The days of the week

Snap. Snap.

Today marks the end of my first year of teaching.

Oh, I should warn you that this is one of those "writing-about-what's-going-on-with-no-real-connections-other-than-in-my-head" posts.

Goal: Be a better teacher next year.
Next steps: Long term plans and centers to be completed over the summer.

Goal: Have a real vacation.
Next steps: Stop worrying about what's going to happen when I get home.

Goal: Road Trip 2011
Next steps: Find someone to drive with.

In terms of Road Trip 2011, the facts are these:

I was going to fly to San Francisco, Seattle and then Detroit. Instead, I will drive to San Francisco with a girl from work, fly to Seattle alone and potentially (hopefully) meet Kensey, and then fly to Detroit on June 23. From there, I would like a road trip.

Potential places to visit:

Kalamazoo and a variety of stops in Michigan
Chicago
Little Rock
Alabama
North Carolina

Potential meaning I know someone and/or have been invited to come. My intention is to spend more time in Kalamazoo than Detroit. At least I have keys to a house there.

There is a very big difference between being wanted, needed and necessary. Unfortunately, I feel I understand the very clear distinction between those adjectives.

Goal: Have friends to drink with by the end of the next year of teaching.
Next steps: ...Dang.

-Theresa

I love my bed.

A Potential Series

At five in the morning, I love my bed. I get in this love bubble where it makes me sad to think about leaving it or a little annoyed if someone disturbs our time together. Even if I didn't have the best night with my bed, I still don't want to leave it. That's how much I love my bed. It's a real, unshakable love.

Let me tell you, people, when I'm not in my bed, I have fantasies about all the lying about I could be doing with my bed. It's just been so good to me. It loves to cuddle. It doesn't tell me I'm wrong. It's especially kind on my fat days. And on the days I really need to sleep in, it muffles the sound of my alarm because I think it loves me too.

Never, not ever, has my bed woken me up before my alarm goes off unless it was something really important like forgetting to blow out a candle or a really icky bug. But you, sir, mistook this love I have for my bed as a joke. No, at five in the morning, nothing is a joke. Except perhaps a text message asking if i m single. That really should have been a joke. As should said text message's mistake follow-up texts and phone calls. Yes, plural. My bed tried to protect me but its grasp only reaches so far. I imagine that there isn't a big network of beds that talk to each other. Although, I imagine if there was, my bed would join that network to tell you or anyone that at five in the morning, do not talk to me. DO NOT POKE THE BEAR.

I love my bed and it loves me too. Especially at five in the morning.

-Theresa

Value

It is alarmingly easy for the things in our lives that hold great value to lose all meaning.