I did not know how much therapy I was going to need from Ben & Jerry’s….
If that’s my therapy I need substantial help for a new food outlet. At least I’ve switched to sorbet and wine!

When I write, it’s mostly stream of consciousness, but at other times it is so I don’t forget this skill.  I know I’m not a great writer or even a good writer, but I enjoy the therapeutic tapping of keys and how with every tap a letter that eventually leads to a word and then soon my original thought can appear before my eyes much quicker than my pen and paper can.  I like that my fingers keep up much quicker with my thoughts than does a pen.

Another thing about writing on my laptop is that I can lay down.  That’s somewhat a more limited skill when writing with my pen so it lacks the excitement.  In college, I would write in halls or courtyards while sunbathing in the grass.  It was perfect.  Even now, I find that I have found my perfect writing home, in my bed so that I can see my sky light and the blue sky or night stars.  Tonight, it is neither, though.  Instead, I have been given an intricate lacework ceiling of snow allowing my eyes to only see white.  It’s so beautiful yet very deceptive; I’m unable to determine the amount of snowfall since I lie beneath the snow from this window.  I can’t help but stare up and wonder how much snow has fallen.  Oh, how I love my skylight!

Sidenote:  I really was hoping the snow passed over Nashville, because I’m in desperate need of money.  I would have preferred to sub today since I’m heading to Las Vegas in less than 48 hours with not enough money to survive a usual week in Nashville.  How am I to do Vegas?  Sugar Daddy search will just have to be my only option.  It’ll work out, I hope.

Okay, back to snow watching.  I know you’re jealous of my skylight.

“Complaining only makes the girl more tired,” I heard my grandma say one time about me.  I was an infamous complainer in my family.  I was hurt, and I knew that complaining wasn’t nice.  My mother told me I would have been the richest in our family had I received a nickel for every complaint out of my mouth.  So, hurt and actually napping a room away, I vowed to stop.  I didn’t like people not liking me for an action that can change.

Now grown up as a 23 year old can be and with a million complaints that could possibly be voiced, I’ve learned to make them positive.  For instance, I’m not too fond of the fact that I live with my parents BUT I consider it an opportunity to learn more about them and to earn money.  My father thanks me every day for being home.  He loves having me here.  One more and last example, I work off of the ailments of a teacher.  When they aren’t sick or just want to stay in school, I don’t work.  I need money, I can complain about this day and night (which I have, actually but I try to resist).  What do I do then?  I find productivity with the life around me.  I clean, I exercise, I write, I travel by foot to search for something I’ve never seen before.  In the end, it helps to keep me a happier and less pessimistic person.  And, I’m less fatigued from being positive rather than a pessimist.

Thanks, Grandma, for calling me out a room away.  I know you meant for me to hear.

Until I was in the 8th grade, I had a fairly large space in my two front teeth.  I thought it was okay as such a young kid, but needless to say once I reached the first awkward years of puberty, I was a self-conscious, glasses-wearing nerd who knew her teeth did not help with the looks.  I wasn’t adorable, I wasn’t average.  In fact, I was unique and I knew it.

I got braces in 8th grade.  I look back now and cringe at how much more awkward that made me.  Yet, I also look back and bittersweetly say goodbye to that space.  The space which let me stick pretzels in between my teeth, or my favorite, spit water across the room while smiling.  As an adult I can appreciate what cuteness came from the space.  I’m glad I no longer have it (although the water trick was pretty cool), but I’m glad I got to be awkward with a unique look.  I like to believe it made me stronger, sorta.  At least it made me realize I need to floss every day.

I don’t know what I was expecting when I decided to be a substitute, but I know it wasn’t this. For any teacher who teaches at any inner city school, may God bless you because you have or at least or honing the skill of compassion and patience. I have the compassion to give but just this year. No more for me once I’m done in May. That will be a fact, too. Good night world. Teaching tomorrow. Again.

As of May 8th, 2010, I am a graduate of Middle Tennessee State University.  The next big event to happen will be Argentina, but I have a bit before I leave.  But, with the recent developments in my work area, which was Blue Rooster, I need a new job.  I can’t wait much longer either, and I’m now going on about 2 months without a job.  Yeah, I can’t wait any longer, because technically for about a month it was from school, but now I have no excuse to start applying and putting out my resume.

Then, why the hell am I so scared to do it?  Gah, I’m scared!!!!

So, it’s 5:46 pm, and after my Impressionism class today watched a bootleg of a - well, I guess documentary - named Becoming Van Gogh my teacher gives three important lessons that are worthwhile to learn from this tape.  I dont receall the other two as clearly, but the first will stay with me for awhile.  She called the writer of the essay read a slut of a historian.  After class we also decided Whitney Davis fits into this category as well, and if you’ve ever read his essay on why Johann Winckelmann is gay you would understand why he suits this category.  Oh, I love today.

Also, today is my dad’s birthday.  We are eating barbecue from Whitts and Barbecutie or however it’s spelled to help Rich and Katy with wedding decisions for the rehearsal dinner.  I say Jim’n’Nicks but that’s just me.

Have an awesome evening!!!