fact, it is not a mistake loving these growing people.
I've heard people say things about how it's different when they're your kids. The love you have for people. The little things don't bug you as much. These small creatures have been nowhere in me but my heart. Their gestations periods were in women with their same last names. They go home to tell someone all about their days. But I am genuinely happy every day I get to spend with them. It makes me sad that, already, three of my students have been abruptly pulled from the school for reasons I'm not aware. I am honest every time I raise two fingers and a thumb. These people whose first language isn't English can certainly understand it.
So I miss my kids. Those people I spend most of my days with. It's perfectly rational to miss them, I think. And worry for them. And wish I was playing with them instead of teaching them grammar. Don't get me wrong--I wish I had weekends this long a little more often. But I do love those kids.
But I also understand, I feel maybe one one-hundredth of what my mother continues to feel for me. They are only mine through May so I'd better make the most of our time together. Even when I'd rather be sleeping.
-Theresa
But I miss my kids. Jeez. Did you see what I wrote? My kids. I mean, my students. But I like those little people. Even when they break my heart and a little bit, my spirit, I really appreciate them. We read The Kissing Hand again recently. It was a book we'd read on the first day of school but reread it for some comprehension objective I can't remember but could pull out a lesson plan to tell you. Regardless, we've been discussing what all the pictures are really showing. On the last page, Chester (or his mom) is giving the sign language symbol for "I love you." I explained to them what it meant. Now, about a third of the time I hear "teeeeesheeerrr, loooook," I see them showing me their loving gesture. The other two-thirds? A semblance of completion in a task or someone doing something wrong. Although, arguably, they're supposed to raise their hands and wait for me to call on them, which would mean that two-thirds of the time, they're breaking a rule. But that other third? It totally makes up for being called an article of clothing.
These little beings? They just wanted to be loved. Their eyes just get big with shock and sheer jubilation when I sign back to them that yes, I am so fond of them, I love them. Sometimes, I say it too. Even when I'm tired and cursing myself for not having prepared back-up plans for a substitute in order to call in sick, it brings light to my day. They know I get frustrated. I think they know I know they get frustrated. Well, most of them. But those moments when they sign to me, they're telling me it's okay. They're telling me to keep going. And in my gesture of love to them and of course, my words, the recognize that they are allowed to make mistakes. In fact, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone, I encourage it. It's how we learn. But I know for a fact, it is not a mistake loving these growing people.
I've heard people say things about how it's different when they're your kids. The love you have for people. The little things don't bug you as much. These small creatures have been nowhere in me but my heart. Their gestations periods were in women with their same last names. They go home to tell someone all about their days. But I am genuinely happy every day I get to spend with them. It makes me sad that, already, three of my students have been abruptly pulled from the school for reasons I'm not aware. I am honest every time I raise two fingers and a thumb. These people whose first language isn't English can certainly understand it.
So I miss my kids. Those people I spend most of my days with. It's perfectly rational to miss them, I think. And worry for them. And wish I was playing with them instead of teaching them grammar. Don't get me wrong--I wish I had weekends this long a little more often. But I do love those kids.
But I also understand, I feel maybe one one-hundredth of what my mother continues to feel for me. They are only mine through May so I'd better make the most of our time together. Even when I'd rather be sleeping.
-Theresa
06 November 2010
One long week.
Rather than trying to think about this week and what it meant and what I can do to change it, I will merely present facts. My goodness, I've described many weeks as long but this one might take the cake of my post-college years. Long weeks were a given in my college years as many days lasted forty hours. I digress.
Monday night, ASU classes. Didn't go to dinner I was mistakenly invited to as I'm not black. Grad school is just like freshman year of college for many people, it seems. And I intend on not returning to that year. Home by 9:30.
Tuesday, I can't remember anything worth reporting other than I think it was the only night I was back to my apartment by eight.
Wednesday begins the fun.
*Phone call from the office. "Find someone to cover your class as soon as possible and come to the office."
*Newly arrived Arabic speaking student, shocked that anyone at the school spoke Arabic introduced herself to me weeks earlier (another teacher had told her), had been attacked by another student and couldn't bring herself to speak English or calm down. I spent half an hour in the office with a teacher watching my class and her class calming this girl down and explaining exactly why it's not a bad thing that she came to America. I done the government proud.
*Run into another Arabic speaking family who needs help with translation for a program that, ironically, teaches them English. Promise to help the following day.
*Model teacher night. Two hour meeting where I talk about how my life in the classroom is going.
*Dinner with a friend. Awesome.
Thursday, I've been outed. Administration is shocked by the fact that I'm not some dumb American who moved to Arizona but can't speak Spanish. They see my value. Damn it.
*TeachTeachTeach. I'm working hard on pulling my kids back in. I don't know what I did wrong but they're going crazy.
*Catch a teacher who fainted from a finger prick.
*Go to a training about refugees. Actually helpful.
*Back to school to help translate for parents who want to know how to buy the book in their English class among other things. Turns out, they're Chaldean.
Friday, my crowning jewel, is a half day for students.
*Feeling sick. The sore throat kind.
*Sent all but one of my students to centers because she needed someone to talk to. For an hour.
*My kids wanted to eat outside so we ate at picnic tables. The plan was that we go to recess after but there was a playground right nearby that they were instructed not to play on. Three students go for it anyway. Including Little Miss Chatterbox.
*Recess. There's a dog on the playground. Half my kids freak out, other half excited. I catch the dog but it's freaking out because so many kids are running at him. Definitely a him. Ask another teacher to call the office. Office tells us to bring him up. There's a gross patch on his neck so I don't want to carry him so I ask for string. In the mean time, kids are freaking out even more. Dog starts nipping at me and other teacher is able to help me and walk the dog up.
*Back inside. There's only a half hour of school left so, free choice time. I spend that half hour talking to the girl I already talked to for an hour about how she thinks I don't care about her and I shouldn't be so bossy. My heart broke as I tried to explain that creating rules isn't being bossy and by holding her to the same standards I hold everyone else and being fair, I actually care for her quite a bit. Given, there's family background but still. She's only six. How do I get this girl to see that I care for her?
*Professional Development. SUCKED.
*Prepare for the Fall Festival.
*Fall Festival.
*Home by 8:30.
And today? I've only left my bed to make breakfast and use the bathroom. I'm full on sick. I'm totally taking advantage of this and watching TV on hulu and reading all day. And I ate a bag of chips. Guilt free. I can lesson plan tomorrow.
Oh, and I'm turning twenty-five in a few days.
-Theresa
Monday night, ASU classes. Didn't go to dinner I was mistakenly invited to as I'm not black. Grad school is just like freshman year of college for many people, it seems. And I intend on not returning to that year. Home by 9:30.
Tuesday, I can't remember anything worth reporting other than I think it was the only night I was back to my apartment by eight.
Wednesday begins the fun.
*Phone call from the office. "Find someone to cover your class as soon as possible and come to the office."
*Newly arrived Arabic speaking student, shocked that anyone at the school spoke Arabic introduced herself to me weeks earlier (another teacher had told her), had been attacked by another student and couldn't bring herself to speak English or calm down. I spent half an hour in the office with a teacher watching my class and her class calming this girl down and explaining exactly why it's not a bad thing that she came to America. I done the government proud.
*Run into another Arabic speaking family who needs help with translation for a program that, ironically, teaches them English. Promise to help the following day.
*Model teacher night. Two hour meeting where I talk about how my life in the classroom is going.
*Dinner with a friend. Awesome.
Thursday, I've been outed. Administration is shocked by the fact that I'm not some dumb American who moved to Arizona but can't speak Spanish. They see my value. Damn it.
*TeachTeachTeach. I'm working hard on pulling my kids back in. I don't know what I did wrong but they're going crazy.
*Catch a teacher who fainted from a finger prick.
*Go to a training about refugees. Actually helpful.
*Back to school to help translate for parents who want to know how to buy the book in their English class among other things. Turns out, they're Chaldean.
Friday, my crowning jewel, is a half day for students.
*Feeling sick. The sore throat kind.
*Sent all but one of my students to centers because she needed someone to talk to. For an hour.
*My kids wanted to eat outside so we ate at picnic tables. The plan was that we go to recess after but there was a playground right nearby that they were instructed not to play on. Three students go for it anyway. Including Little Miss Chatterbox.
*Recess. There's a dog on the playground. Half my kids freak out, other half excited. I catch the dog but it's freaking out because so many kids are running at him. Definitely a him. Ask another teacher to call the office. Office tells us to bring him up. There's a gross patch on his neck so I don't want to carry him so I ask for string. In the mean time, kids are freaking out even more. Dog starts nipping at me and other teacher is able to help me and walk the dog up.
*Back inside. There's only a half hour of school left so, free choice time. I spend that half hour talking to the girl I already talked to for an hour about how she thinks I don't care about her and I shouldn't be so bossy. My heart broke as I tried to explain that creating rules isn't being bossy and by holding her to the same standards I hold everyone else and being fair, I actually care for her quite a bit. Given, there's family background but still. She's only six. How do I get this girl to see that I care for her?
*Professional Development. SUCKED.
*Prepare for the Fall Festival.
*Fall Festival.
*Home by 8:30.
And today? I've only left my bed to make breakfast and use the bathroom. I'm full on sick. I'm totally taking advantage of this and watching TV on hulu and reading all day. And I ate a bag of chips. Guilt free. I can lesson plan tomorrow.
Oh, and I'm turning twenty-five in a few days.
-Theresa
16 October 2010
What it is about driving
that I hate so much is that there is so much going on at one time that it's overwhelming to catalogue it all and keep as much in my control as possible at the same time. I get anxious while driving because I am hyper-aware of the world around me. I notice when a car or truck is swerving a little or when other drivers are on their phones. As I notice this, I worry that they won't notice that I'm a nervous driver, my grip on the steering wheel tightens.
It's not that I've become less aware. It's that my awareness no longer causes as much of a physical reaction. And it's not some special breathing technique or mantra I repeat. It's a generic of effexor that allows me to drive on roads I've learned the curves of. Unfortunately, I still react as I did before if it's a road I haven't driven before. Or if it's night time.
Because my dad so constantly reminds me that I need to take care of myself, I began to feel more and more broken because my fear of driving was a way that I was not taking care of myself. My fear of driving was just one more thing about me that wasn't quite right. And I wanted to fix it so I could take care of myself. Not because I really want to drive. No, I hate driving. I wanted to fix it so that I felt a little less unloveable.
Of all the things I've learned in the last year, the one that I think will stick with me for a while is that no matter how much I want to be loved, I can't force it. I can't make anyone love me. I know, I know. I need to love myself. And I do. Just not with the same passion that I love others. And so, unfortunately, I still continue to feel unloveable. And so, though I am putting more life pieces together, I am still broken. I am still not whole.
This isn't post-break-up pain. This is just the realization that as much as I want to take control of my life, some things are just uncontrollable. And that weakness I have that becomes so much more apparent when I have to drive might be a blessing because it made me feel like I needed to do something. So I went on an anti-anxiety/anti-depressant. And it made a difference in my life because I can drive more often. And it made a difference in my brother's life because he's still alive. Because he sees my weakness as a strength. Because, though I may feel unloveable, I know that I am worth love. I know that I deserve love.
I deserve love.
And that is why I am single. Not because I am unloveable. Because I'm not. Though I may be crazy and passionate and want to be nice and love life and everything in it, I am not unloveable. I will not settle for thinking that I am.
-Theresa
It's not that I've become less aware. It's that my awareness no longer causes as much of a physical reaction. And it's not some special breathing technique or mantra I repeat. It's a generic of effexor that allows me to drive on roads I've learned the curves of. Unfortunately, I still react as I did before if it's a road I haven't driven before. Or if it's night time.
Because my dad so constantly reminds me that I need to take care of myself, I began to feel more and more broken because my fear of driving was a way that I was not taking care of myself. My fear of driving was just one more thing about me that wasn't quite right. And I wanted to fix it so I could take care of myself. Not because I really want to drive. No, I hate driving. I wanted to fix it so that I felt a little less unloveable.
Of all the things I've learned in the last year, the one that I think will stick with me for a while is that no matter how much I want to be loved, I can't force it. I can't make anyone love me. I know, I know. I need to love myself. And I do. Just not with the same passion that I love others. And so, unfortunately, I still continue to feel unloveable. And so, though I am putting more life pieces together, I am still broken. I am still not whole.
This isn't post-break-up pain. This is just the realization that as much as I want to take control of my life, some things are just uncontrollable. And that weakness I have that becomes so much more apparent when I have to drive might be a blessing because it made me feel like I needed to do something. So I went on an anti-anxiety/anti-depressant. And it made a difference in my life because I can drive more often. And it made a difference in my brother's life because he's still alive. Because he sees my weakness as a strength. Because, though I may feel unloveable, I know that I am worth love. I know that I deserve love.
I deserve love.
And that is why I am single. Not because I am unloveable. Because I'm not. Though I may be crazy and passionate and want to be nice and love life and everything in it, I am not unloveable. I will not settle for thinking that I am.
-Theresa
11 October 2010
It was me who pulled away.
In all fairness, he moved but I did the actual emotional separation. He was worried I'd think he'd abandoned me. In some ways, he had. Phoenix was definitely not my first choice for this year and I ranked it higher than I would have if it had not been for him. Regardless, it's where Teach For America placed me and I would have moved wherever they ended up placing me. But there were some things early on in our relationship that a normal person would have let go. But no, not me. I internalize these things and I take them personally. Why? Why do I take everything so personally? Because I'm all I've got. Because, like my dad so kindly reminds me every few months or so, if I don't take care of myself, no one else will. And being mean is not taking care. It's not caring.
I think about everything I say before I say it. Well, for the most part. I won't be held responsible for the quick wit of my tongue. But if I think I might hurt someone with my words, I hold those words in for as long as possible to ensure that I really mean them. He didn't do that. He said what he was thinking and never really apologized for it, even if his opinions changed. Two months after one specific fight, he realizes that it's pretty normal for first year teachers to be working as much as I've been working. But he never apologized for the comments he had made. He never apologized for putting his future ahead of me and never mentioned it until yesterday.
Because he had a tendency to not think how I would take things, I had a tendency to take things personally. Because he knew that about me, I assumed he didn't care. I told myself he didn't really care. I convinced myself that he didn't love me. Although, I'm fairly certain that that's true. And I wouldn't let these things go because... Well, it didn't feel like he loved me. So I've spent these last six months looking for proof that he didn't love me. It wasn't hard to do. He rarely told me. I felt like I annoyed him. I didn't feel like myself. I wasn't what he wanted. In a woman or in a life. And I had myself convinced. He was abandoning me. He didn't love me.
But as I sat on the opposite end of a couch, I wondered if it had maybe been me all along. I put other people first. And I resented him for always wanting to spend time with me because I wanted more friends. And my goodness, I really do take everything personally. I could have made an effort to visit him. I could have taken a page from his book and just told him what I was thinking the first time I thought it. And asked a doctor for a prescription without quite so many side effects. I could have loved him. And I might. But as I laid on the opposite side of the couch and realized that he was lying down because it was his last defense, the words "so this is it?" just echoed in a room that had never echoed before. And I could do was apologize. Over and over. All I could say was sorry. Because I hadn't tried hard enough. Because I felt like I was abandoning him. I asked him if he ever thought about breaking up before and he'd said yes but never said why he didn't do anything about it. And we didn't talk about the fact that we didn't kiss when he walked in the day before. And he didn't hold my hand while walking. We didn't talk about that. We hugged and he left. He let me know he was back to his apartment, recommended a band and I haven't heard from him since. I fear I won't ever hear from him again--the only consistent person in my life for longer than a year is gone because... Because I scare easily. Fight or flight, right? I think this was both. I was fighting for myself, which is why I left.
I'm sorry that I wasn't all in. I'm sorry that I didn't let my defenses all the way down. That I didn't let you love me, if you had wanted to. That I was afraid to tell you the truth. That I didn't make you love me. That I waited so long to tell you. That I didn't try harder. That sometimes, I was afraid to talk to you. That I couldn't accurately describe that fear. That I miss you. I'm just so sorry that I hurt you.
I'm writing at a coffee shop because I need to catch up on work during break and I can't write much more right now without looking like that crazy girl in the corner. So I'm going to work on lesson plans. And I guess that I'm going to work on moving on. Isn't it supposed to be easy for the breaker?
I think about everything I say before I say it. Well, for the most part. I won't be held responsible for the quick wit of my tongue. But if I think I might hurt someone with my words, I hold those words in for as long as possible to ensure that I really mean them. He didn't do that. He said what he was thinking and never really apologized for it, even if his opinions changed. Two months after one specific fight, he realizes that it's pretty normal for first year teachers to be working as much as I've been working. But he never apologized for the comments he had made. He never apologized for putting his future ahead of me and never mentioned it until yesterday.
Because he had a tendency to not think how I would take things, I had a tendency to take things personally. Because he knew that about me, I assumed he didn't care. I told myself he didn't really care. I convinced myself that he didn't love me. Although, I'm fairly certain that that's true. And I wouldn't let these things go because... Well, it didn't feel like he loved me. So I've spent these last six months looking for proof that he didn't love me. It wasn't hard to do. He rarely told me. I felt like I annoyed him. I didn't feel like myself. I wasn't what he wanted. In a woman or in a life. And I had myself convinced. He was abandoning me. He didn't love me.
But as I sat on the opposite end of a couch, I wondered if it had maybe been me all along. I put other people first. And I resented him for always wanting to spend time with me because I wanted more friends. And my goodness, I really do take everything personally. I could have made an effort to visit him. I could have taken a page from his book and just told him what I was thinking the first time I thought it. And asked a doctor for a prescription without quite so many side effects. I could have loved him. And I might. But as I laid on the opposite side of the couch and realized that he was lying down because it was his last defense, the words "so this is it?" just echoed in a room that had never echoed before. And I could do was apologize. Over and over. All I could say was sorry. Because I hadn't tried hard enough. Because I felt like I was abandoning him. I asked him if he ever thought about breaking up before and he'd said yes but never said why he didn't do anything about it. And we didn't talk about the fact that we didn't kiss when he walked in the day before. And he didn't hold my hand while walking. We didn't talk about that. We hugged and he left. He let me know he was back to his apartment, recommended a band and I haven't heard from him since. I fear I won't ever hear from him again--the only consistent person in my life for longer than a year is gone because... Because I scare easily. Fight or flight, right? I think this was both. I was fighting for myself, which is why I left.
I'm sorry that I wasn't all in. I'm sorry that I didn't let my defenses all the way down. That I didn't let you love me, if you had wanted to. That I was afraid to tell you the truth. That I didn't make you love me. That I waited so long to tell you. That I didn't try harder. That sometimes, I was afraid to talk to you. That I couldn't accurately describe that fear. That I miss you. I'm just so sorry that I hurt you.
I'm writing at a coffee shop because I need to catch up on work during break and I can't write much more right now without looking like that crazy girl in the corner. So I'm going to work on lesson plans. And I guess that I'm going to work on moving on. Isn't it supposed to be easy for the breaker?
10 October 2010
SCF
Doesn't quite have the ring that SWF does. But I am. Single, now, I mean. And it was hard. It had been a year. More than. And I liked him more than I admitted. It was a front so as to make it easier. But it didn't. It rarely does, my stupid methods of self-preservation. Well, they suck. I don't regret my decision, I don't think. It seemed the right time. If there is a right time. It was the most honest talk we'd ever had, I think. I think and I think and I think. I don't know what else to say. Just that I wish I had more friends to call and talk about this. This? Life. That I wish I had more friends to talk to about life.
03 October 2010
The Return of the Coffee Addiction
I was doing so well. I didn't need coffee to wake up or stay up or get through the day. And I didn't need to replace it with anything else either. I could drink coffee when I wanted to enjoy the flavor instead of when I needed the effects.
And then, Last Week happened. Last Week was just rough. Some old health problems remerged. A problem I haven't dealt with yet hasn't gone away. I'm a teacher and I go to school. Just... Rough. So, Monday morning, I made myself a cup of coffee in the morning and it tasted good. Really good. But I only drank half of it and I didn't feel guilty. But then Tuesday showed up and I was tired from class the night before so I made more coffee. This time, I finished my mug before school even started. Every morning since then, I've caffeinated myself. People, I didn't mean to. It just happened! And now, I can't hurt the coffee's feelings by not taking it to work with me every morning. Coffee would feel sad and abandoned. Coffee came all that way from Columbia or Africa to the store to my cupboard, which is an awfully long way to go and then get ignored. So, I'm just doing a service, you know?
The coffee understands. The coffee's back. And I'm sorry I ever let coffee go in the first place. Coffee just... knows me. Coffee gives me the jitters and that feeling in my stomach thatno one nothing else does. So coffee is back in my life and I'm not ashamed of it anymore!
Now, I'm going to go get a refill.
-Theresa
And then, Last Week happened. Last Week was just rough. Some old health problems remerged. A problem I haven't dealt with yet hasn't gone away. I'm a teacher and I go to school. Just... Rough. So, Monday morning, I made myself a cup of coffee in the morning and it tasted good. Really good. But I only drank half of it and I didn't feel guilty. But then Tuesday showed up and I was tired from class the night before so I made more coffee. This time, I finished my mug before school even started. Every morning since then, I've caffeinated myself. People, I didn't mean to. It just happened! And now, I can't hurt the coffee's feelings by not taking it to work with me every morning. Coffee would feel sad and abandoned. Coffee came all that way from Columbia or Africa to the store to my cupboard, which is an awfully long way to go and then get ignored. So, I'm just doing a service, you know?
The coffee understands. The coffee's back. And I'm sorry I ever let coffee go in the first place. Coffee just... knows me. Coffee gives me the jitters and that feeling in my stomach that
Now, I'm going to go get a refill.
-Theresa
29 September 2010
But when you're all alone
You and your head.
That's when it's the worst. That year? Twenty-three? It seems to have showed up again. I'm not really twenty-three. But I sure feel like I'm regressing. And Body? Didn't listen. That bitch. I put in a call to Mrs. Lady Doctor. Booked up. We wait.
They let me be a teacher. Whose idea was that? Today, I contended with children crawling under tables and crying and saying they peed their pants (when they hadn't) so they didn't have to go to computer class and tearing pages from books. And oh, I yelled. And I feel guilty. I feel guilty? No, that's not this feeling. This feeling is that nagging in my brain that says if I was a good classroom leader, my students wouldn't lie to me and they'd know it wasn't okay to crawl under tables and that books are our friends and we are to love them and hold them tenderly so they can tell their stories over and over. Unless, of course, we're talking about The Da Vinci Code. My goodness, boys and girls, color on as many pages of that book as you want and I wouldn't mourn if for a moment. I'm bad at classroom management. That's the problem.
But I've never really been good at management. In many ways, I fly by the seat of my pants. No, I'm far to anxious to just fly by the seat of my pants. Besides, I've been wearing a lot of skirts lately. What am I trying to say? Teaching is hard. Rewarding, but hard. The Arizona education system is broken and I can't fix it but I sure can try my hardest to make sure that the kids don't realize they have any fewer opportunities than any televised experiences they may have absorbed and internalized.
Today, one of my students asked "Teacher, you have a mom?" Of course I have a mom but she lives far away. "Why?" Well, I moved away and she lives in Michigan. "Where do you live?" Phoenix. "Like a house?" Like a house. An apartment. "I have brothers. Do you have sister?" Yes, her name is Lauren. "I have a sister."
That was my favorite moment of the day. And there are so many moments like this in my days. I just have to remember to focus on them. Most of these kids don't mean any harm. And in many ways, as a kindergarten teacher, it's my job to train these little people to act like people. For example, if you spill apple sauce on your shirt, you should wipe it off and someone is doing something you don't like, tell them to stop. The part that makes me sad is when they have to learn things like "just because you don't want to doesn't mean you're not going to." Goodness, I'm starting to feel mean.
Today was just a rough day. It might have been easier if health wasn't an issue and my goodness, if I could just form the words to say what I really need to say. But that doesn't change the fact that I need better classroom management.
Tomorrow is a new day. And all my kids' clips are back on green. And all that stuff we didn't learn today? We'll learn tomorrow. Except, well, it'll be Wednesday and the 41st day of school.
But when you think you made it disappear
It comes again, "Hello, I'm here"
-Theresa
That's when it's the worst. That year? Twenty-three? It seems to have showed up again. I'm not really twenty-three. But I sure feel like I'm regressing. And Body? Didn't listen. That bitch. I put in a call to Mrs. Lady Doctor. Booked up. We wait.
They let me be a teacher. Whose idea was that? Today, I contended with children crawling under tables and crying and saying they peed their pants (when they hadn't) so they didn't have to go to computer class and tearing pages from books. And oh, I yelled. And I feel guilty. I feel guilty? No, that's not this feeling. This feeling is that nagging in my brain that says if I was a good classroom leader, my students wouldn't lie to me and they'd know it wasn't okay to crawl under tables and that books are our friends and we are to love them and hold them tenderly so they can tell their stories over and over. Unless, of course, we're talking about The Da Vinci Code. My goodness, boys and girls, color on as many pages of that book as you want and I wouldn't mourn if for a moment. I'm bad at classroom management. That's the problem.
But I've never really been good at management. In many ways, I fly by the seat of my pants. No, I'm far to anxious to just fly by the seat of my pants. Besides, I've been wearing a lot of skirts lately. What am I trying to say? Teaching is hard. Rewarding, but hard. The Arizona education system is broken and I can't fix it but I sure can try my hardest to make sure that the kids don't realize they have any fewer opportunities than any televised experiences they may have absorbed and internalized.
Today, one of my students asked "Teacher, you have a mom?" Of course I have a mom but she lives far away. "Why?" Well, I moved away and she lives in Michigan. "Where do you live?" Phoenix. "Like a house?" Like a house. An apartment. "I have brothers. Do you have sister?" Yes, her name is Lauren. "I have a sister."
That was my favorite moment of the day. And there are so many moments like this in my days. I just have to remember to focus on them. Most of these kids don't mean any harm. And in many ways, as a kindergarten teacher, it's my job to train these little people to act like people. For example, if you spill apple sauce on your shirt, you should wipe it off and someone is doing something you don't like, tell them to stop. The part that makes me sad is when they have to learn things like "just because you don't want to doesn't mean you're not going to." Goodness, I'm starting to feel mean.
Today was just a rough day. It might have been easier if health wasn't an issue and my goodness, if I could just form the words to say what I really need to say. But that doesn't change the fact that I need better classroom management.
Tomorrow is a new day. And all my kids' clips are back on green. And all that stuff we didn't learn today? We'll learn tomorrow. Except, well, it'll be Wednesday and the 41st day of school.
But when you think you made it disappear
It comes again, "Hello, I'm here"
-Theresa
18 September 2010
12 September 2010
Looking for something pure
Twice now, I've received phone calls from you that break my heart and fill me with fire at the same time. Three hours ahead. Four and a half years behind. But Brother, I'm broken too. Don't you understand that when we hang up I wonder if it will be the last time? That I don't have anyone to talk to after we talk? That I'm lonely too? That there are worse things than pain and sadness? That I'm broken too? I can provide you with excuses and reassurance but I can't put you back together. I can't hold me together.
I can't not care. Sometimes, rarely, but sometimes, I wish I had someone like me in my life.
We watched it all night. We grew up in spite of it.
-Theresa
I can't not care. Sometimes, rarely, but sometimes, I wish I had someone like me in my life.
We watched it all night. We grew up in spite of it.
-Theresa
04 September 2010
What rhymes with apples?
Well, it's been five weeks of teaching, twenty-four days of kindergarten, two weeks of ASU, about four tantrums and countless tears (both the students' and mine.) It's been long and it's been extremely difficult. But I've been doing it. And I kind of really love it. Most of the kids are really amazing little creatures. The remaining few created tantrums and tears of their own and mine. But you know what? They're kind of pretty amazing too. Even though I can't be entirely certain if they're learning to read and write at the pace that they should be, they're learning manners and personal responsibility. I can tell because there are fewer tantrums. And that can't ever be bad.
Life is moving forward, I think. And I need to be moving with it. I'm certainly trying in some ways. And regressing in others. I got an elephant tattoo last weekend on a pseudo-whim. It seems whenever there's a big change in my life and I feel overwhelmed and I need to take control, I change something on my body. It's never the way I dress or a better diet. No, nothing of the sort. When I moved away from home, I got my nose pierced. After getting the most specific vague answer to prayer, I got my first tattoo. After discovering I had to have surgery and putting plans to move to Phoenix into action, I got my nose pierced again. After becoming a kindergarten teacher and realizing there was no way I could walk away from it, I got an elephant tattoo. I change these things about myself because they are things I know are there. I knew all the the events were going to be big, life-changing events. And they all have been. And just like those people who get tattoos in memory of people who have died (like they'd ever forget), I permanently change something about myself, for myself, in memory of my reasoning and the process. That's ridiculous. Aren't tattoos and piercing supposed to be that weird shit that teens do to piss off their parents. I guess wisdom comes with age.
Did I mention I'm turning twenty-five? I'm turning twenty-five. Not until November, but still. I mean, I guess I've done things now and it shouldn't be so scary. But it is. I've gone to college. And I'm going again. And I have a "real" job because it's a career and I get paid enough to pay my bills. And I've travelled. But I feel like I haven't learned enough and I haven't given back enough and I haven't explored enough. Not to be twenty-five. I know. I know. I'm over-thinking this. But what don't I over think? I'm doing all these things that lean toward the "grown-up" color of the spectrum but I still don't feel... settled. I think that makes sense. Also, I never, EVER wanted to be a grown-up. I am older than some of my students' parents. It's okay. You don't have to throw up in your mouth. I just threw up in mine.
Things I've (re)learned:
I love children's books.
Dr. Seuss will always make me smile.
Gluten is mean.
Money is stupid.
I love tea.
I miss a real Fall.
Goodness, being a mother (not that I will be soon) scares the living daylights out of me.
Teaching reminds me how afraid I am to have kids of my own.
I love being a teacher.
Even if I hate lesson planning.
Kindergartners have a lot to say once they know you're listening.
You can never tell a person too many good things about oneself.
-Theresa
Life is moving forward, I think. And I need to be moving with it. I'm certainly trying in some ways. And regressing in others. I got an elephant tattoo last weekend on a pseudo-whim. It seems whenever there's a big change in my life and I feel overwhelmed and I need to take control, I change something on my body. It's never the way I dress or a better diet. No, nothing of the sort. When I moved away from home, I got my nose pierced. After getting the most specific vague answer to prayer, I got my first tattoo. After discovering I had to have surgery and putting plans to move to Phoenix into action, I got my nose pierced again. After becoming a kindergarten teacher and realizing there was no way I could walk away from it, I got an elephant tattoo. I change these things about myself because they are things I know are there. I knew all the the events were going to be big, life-changing events. And they all have been. And just like those people who get tattoos in memory of people who have died (like they'd ever forget), I permanently change something about myself, for myself, in memory of my reasoning and the process. That's ridiculous. Aren't tattoos and piercing supposed to be that weird shit that teens do to piss off their parents. I guess wisdom comes with age.
Did I mention I'm turning twenty-five? I'm turning twenty-five. Not until November, but still. I mean, I guess I've done things now and it shouldn't be so scary. But it is. I've gone to college. And I'm going again. And I have a "real" job because it's a career and I get paid enough to pay my bills. And I've travelled. But I feel like I haven't learned enough and I haven't given back enough and I haven't explored enough. Not to be twenty-five. I know. I know. I'm over-thinking this. But what don't I over think? I'm doing all these things that lean toward the "grown-up" color of the spectrum but I still don't feel... settled. I think that makes sense. Also, I never, EVER wanted to be a grown-up. I am older than some of my students' parents. It's okay. You don't have to throw up in your mouth. I just threw up in mine.
Things I've (re)learned:
I love children's books.
Dr. Seuss will always make me smile.
Gluten is mean.
Money is stupid.
I love tea.
I miss a real Fall.
Goodness, being a mother (not that I will be soon) scares the living daylights out of me.
Teaching reminds me how afraid I am to have kids of my own.
I love being a teacher.
Even if I hate lesson planning.
Kindergartners have a lot to say once they know you're listening.
You can never tell a person too many good things about oneself.
-Theresa
01 August 2010
Miss Bindergarten
Gets Ready for Kindergarten.
I'm at a coffee shop because even though I'm getting ready for kindergarten, I'm not hooked up to the internet at my apartment yet. And I'm not ready for kindergarten. Twenty years. That's how long it's been since I've been in a kindergarten classroom. Okay, that's not true anymore because I've been setting up my classroom for the last two weeks. I'm so overwhelmed by it all. If I screw it up, these kids aren't prepared for the rest of the their lives. I know. I know. A little dramatic. But TFA got to me. I'm setting these kids up for failure if they don't get everything they need to succeed for first grade in kindergarten. If I screw up and don't show them how to count by fives correctly, I may as well just have them watching Dora the Explorer all day because at least they'd learn how to cross a bridge and be friends with a monkey or whatever it is she does when she's exploring. Needless to say, probably because I already said it in that textual vomit you just skimmed through, I'm feeling nervous and insecure about my abilities as a teacher and the reasons TFA chose me.
Tomorrow, I'm walking into my classroom and not letting those kids smell fear. I met seven of them on Thursday during Meet the Teacher night. It turns out, they were meeting me. I had a lot of fun with them but I can tell they're going to be a handful. In the best way possible. We're going to play a little and calm our nerves. Them and me. And we're going to look at the calendar and learn the days of the week and sing the August song. And we're going to learn how to line up without pushing or running on our marshmallow toes and that we shouldn't cry or be afraid of the fire drill sirens. Then, I'm going to read The Kissing Hand. I hope it puts them at ease with kindergarten. They'll make cutouts of their own hands with hearts glued on the inside to give to their parents. I'll think about all the places I've left with my hands in my pockets because no one cared to kiss them. But then! A note will fall out of the book and Chester the raccoon will lead us on a tour of the school, which will end on the playground. I'm not sure what the rest of the day will look like just yet because I haven't read through my lesson plans in a few days and that's what I'm procrastinating right now. But we'll do some math and some community circle and then they'll go to specials and home and I'll be freaking out that I'll have 179 more days of failure ahead of me. But that's a terrible attitude. I'll have 179 more days of potential success ahead of me and all my kids because failure is not an option. Because I have to set these kids up for success. Have to.
Miss Thomas is getting ready for Kindergarten. I bought my very own copy of Chicka Chicka Boom Boom. Now, I feel like a real teacher. I will leave this coffee shop shortly and spend time in an internet-free zone when I will have to be more creative in my methods of procrastination. I will set out a sensible but fun outfit and make sure I have all my students' gift bags ready. Then, I'll go through my lesson plans for the millionth time to make sure there's no way I can fail them. Actually, first I think I'll head to Borders to buy the Miss Bindergarten series since I couldn't find it at any of the used books stores. It must be a real gem of a book. Oh, then I'll have to work on creating a unit assessment because TFA said so. I just don't ask questions anymore.
Yesterday, I didn't drink any coffee. It felt great.
Love:
Snack time
Kindergarten
Phoenix rain storms
wi-fi
Fresh fruit
Hugs
Charles in Charge
Macaroni and cheese (even if it is gluten free)
Fears:
Being a bad teacher
Cockroaches
Not being able to speak Spanish
Palo Verde Beetles
To be Determined:
Living alone (for the time being)
Jon lives two hours away
Gluten Free diet
All this alone time.
Needs:
Love
Vacation
Time to write
Hugs
-Theresa
I'm at a coffee shop because even though I'm getting ready for kindergarten, I'm not hooked up to the internet at my apartment yet. And I'm not ready for kindergarten. Twenty years. That's how long it's been since I've been in a kindergarten classroom. Okay, that's not true anymore because I've been setting up my classroom for the last two weeks. I'm so overwhelmed by it all. If I screw it up, these kids aren't prepared for the rest of the their lives. I know. I know. A little dramatic. But TFA got to me. I'm setting these kids up for failure if they don't get everything they need to succeed for first grade in kindergarten. If I screw up and don't show them how to count by fives correctly, I may as well just have them watching Dora the Explorer all day because at least they'd learn how to cross a bridge and be friends with a monkey or whatever it is she does when she's exploring. Needless to say, probably because I already said it in that textual vomit you just skimmed through, I'm feeling nervous and insecure about my abilities as a teacher and the reasons TFA chose me.
Tomorrow, I'm walking into my classroom and not letting those kids smell fear. I met seven of them on Thursday during Meet the Teacher night. It turns out, they were meeting me. I had a lot of fun with them but I can tell they're going to be a handful. In the best way possible. We're going to play a little and calm our nerves. Them and me. And we're going to look at the calendar and learn the days of the week and sing the August song. And we're going to learn how to line up without pushing or running on our marshmallow toes and that we shouldn't cry or be afraid of the fire drill sirens. Then, I'm going to read The Kissing Hand. I hope it puts them at ease with kindergarten. They'll make cutouts of their own hands with hearts glued on the inside to give to their parents. I'll think about all the places I've left with my hands in my pockets because no one cared to kiss them. But then! A note will fall out of the book and Chester the raccoon will lead us on a tour of the school, which will end on the playground. I'm not sure what the rest of the day will look like just yet because I haven't read through my lesson plans in a few days and that's what I'm procrastinating right now. But we'll do some math and some community circle and then they'll go to specials and home and I'll be freaking out that I'll have 179 more days of failure ahead of me. But that's a terrible attitude. I'll have 179 more days of potential success ahead of me and all my kids because failure is not an option. Because I have to set these kids up for success. Have to.
Miss Thomas is getting ready for Kindergarten. I bought my very own copy of Chicka Chicka Boom Boom. Now, I feel like a real teacher. I will leave this coffee shop shortly and spend time in an internet-free zone when I will have to be more creative in my methods of procrastination. I will set out a sensible but fun outfit and make sure I have all my students' gift bags ready. Then, I'll go through my lesson plans for the millionth time to make sure there's no way I can fail them. Actually, first I think I'll head to Borders to buy the Miss Bindergarten series since I couldn't find it at any of the used books stores. It must be a real gem of a book. Oh, then I'll have to work on creating a unit assessment because TFA said so. I just don't ask questions anymore.
Yesterday, I didn't drink any coffee. It felt great.
Love:
Snack time
Kindergarten
Phoenix rain storms
wi-fi
Fresh fruit
Hugs
Charles in Charge
Macaroni and cheese (even if it is gluten free)
Fears:
Being a bad teacher
Cockroaches
Not being able to speak Spanish
Palo Verde Beetles
To be Determined:
Living alone (for the time being)
Jon lives two hours away
Gluten Free diet
All this alone time.
Needs:
Love
Vacation
Time to write
Hugs
-Theresa
07 July 2010
Five Eternally
When I was five, the summer before first grade, I was a kindergarten teacher. I played school. While the other little girls began promising themselves in sickness and in health to boys in polygamous relationships marked by rings forged of grass, I tried to trap kids in the basement. I was the Sphinx of Marshall St. Anyone who wandered into the maze of our front lawn was ushered down the stairs and into my mother's castaway seating--desks. I pulled out my materials--forgotten items from around the house and toys that had taught my older brother how to read. I didn't have the skinny chalk like my teacher did but my parents wanted to encourage my creativity and time outside, but not too far, so I had an arsenal of sidewalk chalk. Cousins and old classmates became each others peers as I took my place in front of the row of chairs. I took out my chalk and my easel and began deliberately practicing my name and urged others to practice their own. If I had had the choice, I would have spent my summer in that basement, teaching. However, my class rebelled. My arranged marriage was to be held the next day. We would draw the aisle on the cement in the backyard with my classroom chalk. My dreams of teacherdom would be focused down a different path. The next day, I was to be married to my best student with handwriting better than mine, who had already been married the day before.
I am going to be a kindergarten teacher. My formal training for the school I will be at will start on Monday. I don't think I could be happier.
-Theresa
I am going to be a kindergarten teacher. My formal training for the school I will be at will start on Monday. I don't think I could be happier.
-Theresa
29 June 2010
Only Babies Cry
I keep this in mind as I progress through the proverbial hell that is Institute. It gets harder with each passing day but in other ways it gets easier. I've built a rapport with my CMA (corps member advisor), I have a few friends and I still feel a little directionless. And I think that's okay.
Yesterday, in addition to working on lesson plans, I also made a mix CD for the members of the CMA group I'm in. It was so very therapeutic. Of course, none of these people know how to interpret my CDs and most of them probably won't figure it out but I'm okay with it. It was enough to make the CD.
I'm really enjoying my time teaching. There are the two girls I relate with because they both really enjoy reading. I spend a lot of time talking to them about life and such as well but they're great. And there's the one boy who I keep trying to reach out to but it's difficult when he's sleeping through half the class. It's a challenge and I love it.
The teaching part isn't hard. That's easy. The only thing easier for me is connecting with my students. It's breaking everything down in a manner that is TFA appropriate. That's the problem. I know that I break everything down and I analyze until you all want to punch me in the face as much as I want to punch myself in the face but oh, my goodness, I never knew there would be so many steps to plan a lesson. Gah.
But I do love it. And I definitely see teaching as something I can do forever. I just need a job.
Will everything else just fall into place?
-Theresa
Yesterday, in addition to working on lesson plans, I also made a mix CD for the members of the CMA group I'm in. It was so very therapeutic. Of course, none of these people know how to interpret my CDs and most of them probably won't figure it out but I'm okay with it. It was enough to make the CD.
I'm really enjoying my time teaching. There are the two girls I relate with because they both really enjoy reading. I spend a lot of time talking to them about life and such as well but they're great. And there's the one boy who I keep trying to reach out to but it's difficult when he's sleeping through half the class. It's a challenge and I love it.
The teaching part isn't hard. That's easy. The only thing easier for me is connecting with my students. It's breaking everything down in a manner that is TFA appropriate. That's the problem. I know that I break everything down and I analyze until you all want to punch me in the face as much as I want to punch myself in the face but oh, my goodness, I never knew there would be so many steps to plan a lesson. Gah.
But I do love it. And I definitely see teaching as something I can do forever. I just need a job.
Will everything else just fall into place?
-Theresa
20 June 2010
Week One, Down.
I'll be starting week two of institute tomorrow. I still don't have a real job yet but for summer school, I'm teaching 9th grade English. Pretty excited about that. I don't really have anything to say at the moment other than that I should be keeping better track of what's going on right now and I'm not. I did, however, come up with a classroom theme: Compose Your Future.
We keep track of class progress with a volume dial. Tickets that go out to students for acting properly throughout the day are concert ticket. The bathroom pass is the backstage pass. We keep track of consequences on the score. Raffle tickets students earn are turned in at the box office. If they win the raffle, they get the chance to choose what music we listen to in the morning. I'm pretty excited about it.
I have to finish doing some work now. Which is all I ever say anymore. But I also have to be awake at 4:50 tomorrow. In the morning. That's not a real time, I don't think.
-Theresa
We keep track of class progress with a volume dial. Tickets that go out to students for acting properly throughout the day are concert ticket. The bathroom pass is the backstage pass. We keep track of consequences on the score. Raffle tickets students earn are turned in at the box office. If they win the raffle, they get the chance to choose what music we listen to in the morning. I'm pretty excited about it.
I have to finish doing some work now. Which is all I ever say anymore. But I also have to be awake at 4:50 tomorrow. In the morning. That's not a real time, I don't think.
-Theresa
10 June 2010
Maybe not.
Remember how I got sent away from that interview because already hired by a district? Yeah, me too. The schools for that district did their hiring today. I was not even interviewed. So I'm being thrown back into the hiring pool and could end up anywhere. My goal is to keep it together and stay positive. That's all I need to do is stay positive. Since 2002, every corps member has been found a job. So that's promising. I just wanted to be chosen and not be leftovers, you know? And everyone's coming back with jobs. And I'm used to being hard on myself and it being lies about how I'm not good enough and stuff. But this is kind of tangible proof. So I'm going to a Transitional Team Leader dinner in a little bit. That'll be good. So I guess this is TFA.
I'm being flexible. Or trying to.
-Theresa
I'm being flexible. Or trying to.
-Theresa
Maybe I was meant to teach SpEd.
Here’s the progression of how I’ve ended up where I am right now:
January 2009-- I took a friend to her car and she asked what I was going to do the next year. No idea. She told me her and her husband were moving to Phoenix and were looking for a roommate. I thought about it.
February 2009- I applied for Phoenix Teaching Fellows, a teaching fellowship that requires three years of commitment, while teaching and getting a Master of Education
March 2009—PTF offered me an interview for middle school language arts and told me to start taking tests. Planned a road trip with Nate and Sarah to Phoenix to look at places and take my test.
Mid-March 2009—Got a phone call from PTF saying that all language arts positions had been filled and that I was now being considered for SpEd. I turned the position down but took the certification test anyway. It was too late to get any money back and it was an expensive test.
Next day—Started looking for something new to do. Applied for AmeriCorps.
Two days later—Heard from Sister Carmen who wanted to interview me for AmeriCorps in Phoenix.
One week later (Last week of March)—Drove with Nate and Sarah to Phoenix, took the certification test (passed), met Sister Carmen, found a place to live. I was placed at a school for AmeriCorps.
Fast forward…
July 2009- Move to Phoenix.
July 2009-September 2009-- Sorted things out. (Read: cried a lot.)
September 2009—Start volunteering at school.
September 2009- January 2010—Pull hair out due to frustration with position.
December 2009—Apply to Phoenix Teaching Fellows again.
January 2010—Apply to Teach For America because I want to really make a change and never checked the “interested in teaching special education” box. However, am now considerably less afraid of it.
February 2010—Offered a SpEd position with PTF again. Turn it down because I really wanted TFA.
February 2010- March 2010—Freak out about application and getting accepted and what if I just threw away a job?
March 2010—Got accepted to TFA. For SpEd. Happysad.
At present—I’m finally happy about it. I’m really excited to spend time with kids in SpEd classrooms. One of my friends let me lead a few lessons in her class. A few other teachers let me help them out during the day just to get more exposure. And I’m sure they wanted help. But I’m really excited. SpEd here is a little different than in other places. Given, there are a few self-contained rooms, which is where the students only have classes with each other. But there is a ridiculous amount of funding for SpEd in Phoenix. It comes out of a different fund. So there are at least two resource classes at any given elementary school in the area if they subscribe to that method. Students who are behind grade level are pulled out for four hours a day in order to be taught in a SpEd room. There is a large push toward inclusion, which is where a SpEd teacher and a general education teacher team-teach a class. I have my fingers crossed for one of these but will in no way be disappointed if I’m a resource teacher.
I guess this is what I’m meant to do. I am embracing that notion.
I’m at induction right now, which is the “fun” part of training for TFA. We’ve gone to lots of meetings and I haven’t been barefoot except for sleeping. And that one time I couldn’t handle it anymore. Today, I’m going to a round-up for the Glendale Elementary School District. Supposedly, about 90% of the people going today will get interviews and/or hired. Fingers crossed. I’ve already been chosen by the district. Now, I just need a principal to hire me.
Anyway, I think I’m going to go read that stuff I should’ve been reading since April… Or nap.
-Theresa
January 2009-- I took a friend to her car and she asked what I was going to do the next year. No idea. She told me her and her husband were moving to Phoenix and were looking for a roommate. I thought about it.
February 2009- I applied for Phoenix Teaching Fellows, a teaching fellowship that requires three years of commitment, while teaching and getting a Master of Education
March 2009—PTF offered me an interview for middle school language arts and told me to start taking tests. Planned a road trip with Nate and Sarah to Phoenix to look at places and take my test.
Mid-March 2009—Got a phone call from PTF saying that all language arts positions had been filled and that I was now being considered for SpEd. I turned the position down but took the certification test anyway. It was too late to get any money back and it was an expensive test.
Next day—Started looking for something new to do. Applied for AmeriCorps.
Two days later—Heard from Sister Carmen who wanted to interview me for AmeriCorps in Phoenix.
One week later (Last week of March)—Drove with Nate and Sarah to Phoenix, took the certification test (passed), met Sister Carmen, found a place to live. I was placed at a school for AmeriCorps.
Fast forward…
July 2009- Move to Phoenix.
July 2009-September 2009-- Sorted things out. (Read: cried a lot.)
September 2009—Start volunteering at school.
September 2009- January 2010—Pull hair out due to frustration with position.
December 2009—Apply to Phoenix Teaching Fellows again.
January 2010—Apply to Teach For America because I want to really make a change and never checked the “interested in teaching special education” box. However, am now considerably less afraid of it.
February 2010—Offered a SpEd position with PTF again. Turn it down because I really wanted TFA.
February 2010- March 2010—Freak out about application and getting accepted and what if I just threw away a job?
March 2010—Got accepted to TFA. For SpEd. Happysad.
At present—I’m finally happy about it. I’m really excited to spend time with kids in SpEd classrooms. One of my friends let me lead a few lessons in her class. A few other teachers let me help them out during the day just to get more exposure. And I’m sure they wanted help. But I’m really excited. SpEd here is a little different than in other places. Given, there are a few self-contained rooms, which is where the students only have classes with each other. But there is a ridiculous amount of funding for SpEd in Phoenix. It comes out of a different fund. So there are at least two resource classes at any given elementary school in the area if they subscribe to that method. Students who are behind grade level are pulled out for four hours a day in order to be taught in a SpEd room. There is a large push toward inclusion, which is where a SpEd teacher and a general education teacher team-teach a class. I have my fingers crossed for one of these but will in no way be disappointed if I’m a resource teacher.
I guess this is what I’m meant to do. I am embracing that notion.
I’m at induction right now, which is the “fun” part of training for TFA. We’ve gone to lots of meetings and I haven’t been barefoot except for sleeping. And that one time I couldn’t handle it anymore. Today, I’m going to a round-up for the Glendale Elementary School District. Supposedly, about 90% of the people going today will get interviews and/or hired. Fingers crossed. I’ve already been chosen by the district. Now, I just need a principal to hire me.
Anyway, I think I’m going to go read that stuff I should’ve been reading since April… Or nap.
-Theresa
04 June 2010
Awkward conversation starters
1. I can't hire you.
2. I've got good news and bad news and it's the same news.
3. Can I live in your house?
4. When is your boyfriend moving in with me?
1. I had an interview yesterday for a school I was getting excited to work at. I was finally excited to teach special ed because I'd be team teaching. The principal is amazing. It's a straight shot from my new apartment and only eight miles away. But another school district hired me about ten minutes before my interview would have started. I don't know what school or what subject but I'll be working at the Glendale Elementary School District. The furthest school from me will be twelve miles away. There's a glimmer of hope that I'll teach general ed instead of special ed. Either way, I'm glad that even though the principal at the school I currently volunteer at doesn't see that I could be an amazing teacher, an entire school district does, without even meeting me.
2. Jon got into med school. He'll be moving to Tucson by the end of July. Knowing that he was moving away, even though it's only two hours away, made me realize how much I actually like him.
3. I moved all my stuff and a bunch of other random stuff from other people into my new apartment. Institute for TFA is at ASU's campus and we have to stay there for about six weeks. I was going to move my stuff to storage but I know my new landlady so she let me move my stuff in, pay a security deposit (which I haven't yet done...) and officially start paying rent when I move in. Which will be the day before I officially start working at a school. So I'm staying with Jon's parents until Tuesday, which is when induction starts and TFA owns my soul, officially.
4. I'll have a new roommate next year. It's a friend's boyfriend. A little awkward. But he's moving here from D.C. and I didn't make enough friends this year. I considered living with another person from TFA since there's going to be a bunch of them moving out this way but decided against it. But I'm the kind of person who brings work home. And it would be bad to live with someone who did the same thing. I don't think I'd ever see the light of day again. Fortunately, my friend's place is much bigger than mine and they're going to have cable. So I'll probably have my own place. He's moving here the last week of August.
Once I start getting paid, I'm going to be taking more trips.
-Theresa
2. I've got good news and bad news and it's the same news.
3. Can I live in your house?
4. When is your boyfriend moving in with me?
1. I had an interview yesterday for a school I was getting excited to work at. I was finally excited to teach special ed because I'd be team teaching. The principal is amazing. It's a straight shot from my new apartment and only eight miles away. But another school district hired me about ten minutes before my interview would have started. I don't know what school or what subject but I'll be working at the Glendale Elementary School District. The furthest school from me will be twelve miles away. There's a glimmer of hope that I'll teach general ed instead of special ed. Either way, I'm glad that even though the principal at the school I currently volunteer at doesn't see that I could be an amazing teacher, an entire school district does, without even meeting me.
2. Jon got into med school. He'll be moving to Tucson by the end of July. Knowing that he was moving away, even though it's only two hours away, made me realize how much I actually like him.
3. I moved all my stuff and a bunch of other random stuff from other people into my new apartment. Institute for TFA is at ASU's campus and we have to stay there for about six weeks. I was going to move my stuff to storage but I know my new landlady so she let me move my stuff in, pay a security deposit (which I haven't yet done...) and officially start paying rent when I move in. Which will be the day before I officially start working at a school. So I'm staying with Jon's parents until Tuesday, which is when induction starts and TFA owns my soul, officially.
4. I'll have a new roommate next year. It's a friend's boyfriend. A little awkward. But he's moving here from D.C. and I didn't make enough friends this year. I considered living with another person from TFA since there's going to be a bunch of them moving out this way but decided against it. But I'm the kind of person who brings work home. And it would be bad to live with someone who did the same thing. I don't think I'd ever see the light of day again. Fortunately, my friend's place is much bigger than mine and they're going to have cable. So I'll probably have my own place. He's moving here the last week of August.
Once I start getting paid, I'm going to be taking more trips.
-Theresa
11 May 2010
I do as I please
And now, I'm on my knees.
I haven't felt this... Sad? Lost? Confused? I haven't felt this aware of my surroundings in a while. I miss it and I'm glad it's back but I wish it would go away. I feel haunted by the decisions I have and haven't made. What is it about me that leaves me unsatisfied so much of the time?
Oh, I know. The knowledge that I could be more, should be more and was meant for something better. That's what it is.
In so many ways, I've been lucky. I barely squeak by on a lot of things but I usually squeak by. I made it through high school and then college and at least I have a job. I don't know how many times I went for walks in the dark, let alone in broad (as broad as it can be in Michigan) daylight, alone. Drunk. Sober. Angry. Free. I made it back every time. I got to where I was going. Yes, I was stopped from time to time. Yes, I was followed a time or two. But I made it every time. I squeak by.
I'm sure that a few of you out there have received phone calls from me in some of my more... honest moods. And I'd tell you all the things that I was thinking but seemed crazy. My thoughts seemed too out there but too self-involved. I miss those conversations. Lately, I have those conversations in my head on the drive from here to there or somewhere else but nowhere important. I have these conversations with myself and folks, I give shitty advice. I sure am sorry if I've given you advice and you took it or considered taking it. Just don't listen.
I drink beer to improve my mind[...] to help mankind.
I wouldn't mind a night on the balcony with some beer, a guitar and a friend. I would love it. And then whoever is out there with me, we'd trade stories and tell each other what we really think of each other and talk in frankness and openness and it'd be the best night until the next night like that. I'm rarely at a balcony or a porch much anymore. The last words of honesty spoken to me were on a roof. If I take into consideration all the thoughts rolling around in my oddly tanned head, I'm not sure how important that roof will be.
I'm afraid to talk about the future because what if it's not there? What if I let myself down? What if... What if I never figure it out?
-Theresa
I haven't felt this... Sad? Lost? Confused? I haven't felt this aware of my surroundings in a while. I miss it and I'm glad it's back but I wish it would go away. I feel haunted by the decisions I have and haven't made. What is it about me that leaves me unsatisfied so much of the time?
Oh, I know. The knowledge that I could be more, should be more and was meant for something better. That's what it is.
In so many ways, I've been lucky. I barely squeak by on a lot of things but I usually squeak by. I made it through high school and then college and at least I have a job. I don't know how many times I went for walks in the dark, let alone in broad (as broad as it can be in Michigan) daylight, alone. Drunk. Sober. Angry. Free. I made it back every time. I got to where I was going. Yes, I was stopped from time to time. Yes, I was followed a time or two. But I made it every time. I squeak by.
I'm sure that a few of you out there have received phone calls from me in some of my more... honest moods. And I'd tell you all the things that I was thinking but seemed crazy. My thoughts seemed too out there but too self-involved. I miss those conversations. Lately, I have those conversations in my head on the drive from here to there or somewhere else but nowhere important. I have these conversations with myself and folks, I give shitty advice. I sure am sorry if I've given you advice and you took it or considered taking it. Just don't listen.
I drink beer to improve my mind[...] to help mankind.
I wouldn't mind a night on the balcony with some beer, a guitar and a friend. I would love it. And then whoever is out there with me, we'd trade stories and tell each other what we really think of each other and talk in frankness and openness and it'd be the best night until the next night like that. I'm rarely at a balcony or a porch much anymore. The last words of honesty spoken to me were on a roof. If I take into consideration all the thoughts rolling around in my oddly tanned head, I'm not sure how important that roof will be.
I'm afraid to talk about the future because what if it's not there? What if I let myself down? What if... What if I never figure it out?
-Theresa
10 May 2010
06 May 2010
Wish me luck
I know you think I'll need it.
I've come here with no real intention other than to write. My emotions are lacking. I don't have to sort them out because I know things now rather than feeling things. While I'm less crazy because of this, I'm not quite me. Being crazy has its downside but for the most part, it's how I've learned to function. And you know, it was working if we forget about all the crying jags and fear of driving. Okay, so it wasn't working. But I kind of liked the process of sorting through my emotions. It really helped me sort through things that did or didn't happen. But now, I just have facts and circumstances. How do I know what to feel if I'm not overwhelmed by emotion? I think what I'm saying is that... Well, I'm not sure what I'm saying. Maybe I'm just reflecting in a way I said I didn't much anymore.
Some humans ain't human.
I'm going to be a teacher. Weird. I couldn't even keep a third grader from stabbing a second grader with a pencil. Shit.
Seven or so months. And I understand what I've critisized for so long. Perfect? No. Good? Yes.
This post lacks a significant amount of profundity. I can't find it.
It's getting hot in Phoenix. The oranges have already blossomed and the fruit doesn't smell as sweet as the flower. I hate air conditioning. But I sure do love balconies. Regardless, I'd give up any pool to be by a natural water source. I often miss the life of a hippie. In all fairness, I'm rarely not barefoot.
It's funny: I feel that many of my emotions have been evading me but I constantly feel overwhelmed with guilt.
But I know, it'll be alright.
-Theresa
I've come here with no real intention other than to write. My emotions are lacking. I don't have to sort them out because I know things now rather than feeling things. While I'm less crazy because of this, I'm not quite me. Being crazy has its downside but for the most part, it's how I've learned to function. And you know, it was working if we forget about all the crying jags and fear of driving. Okay, so it wasn't working. But I kind of liked the process of sorting through my emotions. It really helped me sort through things that did or didn't happen. But now, I just have facts and circumstances. How do I know what to feel if I'm not overwhelmed by emotion? I think what I'm saying is that... Well, I'm not sure what I'm saying. Maybe I'm just reflecting in a way I said I didn't much anymore.
Some humans ain't human.
I'm going to be a teacher. Weird. I couldn't even keep a third grader from stabbing a second grader with a pencil. Shit.
Seven or so months. And I understand what I've critisized for so long. Perfect? No. Good? Yes.
This post lacks a significant amount of profundity. I can't find it.
It's getting hot in Phoenix. The oranges have already blossomed and the fruit doesn't smell as sweet as the flower. I hate air conditioning. But I sure do love balconies. Regardless, I'd give up any pool to be by a natural water source. I often miss the life of a hippie. In all fairness, I'm rarely not barefoot.
It's funny: I feel that many of my emotions have been evading me but I constantly feel overwhelmed with guilt.
But I know, it'll be alright.
-Theresa
22 March 2010
Screw California
And friends that are never there.
Important (relatively) bits of information and possible explanations:
I got into TFA. I'm going to be a teacher. I am so happy. I'm happy that I got it but more notably, I'm happy that I get to be a teacher. I think it's something I could love for the rest of my life. Summer training institute starts in June and after, I find out what school and grade I'll be teaching. I know this: I'll be teaching somewhere in K-8 Special Education in Phoenix or its surrounding areas. My hope is that I'll be a reading specialist. I'll be getting my Masters in Education from Arizona State University. I'm applying for loans and praying for grants. I'll be living in Phoenix for at least two more years.
I don't think I'll ever be a California girl. Well, maybe Northern California. But definitely not a city California girl. San Diego was nice to visit in December. San Francisco was as I left it three years ago: not for me. Carmel was absolutely amazing. It's the type of town I could see myself living in were I to write a fictional tale of my life. Water and natural beauty and art and grass for my toes and a breeze.
I've been in a relationship for just over six months now. Things are going well. We don't use the love-word, which is okay with me because I scare easily.
My hearing isn't what it used to be since getting an ear infection a couple years ago. I'm starting to fear that I'll go deaf as I get older and not be able to enjoy music as much. My dad is starting to.
I'm still not sure where I belong. By becoming a teacher, I think I'm on the right path. While the weather is nice during the winter, I'm not sure Phoenix is the place for me. Any guesses on where the place for me is?
-Theresa
Important (relatively) bits of information and possible explanations:
I got into TFA. I'm going to be a teacher. I am so happy. I'm happy that I got it but more notably, I'm happy that I get to be a teacher. I think it's something I could love for the rest of my life. Summer training institute starts in June and after, I find out what school and grade I'll be teaching. I know this: I'll be teaching somewhere in K-8 Special Education in Phoenix or its surrounding areas. My hope is that I'll be a reading specialist. I'll be getting my Masters in Education from Arizona State University. I'm applying for loans and praying for grants. I'll be living in Phoenix for at least two more years.
I don't think I'll ever be a California girl. Well, maybe Northern California. But definitely not a city California girl. San Diego was nice to visit in December. San Francisco was as I left it three years ago: not for me. Carmel was absolutely amazing. It's the type of town I could see myself living in were I to write a fictional tale of my life. Water and natural beauty and art and grass for my toes and a breeze.
I've been in a relationship for just over six months now. Things are going well. We don't use the love-word, which is okay with me because I scare easily.
My hearing isn't what it used to be since getting an ear infection a couple years ago. I'm starting to fear that I'll go deaf as I get older and not be able to enjoy music as much. My dad is starting to.
I'm still not sure where I belong. By becoming a teacher, I think I'm on the right path. While the weather is nice during the winter, I'm not sure Phoenix is the place for me. Any guesses on where the place for me is?
-Theresa
01 March 2010
In time, she's beautiful
If you hold her back, she may never know.
My goodness, time does fly.
It's March. MARCH. What happened to the misery of August? Man, am I glad that misery is gone. In seven days I find out the judgement of TFA. In one week, I find out what I am or am not doing for the next two years of my life. Or my whole life, I suppose.
The interview went decently. I think I did well on the teaching portion of it. I taught about the difference between the three types of triangles (equilateral, isoseles, scalene) in five minutes. That's not very much time. I thought that went pretty well though. I had practiced a million times. The individual interview wasn't terrible but I'm not ever sure how I do. I only got confused by a question once. I hope that doesn't hurt me. The fact that I'm in the type of schools they send new teachers to and I want to stay there says a lot, I think. TFA thinks too, I think. AmeriCorps pays very little and I put in quite a bit of time. I haven't worked less than fifty hours a week since December. I have my fingers crossed. The first thing I'm going to do is look for housing. And then I'm going to make a new budget. Well, I'll probably drink a few clebretory beers here and there. If I don't get in, I'll be drinking a few consolatory beers. And I'll be trying to figure out what to do next. A second year of AmeriCorps never killed anyone, right?
If I get in, it's Phoenix, Denver or the Bay Area. I considered a few other places but I guess I settled for those. I haven't lived in Phoenix long enough to love or hate it. I'm not sure I actually want to live in the Bay Area. I think we all know my feelings on Denver.
The rest:
Five months and counting, it seems.
I cooked for ten hours on Saturday and I'd do it again in a second.
I regularly drive on the freeway but still drive more than an hour a day.
TFATFATFATFATFATFATFA.
There isn't a feeling I haven't eaten in the last few months.
I miss sleeping through the night.
And feeling rested.
Stephanie comes to visit in a week.
Justin and Natalie come to visit 8 April.
SUPER EXCITED.
FATFATFATFATFATFATATFAT.
Thyroids are stupid.
So are strange skin discolorations.
How do you define settling?
I would drink anything out of a mason jar.
-Theresa
My goodness, time does fly.
It's March. MARCH. What happened to the misery of August? Man, am I glad that misery is gone. In seven days I find out the judgement of TFA. In one week, I find out what I am or am not doing for the next two years of my life. Or my whole life, I suppose.
The interview went decently. I think I did well on the teaching portion of it. I taught about the difference between the three types of triangles (equilateral, isoseles, scalene) in five minutes. That's not very much time. I thought that went pretty well though. I had practiced a million times. The individual interview wasn't terrible but I'm not ever sure how I do. I only got confused by a question once. I hope that doesn't hurt me. The fact that I'm in the type of schools they send new teachers to and I want to stay there says a lot, I think. TFA thinks too, I think. AmeriCorps pays very little and I put in quite a bit of time. I haven't worked less than fifty hours a week since December. I have my fingers crossed. The first thing I'm going to do is look for housing. And then I'm going to make a new budget. Well, I'll probably drink a few clebretory beers here and there. If I don't get in, I'll be drinking a few consolatory beers. And I'll be trying to figure out what to do next. A second year of AmeriCorps never killed anyone, right?
If I get in, it's Phoenix, Denver or the Bay Area. I considered a few other places but I guess I settled for those. I haven't lived in Phoenix long enough to love or hate it. I'm not sure I actually want to live in the Bay Area. I think we all know my feelings on Denver.
The rest:
Five months and counting, it seems.
I cooked for ten hours on Saturday and I'd do it again in a second.
I regularly drive on the freeway but still drive more than an hour a day.
TFATFATFATFATFATFATFA.
There isn't a feeling I haven't eaten in the last few months.
I miss sleeping through the night.
And feeling rested.
Stephanie comes to visit in a week.
Justin and Natalie come to visit 8 April.
SUPER EXCITED.
FATFATFATFATFATFATATFAT.
Thyroids are stupid.
So are strange skin discolorations.
How do you define settling?
I would drink anything out of a mason jar.
-Theresa
31 January 2010
So can we take the next hour
and talk about me?
I've made it through the first two rounds for Teach For America. I submitted my essays and application and whatnot and then I got a phone interview. In eleven days, I have my final interview to go to. I'm excited and a little scared. The three sites I have listed as number one are Phoenix, Denver and the Bay Area. There are more places I would love to go but I ended up choosing those. I'm getting anxious trying to prepare. I really want this.
I've never really had an easy time making decisions. I think I'm getting better.
I'm getting the itch to start traveling again.
I love gardening.
And being barefoot.
The future doesn't seem intimidating. Just a little daunting.
I'm hardly a grown-up.
-Theresa
I've made it through the first two rounds for Teach For America. I submitted my essays and application and whatnot and then I got a phone interview. In eleven days, I have my final interview to go to. I'm excited and a little scared. The three sites I have listed as number one are Phoenix, Denver and the Bay Area. There are more places I would love to go but I ended up choosing those. I'm getting anxious trying to prepare. I really want this.
I've never really had an easy time making decisions. I think I'm getting better.
I'm getting the itch to start traveling again.
I love gardening.
And being barefoot.
The future doesn't seem intimidating. Just a little daunting.
I'm hardly a grown-up.
-Theresa
04 January 2010
Last night,
I couldn't sleep. A year ago, I wouldn't.
I had all these crazy dreams and now I can't seem to remember them. I would wake up at random times with a sudden urge to be doing something else--anything else. But now, it's just kind of tapping me on the shoulder. My urge to do something bigger is not silenced but it is muffled for the time being. Maybe because I'm doing something kind of big by volunteering for a year. More likely, because I'm making better choices and working toward something.
I am five hundred words away from submitting my Teach For America application. They capitalize the "f" in for and shouldn't. That's all I think of when I see it written out. That and how much I want to be part of the program.
I thought about the pants I wore last New Year's Eve. I changed out of them this New Year's Eve even though my ass fits in them so much better now. I want a new start. I guess there was just something too symbolic about wearing those pants to enter into two different new years. What is it about the first of every year that gives people the delusion that things will change the second the clocks switch over? Whatever it is, it's magical and I kind of like it. Goodbye, 2009. Joyful doesn't accurately describe what it was like seeing you go.
As much as I didn't want to come to work this morning, I'm very thankful to be here. Here at work, in Phoenix and at this point in my life. I've learned quite a bit, I'm sure. Could I tell you what? Probably in a carefully worded essay. But not yet. Not really. I'm not sure what I've learned. Just that I've learned something. And not after making mistakes this time. That's new for me.
Resolution: Don't make promises you (I) can't keep.
-Theresa
I had all these crazy dreams and now I can't seem to remember them. I would wake up at random times with a sudden urge to be doing something else--anything else. But now, it's just kind of tapping me on the shoulder. My urge to do something bigger is not silenced but it is muffled for the time being. Maybe because I'm doing something kind of big by volunteering for a year. More likely, because I'm making better choices and working toward something.
I am five hundred words away from submitting my Teach For America application. They capitalize the "f" in for and shouldn't. That's all I think of when I see it written out. That and how much I want to be part of the program.
I thought about the pants I wore last New Year's Eve. I changed out of them this New Year's Eve even though my ass fits in them so much better now. I want a new start. I guess there was just something too symbolic about wearing those pants to enter into two different new years. What is it about the first of every year that gives people the delusion that things will change the second the clocks switch over? Whatever it is, it's magical and I kind of like it. Goodbye, 2009. Joyful doesn't accurately describe what it was like seeing you go.
As much as I didn't want to come to work this morning, I'm very thankful to be here. Here at work, in Phoenix and at this point in my life. I've learned quite a bit, I'm sure. Could I tell you what? Probably in a carefully worded essay. But not yet. Not really. I'm not sure what I've learned. Just that I've learned something. And not after making mistakes this time. That's new for me.
Resolution: Don't make promises you (I) can't keep.
-Theresa
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