Catch Up

It's been way too long since I've had time and energy to compose my thoughts. No posted photos, no thoughts on marriage rights, nothing. So, in ten photos or less, I'm going to get us caught up.

I wrapped up the quarter with AMAZING students

My wonderful niece graduated from her 2 year college

She's headed to Eastern Washington University- because Hogwarts doesn't take FAFSA

See the family resemblance?

We enjoyed Walla Walla once again, and all of its beauty

I got into a stupid Facebook argument after posting this picture. But seriously, this is an issue close to my heart

I am proud to be an American right now. I mean, I am always a proud American, but marriage equality came to our country. YES! Some say congratulations to same-sex couples, but I say congratulations to all of us! We're not free until we're all equal. 

G and I have been traveling around the state

This is Snoqualmie Falls.  My friend Chris Stinson says that next time we're in the area, she'll take us hiking!

Ever watch Twin Peaks? We went to the cafe.

In the TV show, Kyle Maclachlan has a piece of cherry pie and a damn fine cup of coffee. And so did I.

We went hiking outside of Leavenworth one day

This is the Alpine Lakes Wilderness Area. We came across a deer, snake, and a bunch of other wildlife

I've been up early- 5 am- since about January. I go for walks or go to the gym every weekday

The 4th of July weekend took us to Olympia.  We don't have AC and it was over 100 in our town

"When the tide is out, the table is set"

I could live in Olympia.

Yep, just buy a houseboat and live on the water.... 

"Dignity in Labor". I framed the state capitol building in this. 

In Washington, lots of wilderness runs right through town. This photo was taken right by a giant freeway overpass.  This is Tumwater falls

I laugh at this photo all the time. It's a face and it's drinking water... 

Lovely little bed and breakfast

This is the Swantown Inn. Great place to stay, excellent homemade gourmet breakfast. Xeriscaped with a garden in front and lots of recycling.  They even keep bees.  

So that just about catches us up, right?

Except that I got a new job. I'll write about that in the next post.

Bandwagon

One of the nice things about November is that the elections are over.  In this case, my favorite causes won in the national election- Elizabeth Warren, Mazie Hirono, and Tulsi Gabbard all won historic spots in Congress, bringing women up to a record (and still not 50%) number of women representing all of We The People in Washington.  Tammy Baldwin became the first openly lesbian senator from Wisconsin.  It's not that I'm so "pro-woman" or "pro-LGBT" (ok, yes, I am, but I have a bigger purpose here) as I am adamant that our representatives reflect the demographics of who makes up our country.  I am glad that these people- Hindus, Buddhists, Christians, Atheists and women- have stepped up.  In many cases, in my opinion, it's just a matter of finding the right person with the courage and backing to go forth and put themselves out there.  I'm not sure I would have the wherewithal myself.

But enough of political talk.

November is also a month of gratitude for many of my friends.  They list all sorts of things they are thankful for, from books and warm houses to coffee, friends, family and even death. I thought about jumping on the bandwagon.  I am grateful for those things too, and would also add technology (hint to my in-laws: we'd love to skype with you!) my job, my amazing husband and boots and snow and a house that doesn't leak.

I love reading what people put up.  It's poignant and often insightful, whimsical and sometimes just sentimental. I guess I could make a short list..

I'm grateful for Eleanor, who is 16 and a cat, for waking me up every day around 6:30 to give her water from the faucet because such a grand dame cannot possibly drink out of a bowl.

I'm grateful for snow because it gives me a chance to stay inside and get fat over the winter.

I'm grateful for coffee for powering my life and uh, keeping things moving...

I'm grateful for my friends in Oklahoma who somehow have the courage to live in a state that not only preemptively banned Sharia law but also in the last 10 years finally banned cockfighting and allowed tattoos, and has only this month done away with Affirmative Action.  Mmmmm yeah...

I'm grateful for breath mints.  If anyone ever, EVER offers you one, you eat that motha and like it.  I don't care if it's not vegetarian.

I'm grateful for deodorant.  See above, you smelly hippie.

I'm grateful for underwear too.  Warm underwear.

And cheese graters.

And unemployment.  When we decided to move here, Grey sacrificed his job in Oklahoma and moved across the country so that I might follow my dream.  As it turns out, this is a very small town with not a lot of employment opportunities.  And it's taking some time to find something.  There are often over 100 applications for every job.  What this translates to is a very patient man who does a wonderful job of distracting his attention into positive energy.  He researches, plans and cooks amazing and nutritious dishes.  I eat like a queen and all I have to do is dishes.  So while I hope Grey finds what he is looking for, I benefit directly from that not working out quite yet.  Nom Nom Nom!

I'm grateful to my mom because she makes amazing and beautiful quilts.  She made me one for my graduation last December and it's currently on the bed, keeping us warm on these frozen nights.  Now if Eleanor would just stop farting on the bed...

I'm grateful for my brother-in-law.  There was a time not too many years ago- long enough that my nephew, his son, would not remember but not long enough for me to forget- that we were not friends.  In fact, there was this moment during an angry confrontation between he and my sister that I had out a knife and I was a few moments of terror and self-righteousness away from letting a little more light into his noggin.  It's no secret that my sisters and I grew up a little on the rough side, and that means quite often that we made choices in our dating and marriages that sometimes involved rough guys.  And my brother-in-law was a rough guy.  And I about stabbed him, straight up.  I'm not proud of that.  I had to go to years of counseling to work out those issues.  The really great thing is that when you flash forward to ten years later, I am glad to report that one of the cool things about visiting my sister is also seeing my brother-in-law.  He is sober and clean and involved with his son's life.  He is supportive of my sister.  He goes fishing and is an expert at smoking salmon.  I should know; it's the only meat I really eat unless my cousin makes duck.  If B-- is making deer jerky, smoked salmon, or anything with crab or shrimp, I'm there.  I feel sorry for everyone who isn't me when B-- cooks.  I eat the hell out of that food and the only stabbing going on is if someone gets in the way.  On second thought, they are much more likely to get bit.  Grey got to witness this phenomena on our last visit.  He wasn't horrified, but let's just say that the honeymoon is over. 

Classic rock is also on the list of things I am grateful for. ZZ Top, Led Zeppelin, Bob Marley, Jimi Hendrix, Bob Seger, The Eagles, Queen, The Doors, The Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, Rush, Sting (with and without The Police) Iron Butterfly and the plethora of music that I grew up with and still love. We didn't get to bring any stereo equipment when we moved, so I listen to Pandora and a favorite classic rock station in Oklahoma City.  Classic rock is the soundtrack of my life.  Ok, that and classical music.  Don't judge me. Because, seriously, if you were going to judge me, it should have been about the meat-eating or stabbing confession above.

There are a few less tangible things for which I am grateful.

Like perspective.  I had a rough week.  Things just did not go the way I wanted them to go and for the life of me, not everything is under my control. I also know that my dandelion had a rough week too, probably much rougher than mine.  A friend of mine finally got the news this week - after weeks of waiting- that her husband does not have lymphoma as originally thought.  How difficult to wait to exhale for two weeks, and how lovely to get such good news!  My other friend sent me a text this week too- her mom, who is only in her 60s, has been sent home with hospice care for renal failure.  Her diabetes has made it impossible to keep her on the kidney transplant list.  It is a matter of time, and when she goes, my friend will be an orphan.  Her dad died when she was 19 and that's a tough thing to lose both of your parents by the time you are 32.  When I put into perspective how lucky and blessed I am to live the life I do, I am on the whole a fortunate person. So I don't get everything I want- who does? This does not mean I cannot be happy.

Anger.  I am grateful for anger.  For the longest time, I had two feelings: extreme joy or burning hot anger. Over the years, I have been able to identify and feel lots of feelings in between, like indifference, annoyance, slightly okie-dokie, significantly non-plussed and bemused.  The toughest one is "little bit pissed but still reasonable", which is as far as I want to go towards anger.  The acronym I have for self-assessment is HALT.  If I am angry, I have to do a quick self-assessment: Am I Hungry? Angry? Lonely? Tired?  If I am any one or more of those, it means I need to do some self-care before approaching human beings.  I often just need a nap, a sandwich, a hug or a few minutes to reflect on my part in a situation so that I can refocus on making things better rather than worse.  That just leads to regret.

Regret. I am grateful for the stupid things I have often done.  I tend not to repeat those mistakes and since I'm not 39 and about halfway through my life, I think I have made about half of my mistakes.  I am fairly confident, however, that the mistakes I make from here on out are not the crazy, life-changing ones I made in the past.  Like that '78 Firebird I bought so that I could teach myself to power slide.  Or that time I moved to Denver on 24 hours notice.  Or how I was a bartender for about a year, and not a good one.  Or how I broke a few hearts. 

There are some things I never got to regret.  I had three older sisters I could watch grow up.  That saved me a lot, you know.  I never made their mistakes and they were protective of me.  So protective that on my first date, I was home by 9 with a quick peck on the cheek from a boy terrified that Yvette would beat him up.  She had a reputation for doing that- she beat the snot out of a kid for beating me up in sixth grade.  I'm pretty sure he went on to live a normal life.

Family.  I think this is my favorite intangible.  There is the family you get and the family that gets you.  I have both and I am lucky.  I wouldn't trade my family for anything, as crazy as we are.  My sisters are so funny, creative, laugh-inducing and heartful.  And like me, they each have a streak of iron through them.  We get each other as only siblings can.  Sometimes we tell the old stories, to reassure ourselves that these things really happened.  We used to tell them to someone draw out the poison.  Now we tell the new-old stories, of the younger years in my nieces and nephews' lives.  Of dance parties and grandparents and becoming women.  And now we plot new stories for our families.  And we connect on a deeper level than I can with anyone else.  I married someone who fits right in without even trying, and he is becoming part of those stories. The rest of my family is comprised of long time friends from Washington and Oklahoma. People who know the other parts of me, who have helped me become an adult and who saved me as much as I saved them. 




I guess I jumped on the bandwagon after all, in the style of oversharing and gratitude.  If you are reading this, I am grateful for you too, and hope you have a wonderful holiday season.  Stay warm, eat some turkey (or tofurky) and spend some time with people you love. 

Sculpture

That's not powdered sugar

Home

Grey

Fourth of July

I have stuff. Lots of stuff.

I am drinking coffee from my tres chic coffee pot, with coffee from a swanky national chain.  I sip the sibilant liquid from a hand-made cup bought at an art fair a few years ago. There are many such cups in my cupboard, of all shapes and sizes.  Some of them are ugly but I use them anyway.  All of them have stories.  Many were gifts.  They overflow the cupboard and, with some of my china, sit in the extra cabinet by the living room.  I have furniture- two couches!- and a television set which goes unused except for the occasional Tae Bo dvd or an episode of Fringe.  One kitchen table and one dining room table, side chairs...the list goes on.  All of them collect dust lately as I have been staying in Tulsa with my husband while he works during the week.

Three bedrooms (two plus an office). One room mate.  Huge backyard and side yard.  Small front yard, thankfully.  Plants everywhere. They stay outside during the summer and inside in the winter.  Improves air quality as long as I don't let the soil get moldy.  This year is container gardening year. I pay a guy to come mow when I don't have the time, since I certainly do not have the interest.

At the Tulsa apartment, I get up early and have coffee with my husband.  I go for a walk before the temperature gets too high.  Then I get in one of the three swimming pools and have a swim.  If I have gone out too late, I can work out in the fitness room.  Then I read for awhile and take care of errands.  I'm a teacher and it is summer.  I am resting, reading, readying for the fall, steadying my nerves at the outrageous turns in education in the United States.  Some days I do my morning routine and then drive to Oklahoma City to teach my English class.  I love those students at OSU-OKC; I have but 15 attendees and I have the time and leisure to focus attention on just them.  Better than the 200 students I had in the Spring.

At home in Norman, there is a cadre of cleansing, beautifying and moisturizing products.  I'm almost 40 and moisture is (apparently) the name of the game.  Don't want my face to look craggy or wrinkled or my legs to get hairy or my armpits to smell or my hair to get frizzy.  So head to toe, I have stuff in those cabinets to "fix" me up. Usually I don't bother.

If I get sick, or if anyone in my family gets sick, or if anyone I know gets sick, I have a small pharmacy of over-the-counter medicines to cure what ails me or them or us. As a younger person, my sisters and I were sick all the time and sometimes medicine was scarce.  One of the first things I did when I got a steady job was to make sure I didn't get sick by taking vitamins and such, and that if I did get sick, that I wouldn't be uncomfortable.  There is no joy or nobility in suffering from a sore throat or cold.  You just make the people around you miserable.

In my town there will be revelry.  I went to dinner at a wonderful restaurant last night in Oklahoma City.  My cousin and I met, had a sort of yucky beer which I did not finish and at tapas and dulce de leche ice cream, then visited a coffee shop for iced tea. We overheard a couple of Sheriff's discussing the coming holiday with our server. "Is it going to be crazy tonight?", she asked. "Yeah, it's going to be worse tonight than tomorrow night when the fireworks start."  Partying, alcohol, ice cream, fireworks.  Independence.

All of this is possible because I live in the United States. Between Grey and I  we can reasonably stay afloat for awhile with two houses and all of the accumulated shit that goes with them.  We are lucky to be middle class in an era of the shrinking middle class.  I am lucky to live as I do while lots and lots of people do not have reliable water supplies, electricity or plumbing in our same country.  I live comfortably with air conditioning while homelessness skyrockets and people I often converse with live on the streets.

Above all, I sit at my computer and type out my life, argue with conservatives about political issues and postulate and attempt to convince while others quietly serve in our military and offer themselves up as fighters should we need them to remain a "free" country.  Our military men and women have long upheld this selfless tradition of volunteerism, of sacrifice, beginning with the George Washington crew in 1776.  It is not comfortable to serve, either. There is never a convenient location to hold a war or peacekeeping mission.  But I can say that the military has mostly had the unswerving support of the American people.

Well, almost.  Let's not forget the whole Vietnam War thing where we behaved abominably towards our servicemen, who didn't volunteer in the first place.  

Today, I'm going to skip the fireworks. I'm going to the farmer's market here to support local gardeners, then having lunch with my friend Jenni.  Later I will work on thank you notes for the tons of wedding gifts. I will find time to thank people I know and love and don't love who serve in the military and thank them and their families for their service.

Happy Independence Day.

Heat

It's 106 today.  It was 107 degrees yesterday as I passed a bank clock at 5:15 p.m. on the South side of Oklahoma City.  I waited in traffic with the other schmucks, my air conditioner blasting slightly cooler air than what you'd find outdoors, sweating from the top of my melting hair to the bottoms of my low heeled pumps.  On the South side, you'll find about 60% of the people in their cars lack a/c.  Their windows are wide open, they drive fast to encourage air flow and have short tempers.  Their hair tends to be dirty with pollution and skin is more tan, at least on the window side of their ride.

I stayed on the city streets, skirting the outskirts on my way home.  If I took the highway, I would be more cranky, sitting in a traffic jam with hundreds of others, all inconsiderate and cutting in front because their destination and time are so much more important than my own.  Sigh.  It happens more in the summer.  People get more aggressive; either that or I just notice it more.

During the summer in Oklahoma I either head north for a couple of weeks and find a place to hang out that is both cool and near water, or I simply dig in and wait out the heat inside an air conditioned house/car/office/world because I cannot take the heat.  It is depressing, like seasonal affective disorder in the summertime.  Too much sun; too much heat.  Not enough snow.  Last year we had 63 days in a row of over 100 degree temperatures. Everything not inside died.  This year I planted cucumbers, basil, and a ton of other decorative plants under the porch awning where they are more or less protected from the sun.  As long as they are watered every day, they should live. Should. Except that (as my friend Laura says) it's like a pizza oven out there. We only had one day where it snowed and I felt more alive than usual.

The heat makes people a little crazy too. In the years that I have made my cell phone number public, I have never had a crank caller. I have never had hang ups and I have never had anyone sell my number to a telemarketer.  Only this week has anything strange happened.  I got a text from an Oklahoma City cell phone number.  It said "Can you Send meme pics of your schnou" with no regard for basic grammar. I'm not sure, but I suspect that it is from one of my students. Yes, I just berated someone's grammar before their poor choices.

I have been directly approached by college students and former college students for anything from sex to romance.  There is this rule that every educator knows and every educator follows or they are taking advantage of the power they have over that student, either by their grade or by the regard with which the student holds them. Generally speaking, you're a low-down dirty dog sun of a beeswax if you have sex with your students.  You just are.  Think of Mary Kay Latourneau, John from Oleanna, and any number of other scandalous rotten teachers. And that's just the female ones.  I have seen my share of both female and male professors in relationships with students.  There is a sense of decorum in waiting until after grades are turned in but not everyone who begins a romantic entanglement with a student has the ethical fortitude to do so. Me? I have to watch my own reaction to such activities. My fingers itch for a stick. My advice to all teachers everywhere is this: Don't f**k your students.

In no way am I interested in sending pictures of my schnou, nose, the crack of my butt or the crack of my cat's butt across the interwebs for the personal or public entertainment of another without payment.  I didn't respond. It's not that I don't have anything to say to the request.  I'd like to respond with "May I have your credit card information?" or perhaps "You are obviously in need of some higher education.  May I direct you to my English class instead?" or the classic "What the hell is wrong with you?", because this really is horrifying.  Then I wondered if I could look up some strange medical disease dictionary and forward those. Yes, I have a mean streak and do not like to be messed with. Must be the heat.  I settled on ignoring it.  If the person texts again, I will track them down and call their mom, girlfriend, wife, or clergy member and embarrass them.

This one is free, but the arm, leg, and schnou will cost ya!

During the course of writing this blog post, my dog has been outside. I have to get a pancake turner and scrape him off the sidewalk where he has melted around the edges.

It's that hot.

A Safe Place

Yesterday, I asked an 8th grade student to carry a slim toad away from our portable buildings.  He or she had gotten into a classroom the night before and was stunned after being manhandled by 18 sixth graders and kicked by one of them.  Gently, the 8th grader picked up said toadling and asked where to put it.  I couldn't really think of anywhere.  In the soccer field there would be children running around after school. The pavement was no good because of hot sun, foot and car traffic and lack of moisture.  The dumpster might be ok but the fence line would only lead to the sidewalk.  We decided on the dumpster and let our hopping friend loose.

Today is the 17th anniversary of the bombing of the Arthur P. Murrah building in Oklahoma City.  On this day so many days ago, in revenge for the ill-conceived and badly ended standoff between the Branch Davidian church group and the U.S. Government.  Timothy McVeigh chose the Murrah building and Oklahoma City as an easy target. The Murrah building was a federal building and housed many beaurocratic headquarters for federal business in the city.  He filled a large truck with homemade explosives and detonated it, killing 168 people- including children in the daycare- and changed the course of Oklahoma history.  Oklahoma, the safe place, was under attack in an act of domestic terrorism. When it came to light that it was a scrawny white guy, a separatist, former military and an American, well, people were stunned. What had we expected, a non-White, non-English speaking, non-graduate of American school systems who held beliefs that were never critically considered?

Last Friday, one of our sixth graders stabbed another sixth grader with a pencil in the shoulder over a bag of skittles.  She had stabbed the victim before the day before but it did not break the skin and the little girl did not report it at the time.  This time, however, the pencil went through a sweater and a shirt and lodged in her skin.  And our alleged perpetrator was so rotten, disrespectful and belligerent that the arresting police officer put cuffs on her and took her past kiddie booking and to a juvenile detention center where she will remain until her arraignment.  Her mother did not go to see her and she is now in a position to get real lessons on how to become a criminal.  She is twelve years old.

I am missing one of my students for the rest of the year as well.  He (allegedly) brought a large amount of illegal substances to school with intent to sell.  Four other students were busted in the boys room smoking a Swisher Sweet with a large amount of cannibis in it.  Gone. Those kids are gone for the year.  I'm not sure why my students are dealing and taking drugs. I figure that reality sucks when you are a teenager and it must really suck to live and go to school in a ghetto with few prospects and teachers who often fundamentally dislike children.  We finally and temporarily replaced our deceased geography teacher. The new lady is nice and blonde and pretty and with sky blue eyes that make me think she might come from Edmond.  The kids have mostly been nice to her, and one drew her a picture which she put outside of her door.  Unfortunately it has gang colors and the drawing is actually of "the shocker" hand gesture.  If you don't know what that is, click here for an eye-opening explanation.  I couldn't find her today so I'll try again tomorrow. I heard one of the 8th grade boys (not my student) said some highly sexual things to her during class, poked a pencil into her lunch and left.  I really hope that is not true.

Students have been roaming the hallways in droves. I took it upon myself to stroll the hallways during classes.  Ok, it's trolling.  My student intern is now competent enough to handle teaching by herself so I walk around looking for kids ditching class. I catch about four per day.  It makes me cranky.  Yesterday, one of my gang-girls was conducting business with her boyfriend's cell phone.  She's really sweet and I like her. I suspect she probably compartmentalizes and gets to be a kid during those classes she attends and a "thug" when she needs to be.

In the meantime, we are doing the OCCT- Oklahoma Core Curriculum Test.  Awesome.  Along with the continued construction, how can we possibly hope to pass those tests?  Yet many of them are.  A good number of my 8th grade students either passed or got outstanding scores on their reading tests.  Next week my 7th graders are up and I expect they will surpass my principal's expectations but not my own.  I want better for them.

Yes, yes I do. I want better for my kids and I am frustrated and fighting mad.  What does it matter if my kids can think critically or read and write their asses off if the end result is not going to change?  Necessity trumps luxuries like novels and me and my little narratives cannot compete with the immediate relief of getting high. Sometimes I feel like a fool for even trying. The world, as illustrated by Timothy McVeigh, is not as trustworthy as it might once have been. My students are stunned toads with no safe place to go but dumpsters. At least there is food and moisture there, even if it smells.  All I can do is keep guard and provide hope.

Enough Perfection!

I have a new obsession: Single Dad Laughing. I read a post by him about perfection. You can check it out here. He made me think about how imperfect I am, not that I need any reminders.

But I look around me and I see that almost everyone I know is infected with this disease of being perfect. We- collectively as Americans- need to be perfect. I think it stems from some skewed perception of capitalism wherein we have to go big or go home. Large houses with green lawns, big boats, fast cars, expensive clothes and hair and slim thighs and great skin and the right shoes...it's all part of the American dream.

Why do I sometimes feel ashamed and angry that I don't have all of those things? I'm an educator, for Pete's sake. What I do is important and it matters greatly, to offer other worlds and experiences to students and to take the opportunity to learn from them. I derive a great deal of self-esteem from teaching, from doing anonymous good works, and from looking for ways to be kind- especially to those who would be unkind to me. I live in a house and I have enough to eat. My car goes places. My dog and cat are always happy to see me, especially if they think I have something tasty. My friends are there for me when I need them most of the time and I am there for them, most of the time. So why do I so often compare myself to the appearances of others and feel as though I lack?

But I feel what I feel. Long ago I made a choice to be what and who I am and that means that the American dream with a white picket fence, a couple of kids and the ability to keep up with the Jones' is not in the cards. I could have chosen vet school; I was accepted in the top three of the hundreds of applications. Not that being a veterinarian is so glamorous- it's a lot of poop and blood if the truth were known, but it comes with a nifty white coat. I only applied because I wanted my husband to think I was good enough. When I just couldn't do it, I left behind the man and the life and the lifestyle and became a teacher.

Years later in a fit of anger, my ex husband said that I was his project and that he never really did think I was good enough. At the time it stung, and it made me look long and hard at my own actions. I realized that I am defined by my actions but not my family. More importantly, I am a human and like other humans, I deserve real love, unconditional love. It's a lesson I've never forgotten and try to practice; to try to understand rather than just change others into your image of them.

I cannot tell you my schedule without feeling exhausted. I am actually attempting to learn Italian amongst all other stuff I have to do in a week. I have downloaded language learning audio onto my iPod and listen and repeat in the mornings on my drive to work. I have no other real time during the week. I have this drive to do well in my classes, to teach well, to be a good colleague, daughter, granddaughter, aunt, sister and friend. Fact is, those things often slide. Or at least one or two slide since I do have to sleep sometimes.

It's not just our time and energy that's subject to perfectionism. Our bodies seem to be under the most scrutiny. Everywhere I go I am bombarded with advertisements for rejuvenating treatments "My wife looks ten years younger. I can't believe it!", liposuction "Get the beautiful legs, hips and thighs you've always wanted. You deserve it!", breast augmentation "Imagine how much more confident you will feel!", day spas, salons, gentlemen's clubs, gyms, diet pills and make up commercials just on the radio. I gave up television long ago but the images still haunt me.

Nothing makes me feel more insecure than women's magazines and snickering, whispering teenage girls. The fact is that I went to war with my body sometime in 1999. I could say it's because I was a big girl in high school, with petite and beautiful sisters. I could say it's because when I was 11 years old, my grandma-who was trying to be kind- said "Well, honey, you're not as pretty as your sisters, but you have nice child-bearing hips." I could blame my ex-husband for telling me the truth when I asked if my jeans make my butt look big. He said "I love you, but you've gained twenty pounds since we got married." I went to the gym that day. From that day to this, I cannot see what the scale at my doctor's office tells me. If I know that number, I will immediately go on a crash diet to lose ten pounds. And I'm not too picky about how I do it.

The fact remains though, that every day that I wake up, I make a conscious choice. I choose to just be myself. It's not natural. I want to be a reflection of what people want me to be. Especially since I'm single again. I want to be liked even though I have no fear of being alone. Actually, I prefer to be alone. It's way less complicated. My cat doesn't judge me for eating watermelon for dinner right over the kitchen sink so that I don't have to wash another dish. She just sits on my lap and purrs while I type. That's why I post pictures of me with bad breath, bags under my eyes, acne and no hair brushes... because I need to just be me for awhile. I need that to be enough. I need that to be enough for me.

Dan Pearce, from Single Dad Laughing, struggles with his weight and self-esteem. What we all struggle with is that feeling that we're somehow unlovable since we're imperfect. I'm glad to struggle with this rather than to delude myself that somehow the universe loves me above any others. My imperfections make me feel a part of the human race, rather than apart from it.

Please, please be imperfect. Those imperfections in the people I love are what make them human and therefore, accessible. It takes the pressure off of me too. Nothing is as real as me calling up a friend to say "Boy did I screw this up. Can you help me figure it out?", because I know that next week she's going to call me and say "Oh please help me dig out from under this mountain of laundry!" and together we'll heft the load.

Gratitude

My head spin sometimes with all of the work and obligations and pleasurable things I want to do in a day. Right now I'm pretty tired. I went to work, then mowed the lawn, then went to class until 10 tonight. Tomorrow I'll get up at 5 and do it again before lining up my work for the weekend.

I'm tired and I've got a lot to do before mid-December. I don't have time to go to a chiropractor for my neck. I need to find a roommate before I'm left eating top ramen for the next four months. Yes, being a professor-for-hire doesn't pay as well as you might think. I have 5 pages due Wednesday that I've not started. I hope my advisor isn't reading this. I need to sell that Miata so I can pay my tuition. I'm using this weekend to grade papers. Again. I should be preparing for general exams.

Frankly, I'm not entirely certain that I can pull this off. So, I am giving myself a little pep talk. It always works, always. All I have to do is think of things for which I am grateful.

I thank the moon and stars above for the solace and sanity of my friends. Old and new, male and female, they are the ones jumping over the edge to catch me. Sometimes they shake me a little and say "quit being so uptight. It's just a deadline." I scoff but relax a little in my uptight little shell. They also have problems and call me for a bit of sanity so we have to make it up as we go along. I like that part too.

I'm grateful for Michael Jackson because he makes me feel normal. Really normal and really fucking boring. I like that too.

I'm grateful for health- for me for my family and friends and for their families. I may not have time for a doctor but at least right now I have insurance! Two people I care about have family members in the hospital right now and I'm pulling for them too. The good thing about love is that it's not just restricted to people you know well. It's like Facebook; friends of friends can have some too. I'm glad that it also works both ways. My grandpa died this time last year. That anniversary is coming up quickly. I remember the outpouring of love and support and grace given to me by my friends and their loved ones. I found that accepting the care and love of another person is terribly comforting. Don't laugh; it's not in my nature to expose emotional needs to anyone. But I've been learning and I hope to remain open and not closed to kindness and care for myself. That's a blessing in itself.

The list goes on; my car works, my cat is fine and doesn't puke a whole lot these days; I have a roof over my head. One niece had a baby this year and another just got married and is pregnant. Another niece got married too. And pretty much everyone is doing fine. None of my teeth have fallen out and I've got a great day of teaching planned for tomorrow. I'm going to use Jimi Hendrix and the Dixie Chicks to discuss the use of rhetoric. I'm employed, I'm a student (which is what I hope to always be) and I live in America.

I love being an American. My brothers and sisters go out and fight and die and keep me safe. My freedom of speech is protected through the efforts of others. And I've never had to seriously question it. This is not to say that I've never royally stuck my food in my mouth. Because I have, at least twice today. But thank God for grace because I'm still standing.

Not a bad night. Now, speaking of lesson plans and nights, I have to get up in five hours. Thanks for reading.