for the better part of seven months.
She asked if she could go back home and yes, they said, emphatically and over and over and over. But I haven't called her.
Everything I have ever owned got dusty and old.
It's just a story that makes mid-day television because it's too ludicrous for prime-time and don't seem real enough for the news.
It's been a long year but I'm not ready to give up.
And you know, I did just fine without you. Didn't I? Maybe I'm not the person I thought I'd be by now. No, I'm definitely not. But I'm okay with that. I know I've let a lot of people down. Or maybe I'm thinking too much of myself and I didn't really let anyone down. This is just the way things happen sometimes.
Maybe it's time to leave your change behind.
I've changed a lot. If I didn't change, I don't know what would be left of me. All that is left of me is all that I have. And some have chosen to stay and stick it out and see what becomes of it and me. And some have chosen not to. And that's okay. Because sometimes that's the easier choice.
I was never a very good sister. Will weeks in the rain cure me of this? Probably not. I'd need to intend to.
-Theresa
P.S. Road Trip 2011 will still hold its name, though it's more of a four week long journey of planes, trains and automobiles.
07 June 2011
25 May 2011
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
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
16 May 2011
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
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
02 May 2011
25 April 2011
As found as she may be,
she's still lost. I'll spare the internet the details, but we know where my sister is now. I love her very, very much but I've washed my hands clean of this particular situation. Instead of going into those details, I'll go into these:
Things I like about myself that others have told me they don't
(A partial list):
How loud my laugh is
My short, curly hair
How easily amused I am
My excitement over seemingly meaningless things
The amount of cumin I use in my cooking
The color of my glasses
I prefer to be barefoot
My taste in music
Sitting criss cross applesauce
How much I notice
Wanderlust
Singing along to any song I know the words to
Shamelessness around strangers
Wearing dresses
I won't let anyone take that from me.
-Theresa
Things I like about myself that others have told me they don't
(A partial list):
How loud my laugh is
My short, curly hair
How easily amused I am
My excitement over seemingly meaningless things
The amount of cumin I use in my cooking
The color of my glasses
I prefer to be barefoot
My taste in music
Sitting criss cross applesauce
How much I notice
Wanderlust
Singing along to any song I know the words to
Shamelessness around strangers
Wearing dresses
I won't let anyone take that from me.
-Theresa
14 April 2011
She's gone.
She's alive, as far as we know, but my little sister is gone.
I think maybe, I'll go for a drive. It's bad form to drive and cry at the same time.
I think maybe, I'll go for a drive. It's bad form to drive and cry at the same time.
11 April 2011
Broken
I am part of a broken family. No, not in the conventional sense. We're all still around. My mom and dad, they love each other and they love us. We don't hit or say things we don't mean. At least not anymore. But we are broken.
Consider, for a moment, the dishes off which you may or may not enjoy your meals.
This is a complete set. However, through time, it has deteriorated. It is chipped, glued together and cracked. These things happen when you put dishes in the hands of a child or in a microwave and just through general wear. You just can't bear to throw it away because it's been around for so long. But it still holds your meals. This set is not one you would purchase new or even used. But you might consider donating it. Hey, all the pieces are there. There's even this one extra that doesn't quite fit but it stacks just fine for a while. Until it doesn't. Until it scratches that dish it's sitting on so badly that the ceramic finish isn't enough to hold it all together. So that dish falls apart completely. And the rest wish to follow suit.
Oh, but not these dishes. No. They may fall apart, this much is true. But they will hide it and hold themselves together. These dishes of undetermined color and origin, they survive. These dishes, the cockroaches of the culinary world, just won't let go. They are a constant. Cracks and chips and all.
The thing about dishes, at least ones that are not made of plastic, is that they tend to break. So it really makes complete sense that the dish ran away with the spoon. The spoon, it bends. But there's no snapping that spoon. It does not need to be put back together. That dish can rely on that spoon as much as it wants to and that spoon doesn't mind. And they can share all their meals together. There's probably a cat playing the fiddle somewhere.
But this dish? This dish separated herself from the rest. She didn't have a spoon to run away with but she ran anyway. Silly dish. The lines and cracks remain. It's a dish you eat off of with your hands, if you eat off of it at all. It's just one broken dish. Part of a whole no one can find anymore. This dish sits in the sink, waiting to be washed. Waiting for a spoon to ask her to run away. Waiting to be needed. Just waiting.
Consider, for a moment, the dishes off which you may or may not enjoy your meals.
This is a complete set. However, through time, it has deteriorated. It is chipped, glued together and cracked. These things happen when you put dishes in the hands of a child or in a microwave and just through general wear. You just can't bear to throw it away because it's been around for so long. But it still holds your meals. This set is not one you would purchase new or even used. But you might consider donating it. Hey, all the pieces are there. There's even this one extra that doesn't quite fit but it stacks just fine for a while. Until it doesn't. Until it scratches that dish it's sitting on so badly that the ceramic finish isn't enough to hold it all together. So that dish falls apart completely. And the rest wish to follow suit.
Oh, but not these dishes. No. They may fall apart, this much is true. But they will hide it and hold themselves together. These dishes of undetermined color and origin, they survive. These dishes, the cockroaches of the culinary world, just won't let go. They are a constant. Cracks and chips and all.
The thing about dishes, at least ones that are not made of plastic, is that they tend to break. So it really makes complete sense that the dish ran away with the spoon. The spoon, it bends. But there's no snapping that spoon. It does not need to be put back together. That dish can rely on that spoon as much as it wants to and that spoon doesn't mind. And they can share all their meals together. There's probably a cat playing the fiddle somewhere.
But this dish? This dish separated herself from the rest. She didn't have a spoon to run away with but she ran anyway. Silly dish. The lines and cracks remain. It's a dish you eat off of with your hands, if you eat off of it at all. It's just one broken dish. Part of a whole no one can find anymore. This dish sits in the sink, waiting to be washed. Waiting for a spoon to ask her to run away. Waiting to be needed. Just waiting.
02 April 2011
I have a perfect body
Because my eyelashes catch my sweat.
Okay, I recognize I've been posting a lot lately. I'd apologize. But I don't want to.
That road trip I've been considering? I think I'm going to start harassing people for places to stay. And near those places to stay, I think I'm going to look for shows. And that money I set aside? I think I'll buy some tickets. Or not. As of right now, this is all a pipe dream. But Iron & Wine isn't coming to Arizona and that bottle of Moscato isn't going to drink itself. So pipe dreams are what I'm living on.
Road trip goals:
Visit states I've never been to (Primarily Washington and Oregon. And maybe Maine.)
Drive the majority of driving to be done. (If I don't go alone)
Gather stories.
Just go.
Get lost and don't be annoyed.
Make new friends.
Keep old friends.
Don't lesson plan, even a little bit.
Keep track.
Go skinny dipping. (This is a life goal I have yet to accomplish.)
Enjoy every moment.
Don't blog drunk.
There at thirty-seven school days left and I still can't believe anyone let me be a teacher.
I taught addition using paper plates, writing using pictures and speaking by threatening a loss of recess. And they want me to do it again next year? Shit.
I love, love, love my job. Love it. I just hate that I can't figure out how to have a life outside of it. And my bed and this lovely bottle of white. But maybe that's not teaching's fault.
I've never really been good at juggling. Not those brightly-colored scarves in elementary school and not life.
I am my own anchor and I keep me here. But so does my abundance of indecision. I'm so very ready to make decisions. Ask, ask away and I will answer. I will decide.
Emily knocked on my door and there are ducks in the pool. Duty calls.
-Theresa
Okay, I recognize I've been posting a lot lately. I'd apologize. But I don't want to.
That road trip I've been considering? I think I'm going to start harassing people for places to stay. And near those places to stay, I think I'm going to look for shows. And that money I set aside? I think I'll buy some tickets. Or not. As of right now, this is all a pipe dream. But Iron & Wine isn't coming to Arizona and that bottle of Moscato isn't going to drink itself. So pipe dreams are what I'm living on.
Road trip goals:
Visit states I've never been to (Primarily Washington and Oregon. And maybe Maine.)
Drive the majority of driving to be done. (If I don't go alone)
Gather stories.
Just go.
Get lost and don't be annoyed.
Make new friends.
Keep old friends.
Don't lesson plan, even a little bit.
Keep track.
Go skinny dipping. (This is a life goal I have yet to accomplish.)
Enjoy every moment.
Don't blog drunk.
There at thirty-seven school days left and I still can't believe anyone let me be a teacher.
I taught addition using paper plates, writing using pictures and speaking by threatening a loss of recess. And they want me to do it again next year? Shit.
I love, love, love my job. Love it. I just hate that I can't figure out how to have a life outside of it. And my bed and this lovely bottle of white. But maybe that's not teaching's fault.
I've never really been good at juggling. Not those brightly-colored scarves in elementary school and not life.
I am my own anchor and I keep me here. But so does my abundance of indecision. I'm so very ready to make decisions. Ask, ask away and I will answer. I will decide.
Emily knocked on my door and there are ducks in the pool. Duty calls.
-Theresa
31 March 2011
Road Trip 2011
Is now in the works. I don't know where I'm going or who with but I know it's happening. The last day of school is 25 May. My last day of work is 26 of May. I don't think I have any obligations until the very last week of July. And I'm not even sure about that. I put half of my tax return into savings and have planned ahead for an oil change.
That being said, I'm looking for places to go and stay and see and remember. If I go alone, those places are going to be a lot closer together.
Any suggestions?
-Theresa
That being said, I'm looking for places to go and stay and see and remember. If I go alone, those places are going to be a lot closer together.
Any suggestions?
-Theresa
26 March 2011
Grab ahold of anything
that's worth keeping.
What I realize now:
I never really let go, even if you were saying goodbye.
I've never not been happy to hear from or see you.
This could turn into something.
Something good.
But maybe you don't think so.
I finally feel like someone worth keeping.
It's a feeling worth keeping.
-Theresa
What I realize now:
I never really let go, even if you were saying goodbye.
I've never not been happy to hear from or see you.
This could turn into something.
Something good.
But maybe you don't think so.
I finally feel like someone worth keeping.
It's a feeling worth keeping.
-Theresa
17 March 2011
All in Good Time
But there's never really a good time for death. Unless, of course, you're writing a movie or television show.
My aunt passed away today. Lung cancer. Never smoked. My family (she has eight brothers and sisters and they're all married. Plus, she has kids.) are waiting in the hospital room until they get kicked out. And I can't commit to $800 for a plane ticket home. The rational part of me says that it's okay because I saw her on Christmas before machines were living for her. I saw her when she could walk and talk and laugh.
The Chaldean part of me?
You stupid bitch. She would go to your funeral if you died. And she wouldn't care how much it cost. She always asked about you. And what the fuck do you mean that you're not sure? Get your stupid ass on a plane and come home. Indefinitely. Your family needs you. Your mom needs you. Her sister just died. Your sister needs you. Her relationship just ended. Who cares that that's not related to your aunt?! Just buy the stupid ticket already! Stop figuring out how much each minute will cost you. $800 for 48 hours for the rest of your family will be priceless. Plus, that way, no one will give your mom shit for you not coming home.
Jeez, I am a selfish asshole.
-Theresa
My aunt passed away today. Lung cancer. Never smoked. My family (she has eight brothers and sisters and they're all married. Plus, she has kids.) are waiting in the hospital room until they get kicked out. And I can't commit to $800 for a plane ticket home. The rational part of me says that it's okay because I saw her on Christmas before machines were living for her. I saw her when she could walk and talk and laugh.
The Chaldean part of me?
You stupid bitch. She would go to your funeral if you died. And she wouldn't care how much it cost. She always asked about you. And what the fuck do you mean that you're not sure? Get your stupid ass on a plane and come home. Indefinitely. Your family needs you. Your mom needs you. Her sister just died. Your sister needs you. Her relationship just ended. Who cares that that's not related to your aunt?! Just buy the stupid ticket already! Stop figuring out how much each minute will cost you. $800 for 48 hours for the rest of your family will be priceless. Plus, that way, no one will give your mom shit for you not coming home.
Jeez, I am a selfish asshole.
-Theresa
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