If Teaching Doesn't Work Out

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.

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 will try.

-Theresa

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.

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