The Budding Optimist

I rarely re-read books, but I'm re-reading The Midnight Library. It's about a woman who tries to kill herself after her cat dies and her job goes south (did I mention that's in trouble, too?) and she realizes she's alone. She winds up in the in-between, not quite alive, not quite dead, in a place called the Midnight Library, where all the decisions she's ever made are housed in a multiverse that looks like a library. By choosing to rescind any given choice, she can open a book and be transported to another universe to see how her life would be different there. I wish I could do that. I'm not doing very well. In the first week of November, Mocha died. In the second week, I gave Graysee to a neighbor and didn't even get to tell her goodbye. I tried texting the neighbor, asking if I could keep her for a few more weeks until I settled from Mocha's death, but didn't get a response. Yesterday, I had to leave school because I wasn't functioning well fro...

I read once somewhere that teachers make around 3,000 decisions per day. I have no idea whether or not that's true, but it certainly sounds impressive, doesn't it? Therapy Elsa says that some of the judgments I have made as a teacher have led to consequences. When I signed my contract for this year, the contracted start time of school at my building was 7:05 a.m. and the contracted end time was 2:20. This meant I had plenty of time to log onto my laptop for my 2:30 medical telehealth appointments every other week. Only... they decided to change the start and end times of school. This meant I had to tell my brand new boss -- brought in special by the Superintendent -- that I had medical appointments that interfered with my assigned bus duty and various meetings two days a month. He did not like this. He didn't say that, of course. But he repeatedly asked me to ask my medical provider for a different time (although I explained several times that there was no other time). It b...

  My therapist says I am undergoing an existential crisis. Again. What a trope. I feel like a caricature of a human being. For weeks now, I have been trying to make sense of life and death. I've been thinking a lot about transitions lately. I hate instability. I hate change. I'd much rather be instantly transported from Point A to Point B than have to suffer through the uncertainty and instability of the in-between. I keep thinking about butterflies and what a short time they live. Did you know that those pretty yellow brimstone butterflies only live 2 days? What a fucking tragedy. As an English teacher, I feel like my mind only operates in themes, so I've chosen one pose a month as a yoga focus, and then every class is a variation on that theme. January was lunges. February was binds. March was Mermaid. April was figure 4's. May was core-focused. For June-July, we did splits.  And then came August. Like many of Life's lessons, I didn't know what I was writing o...

According to the ancient Greeks, there are 7 basic types of love. There's love that encompasses general goodwill to all of humanity ( agape ); love that is rooted in duty ( pragma ); love that is based on friendship ( philia) ... There's also love that is familial - storge . I find myself wondering how the Greeks would characterize love of family members that is also rooted in duty?                                                                 Yesterday, we celebrated my Dad's 78th birthday. He asked for the same thing he asks for every birthday and every Father's Day: for the family to watch a video of his choosing together.  One year, it might be a video about how the earth is only 5,000 years old.  The next year, it might be one about how the complexity of the human eyeball proves uneq...

There's this story in the Bible where Elijah is the one, lone prophet of God who hasn't been executed... he's managed to escape this wicked king and queen who want to eradicate the old theology and make way for new gods. Elijah is like constantly on the lam and in hiding and like, "WHY AM I HERE!?!" But he has these moments of brilliance, when all his dilly-dallying and depression fall away and it's like he's imbued with power. One such moment is a showdown between the prophets of God (read: only Elijah. that's it) and the prophets of the false gods (estimated at 450 for Baal and 400 for Asherah). Picture such a thing! Lone Elijah facing down this horde of powerful prophets, with the king and all the people of the country on their side! But Elijah wins. The prophets of Baal and Asherah try to incite the power of their gods for hours, to absolutely no avail. Then Elijah's turn comes. He asks the God of the Israelites to prove to them that he exists,...

This morning I woke up at 4 am, unable to return to sleep on the first day of school. Too many nerves. So instead, I thought about dharma,  or our calling and purpose in life. Most teachers are women, I suppose because we're seen as more nurturing. I think you can be nurturing and still be a feminist. So here are my thoughts, courtesy of insomnia... Ask me what I mean when I tell you I'm a feminist. "Bra-burning excuse-making man-hating harpy!" That's too easy. That's a trope. I mean I broke free from the ideas forced in youth: That a woman's purpose is to love and support a man. Cannot bear his own children (so you must) Cannot be his own "helpmate" (so you must) God created man to rule and to provide. A woman's place is by his side -- Complementing. Complimenting. Only -- Years passed. No one's life was less without me in it. I had failed my Woman's role. But was it me? Or could it be the job itself? I did not ask for consignment to...

School starts on Monday. I didn't make any super-tight friends in my 9 months at the high school, but there have been a couple of good people who texted me, checking to see how I'm doing as I head into my 16th year of middle school. One promised she was moving to Florida at the end of this academic year, so I could have her position when she vacates. In response, I sent her this meme: You could not pay me enough money to move to Florida. I mean it. If someone offered me six figures and the chance to teach at an inner-city school, I still wouldn't do it. So, here I sit, ready to start teaching 7th and 8th grade in the Midwest again. At least the other teachers seem nice. I take back everything I said about the department head's beard; he is a lovely human being. As is usual with me, everyone I immediately dislike, I end up adoring, and everyone I have an instant affinity for, I end up loathing. It really doesn't do a lot toward encouraging me to trust my instincts. A...