Hopes.

It is days like this that I am exceedingly glad that I am a school teacher (ugh, which does not sound sexy). Okay, momentary digression. Schoolteacher = school marm. Which invokes images like this one:However, I keep wondering if that's the idea that people have about teachers. Teachers started out as women who were simply trying to find a job until they could find a husband. They were young and prudish or old and spinster-ish. Even my grad school was 80% female. So, I keep thinking about how people think of teachers. I wonder if that's what they think. That I'm destined to become a woman like above and not going to do this as a career while still being a woman, a woman whose attractive and in love. I'd love to do a research paper on the history of teaching--I can add that to the list of things that I should do with my days off when I'm not teaching.

Instead, I come back to what I have actually been doing--a lot of watching 30 Rock (which, by the way, must be the wittiest and smartest show on television currently) and reading books. So far, I've finished the book Kafka on the Shore which has to be the most intellectual book I've read in quite some time. It's very different than the Wind-Up Bird Chronicle but so sexual, raw and also thrilling. I kept wondering how things were going to connect together. C has recommended I read the book The Meaning of Night: A Confession so I went to the bookstore the other day with ANR to pick it up.

I've been spending a lot of time with her lately; I realize how important her friendship has become to me. Not simply because we buy the same clothes and understand each other's fantasies and fears. But, mainly because she is there, she sticks through and by me. And she thinks my new iPhone is hot and not silly and superfluous. (It is both hot and superfluous. I get it, I'm NOT a lawyer, I don't need to be reached at any point. But, it makes me feel special.)

I've watched The Simpson's Movie again and loved spiderpig even more. And I've been looking at all the work I have to do and have not yet done any of it. I've also greatly been missing that guy. I received some money to travel and he said he could take some time off of work and hopefully we could go somewhere together in February. I like that security. I like that feeling. Mostly, I like his face.

I also found the gift-giving this year more guilt-filled than usual. I felt like I didn't deserve most of it--and between the earrings (I talk about them too much but cut me some slack, this is the first real relationship I've ever been in...) and the iPhone (totally, once again, unnecessary, but now I can look up inane information whenever I need it!) and the sweet doll from ANR (yup, 24 years old and still excited by a three-foot tall replica of Draco Malfoy, you want to fight about it?) I felt like I didn't deserve the things that I got. Either way, I hoped that the people with whom I am close enjoyed their gifts.

Mostly, I am excited for the New Year. NYE does not fill me with glee, but the idea of where I might be in 2008--that's the wonder. I was hoping 2007 was the year of stability, but I think it was leading up to 2008, the real time of feeling like someone's arm was around me, and that people were about to support me. Either way, I'm hoping it works out.

gifting.

The people at my school are generous. EXCEEDINGLY generous. I remember giving gifts to teachers when I was a child, but nothing to this extent. I got, amongst others:

• a massive gift certificate to both Williams-Sonoma (I'm going to buy a coffee pot when I move--right now, we've got one, but I want a fancy one. And this certificate is big enough to get me one and THEN some)
  
• a very generous visa check card
• Sephora gift certificate
• Starbucks gift certificates
• iTunes gift card
• totebags and other hand made gifts (adorable...but, it adds to this penguin thing I've got going on)
  
• penguin candies
  
• a gift certificate to design my own bag at timbuk2
• barney's gift certificate
• gorgeous scarf from a Chicago botique

There were others too...I just cant get over the generousity of this school!

Now, we're on break until January, and believe me, I am more than excited about that. I need a break.

Almost the New Year

Lately, I have been listening to the following artist on repeat: Beth Hart. Her song "Mama" is amazing. Needless to say, there's been no shortness of amazing things lately--both amazing and amazingly horrible.

One of my fantastic 8th graders wrote this completely chilling short story. He got the concept of suspense, and really knocked out a good piece. I am so excited to return it to him because he is an excellent writer. But, the rest of them all got not so great grades, which I have to attribute to either my too-harsh rubric, or something else. Maybe poor teaching. But, let's not jinx ourselves.

This weekend was Family Christmas, the first Christmas where my cousin brought a girl. The first Christmas in a few years that I've brought a boy (he-who-shall-no-longer-be-named bailed several times in the years we dated). It was filled with relaxation, presents and the moment when he looked over at me and said, "Just cuddle right here with me." Sometimes, things are right.

On Friday night, I celebrated Shabbat with my little lovelies. They are so small, and so needy, but they were so cute. I think I laughed harder at this stick-in-the-bottle game than I have at anything in months. It's like pin the tail on the donkey but...well, just say butts. It's too funny. And I felt close to them, even though it's getting more and more difficult to teach in a community in which I feel by nature excluded. But, I love them so. Who thought that would be possible?

Then there's the stealing incidents, and a million other things with which to deal on the days before break. But, in some ways, I feel good, simply knowing that I think I can't make too many wrong decisions.

Penguins?

Of course, we all return in the end. And what better way to do it than with a trip to the Oriental Institute, an impending over-night trip with 46 eleven-year olds, a fire across the street from my school completely blockading traffic and a plethora of penguin paraphanelia (try saying that one five times fast)?

Things are moving quickly and soon it will be the end of my first calendar year of teaching. I cannot wait for the winter interlude; I'm exhausted. I know that much harder jobs exist in the world, but this one is quite tiring. We went to the Oriental Institute in my old stomping grounds on Wednesday, and I must say it did make me miss my old job quite a lot. I felt comfortable at the museum, like I knew what I was doing. The words just seemed to come out correctly, there. I'm swimming in papers all over my bed right now of 8th grade historical fiction/perspective taking assignments. They're doing wonderfully; I just know I need to sleep in order to get ready for the impending overnighter tomorrow in Wisconsin. The 5th graders will celebrate shabbat together, and I'll be there for it. I'm leaving early for a family event, but I'll be there to watch them, and listen to my nuggets read in Hebrew and laugh loudly.

Recently, it was Hanukkah (I finally know how to spell it!) and I received just about every penguin that I think Starbucks, Target or any other major retailer has produced this year. I love them and I love the fact that the kiddos want to draw, sketch, create and purchase them for me. That's a few of them. There's a few more absolutely HUGE ones; but, I can't put them on my desk. I embrace it; it's really cute that they paint them for me, or pick them up in random places. I think the trend will die down in the spring, but I adore them nonetheless. Some days, I think I'm doing it all wrong. But, other days, I think I'm good at this.

I'll have more to report once the Shabbaton is over, and once break begins. For now, it's a rush. It's a struggle to get up at 6 in the morning when it's dark and my apartment is cold. But, they're hilarious. And smart. And brilliant. And inflexible. And silly. And they make my day.

What is the What.

This has not been a good week in terms of teaching, in terms of my life. I have felt ineffective, I have been inefficient and in the end, I have felt like I could not wait for it to be Friday. It's CA's birthday this weekend and I don't even know if he's going to want to go anywhere. He's been busy at work too.

A year ago today, I met him. I was just beginning my master's program and I felt like I had the entire world in front of me. I remember my afternoons at Starbucks, writing papers and getting things done. I remember feeling like the world was actually mine. This afternoon, I went to get pie with M.L. and kept thinking that the world felt like it was nothing but heels, and turtlenecks and trying to get people to sit still while I talked about the move from hunter-gatherers to farming.

First Full Week

This week has overall been pretty intense. Monday, I went grocery shopping with S and then failed to do anything productive, at all, that entire evening. I laid on the couch, watched Season 3 of The Office and thought about grading papers [and believe me, they're piling up: an essay outline, study guide, extra credit and vocab for the 8th graders, and god only knows what--artifact projects and more for the 5th graders].

On Tuesday, I contemplated doing something more productive. Instead, my dad and I went to dinner at Innjoy and talked about how I'd asked for money for this Australia conference that I want to go to in January. God only knows if the school will give money to me--and if they'd even allow me to go to Israel following that [they fund trips to Israel for teachers so that we can learn about culture in a Jewish Day school environment]. But, we had some food, talked and then I went home and, as usual, didn't grade.

Wednesday, I had a good day at work but was frustrated because some of the teaching staff enjoys staying here extremely late. I don't know if it's a sign of dedication or inefficiency. Granted, the "team leader" has much more to do in any given day than I do, but, I still feel a little bit like other people judge me for not being here late at night. It's not my responsibility to do so. I love my job--I find some reason every day to leave smiling--but, I don't get paid to be here until 10 at night every night. It's fine, but I just don't. So on Wednesday, I busted out of here with ML [the 5th grade intern] and MD [my carpooler and fellow new teacher] and we went out to dinner and picked up MD's new tv. We had a great time sharing a couple of bottles of wine and simply relaxing together. It was great.

Thursday, I met with an old friend from the Sorority and did (a little bit of) grading. But, it was a loooong day. Today, however, is stressful because it's the big Shabbat lunch [I get very nervous because I don't know the blessings or anything like that and have to lead a table of little kiddies] and so much to pack in before we finish up the day. But, I am wearing new wool pants because it's cold as all heck outside. Today, I'll end up picking my dad up at work and hanging out with my parents tonight. [And watching the new "Office" episode because I missed it being out to dinner last night]. And of course, this weekend, I'm getting my hair dyed and hanging out with ANR. It's good to be busy; I've almost not missed CA to the point of explosion. Notice I say almost though.

It's been a good week though. The 5th graders were really excited about reading Chapter 6 of the book we're reading, In The Year of the Boar and Jackie Robinson, because they're getting to talk about baseball together and there's a hilarious part where the Chinese immigrant [about whom the book is written] recites the pledge of allegiance. She recites it as "I pledge a lesson to the frog of the United States of America. And to the wee puppet for witches' hands, One Asian, in the vestibule, with just tea and sweet rice for all." The kids loved it and then we broke down the real pledge and talked about what it means and why, if Shirley understood the real meaning of the pledge, it would help her understand why she had to come to America. It was great. But today, it's Friday and I feel like we're not going to get anything done.

Family

Sometimes we all feel like the easiest and most sensible thing in the world would be to abandon our families. It's easier to sell them out, to talk poorly of them, to block them, to ignore them, because we know, in the end, they are our family, and they will come, crawling or running or slinking back because they are attached to us through dna and blood and perhaps the same nose. It's easy to hate them, because usually, they give us so much to hate. It's easy to be annoyed because we spend so much time listening to them rattle their keys or breathe too loudly. It's easy to be crushed by them because they know us, and our ways and our weaknesses.

But the thing is, they're family. There's always time to forgive, to move on, to move forward with them. There's always time to kiss and make up, to blow up and bandage or to revolt and relent. With family, there is always another moment. That is the worst and the best thing about family. We hate them because they know us too well, even when we feel like they don't understand us at all.

How many times have we, as a collective generation, screamed, "You just can't understand?" It took me longer than most to reach that point; I still find myself yelling it to my mother when she refuses to acknowledge the progression of my romantic relationship or the reason I actually can wear jeans to work. She over-shares about what it is like to be pregnant but refuses to tell me the story of how she met my father. She is awkwardly private and publicly hurtful. But in the end, whether she understands my day-to-day, she does understand in a way that no one else can because she was there in the beginning. She was there for the teen-angst. She was simply there.

My father, too, has been the victim of "not understanding." But he, too, understands because of morning breakfasts and steamy Saturdays eating McDonalds in the car while the windows fogged. Whether or not he doesn't understand why I sit in his car, breathing heavily, on the verge of a panic attack, doesn't mean he doesn't understand the root of my tiny Polish nose or the historic reason why I write poems.

Sometimes, I want to shrug them off, pretend like I could go somewhere else for the holidays and not have to deal with the fights or the bi-polar attitude. Sometimes, I wish all these things. But, other times, like last night when we were all eating pasta together and talking, I wish nothing more than continue making choices to be int hat place. We never know what to say to them, because there is a generational difference and sometimes they just can't understand. But the intimacy and the tie of the same fingertips or the same toes or the same way we brush our hair--that can never be replaced.

Like a Butterfly

i.
I would try to write only the things
that are changing in this season of movements
and winds. I would try to write
how it is always gray in my room, no matter
if the sun shines elsewhere. In this not-dawn,
I slip to the bottom edge of the bed, trying not to creek
out onto the floor because you are curled, hunchback
in this matchbox of a room. Luckily,
you do not complain and I leave you behind
to start my day. This is strange for me
because I did not imagine myself a butterfly.

ii.
My father grows older and wider,
and I simply grow. I cannot explain
how strange it is to watch him grow winded.
I thought growing meant positive differences
but he grows cancerous and closer
to the grave. It is not depressing, just factual
and I do not know why people look at me
with melancholy eyes when I remark as such.

iii.
It used to be strange to watch people fucking
on television or the movies. Mostly, I felt awkward
because wouldn't everyone rather be reading?
Now, I feel empowered to watch a woman
curl shrimp-like next to a man, knowing what
will come next. He hovers over her like a net,
waiting to catch all of her.

One Week Down

Officially, the nuggets have been "mine" for five class days. They're cute and smart. But they're also needy and clingy and curious and overwhelming at times. I panicked a bit on Tuesday and Wednesday, fell asleep at 8 pm on Wednesday and calmed down on Thursday. Spent Thursday night with SR and her boyfriend. I realized I talked too much about work, about E [all names are not being used, in the event that at SOME point some child stumbles across this. I, apparently, think too highly of myself] and her note, or needy parents.

Then I spent the weekend with SAI in Michigan, watching football, walking and enjoying the very beginnings of fall, just she and I. Her apartment has soft light and open country windows. She overlooks pine trees. Although there is something mythical about those broad shoulders and those huge steel beams, the lights and the traffic and the loud when I walk out of CA's apartment or the people, always the people and the sticky leaves and barking dogs and constant shouting around my apartment, there was something strangely soothing about being able to hear nothing but the natural inhale and exhale of crickets or other animals [we know I'm not up on Nature, with a capital N.] Although I drove back on Sunday, I'm still confused if I actually had a weekend because at 530 this morning, I was up and at it again.

There was something strange about pulling into a parking space this evening, after spending the day saying, "D, that doesn't go in our mouth," or "A, I need to see your eyes on me." Or, in the eighth grade, going over, and over, and over how we pass the ball for doing discussion circles. There was something strange about being the one in control, about knowing how to use the copy machine. About being the one who people watch. I was introduced at a board meeting tonight as "the Harvard graduate." Apparently, the head of middle school makes it a policy to only hire top-20 school teachers. All of the hires in the past 3-5 years are from UMichigan, Yale, Columbia, U of C, Northwestern, Harvard etc.

But there's something wonderful about shaking peoples' hands and saying, "Yes, I'm Ms. R," or knowing that I am responsible for someone's learning. I feel like I could do good things. Tomorrow morning, I have my nuggets from 8 am until 1150. It's straight. And I'm sure it will be exhausting. We're reading the Golden Compass together, so I'm going to have them do a drawing activity, because they keep asking me what Lyra looks like. We've not gotten a description of her yet, and I want them to imagine. They've been amazing at imagining.

I spent a lot of time reminding people of how we need to act; it feels so hypocritical in a way, because I, too, am not perfect. I have a to-do list a mile long and god only knows when any of it is going to get done. Instead of doing the responsible thing, I am flittering away to Las Vegas this weekend. It feels wrong, almost, to run away. I know there's so many of these kids who need so much.

I needed so much at one point too. We all did, and we all do. Tomorrow, CA arrives back from Spain. It feels like so long since I've seen him, I practically cannot believe that I, soon, will get to spend solid time with him, taking pictures and feeling a part of something. The strange thing is so many places and with so many people I know I am a part of something right now. I'm still working on it, and still explaining and still feeling like they're trying to hold me accountable for more than I can handle.

But, in a way, it's time to step up. I have a car; I commute to work. I wear dress pants and have a huge pile of clothes that need to go to the cleaners. It's how it rolls. We're adults now, or something close to it. So, I guess that means I need to keep rolling with it. I spent the afternoons riding home with MD, discussing how few hours there are until we're back there again. But, like he said to me, "I keep wondering 'What's next?' And I guess this is what's next. It makes sense to be here." Which, when I'm looking across my desk at my co-teacher, LM, or realizing that I do, infact, talk too much about my nuggets, it makes sense. I should be here.

Gin Poem

If I could, I would buy you all the gin
in the world. It lets you know
that I think about you when doing things

like pushing a squeaky cart through
the grocery isle. Through the stickiness
of the floors, I watch the symmetrical patterns
roll past and think of the way

your eyes line up perfectly, even though
I read in Time magazine that
we are slightly asymmetrical. You try
not to be, though, and so for the entire day

I try to make things even. I buy you gin
and diet coke, so you have things to drink
when you curl up into a small corner
of my threadbare couch, waiting for me to come
and make the other end balanced.

You called me your seesaw, and I watch you blink
over and over through those long lashes
and perfectly alligned eyes. I didn't listen
because I was watching, and you moved
to grab a bottle of water, because it, and red bull,
were the only things I had

at the time. I move quickly, and need things
to keep up with me. But you pull my hips
into you and whisper quietly, wetly, in my ear
so I have to slow down, and match your rising and falling chest
in order to listen. You grow your hair long,
measuring against your collarbone. I keep mine short,
because I can put on a suit and shower
in ten minutes. On my first day of work,
you move my tie three centimeters. They might notice

you say. But you are the only one
who takes the time to look.

Nuggets Tomorrow

Um. Not good without communication. Who would have thought it was possible to miss? I am thinking the next few lines of the first poem I've written in like 3 weeks is going to begin:

The cold came easily that winter.
It was easy to be susceptible
because we had not become yet
what we were meant to become.

I'm not sure what to do with it. But, I like it.

Children come tomorrow. I was at school for a couple of hours this morning, laying down the cute rug I got at Target yesterday with AR. I also, FINALLY, purchased a real swimsuit for Vegas. It's not quite so bad, but it's in the pink and gingham pattern. However, I'm actually comfortable in it, which is what's really important.

Although I'm nervous for my students, I got this email from my mom this morning:
Just wanted to wish you GOOD LUCK tomorrow. I know you will do your best and your best always means you will come out a winner. Enjoy your day with your nuggets and let me know how it goes.
Love, mom
That plus the encouraging text messages from my dad always help. It's going to be fine, really. I've reached the point of simple acceptance of what it's going to be like--if it's bad, then it's bad and there's not a whole heck of a lot I can do about it. If it's good, then fantastic. I'm just going to do what I need to do.

MD and I were completely paranoid today in the car, thinking about how early we're going to have to get up tomorrow. So, after working, I went to brunch with KF, and enjoyed myself ... reminding myself that life is what it is and if it goes well, then awesome. If it goes badly, then... we'll see what we can do about it. But, it's going to go well. I'm promising myself.

Home?

Last week, I went to my classroom and put the desks in a U-shape. Other than that, everything was barren and I spent last weekend Murder-Mystering and not worrying. But, it was barren.

This week, I worked from home, translating Romulus and Remus and trying to figure out what my 5th graders were going to think of me.

Thursday morning, I pulled into the parking lot and sat there, almost crying behind my sunglasses for ten minutes. I hoped no one pulled up next to me because I looked like an idiot. I was talking to myself, muttering, "I can't do this." Suddenly, someone knocked on the window. It was E, the math teacher who had interviewed me and taken me on my tour of the school. Without mentioning my rocking back and forth or the emo-ish music on my ipod he called through the glass, "You're gonna be late; let's go!" He didn't give me the opportunity to speak and as we walked into the lunchroom and I looked at the other new teachers, I felt better.

They feed us, every day. I was too nervous so I had coffee and made awkward eye contact with a few people. I knew one woman, but she was speaking Hebrew with another woman. Finally, another young-ish looking man made eyes with me and we started talking. His name is M.D. and he, like I am, is new to teaching. New to filling out insurance forms. New to retirement plans and spending plans and how much the government is going to take out every year.

I met my fellow teacher; L.M. who will share my room. She is artistic too and between the two of us, we're going to do some great things. We have started even with kid-made curtains from a few students who stopped in this week. I found myself easily slipping into the role I knew a few years ago. Last year, really. I found myself greeting parents warmly. And not completely shuddering when children reached out to touch me. "They're going to hug you," I.Z., my principal, said.

L.M. and I have our desks side by side and slowly but surely are receiving supplies. We're new, working together, and we have a great attitude with each other. Whilst moving the computer today, we dropped the printer. Instead of pointing fingers, we frantically put it back together and hoped it would turn on. It did. We made borders, learned how to use the lamination machine and used die-cuts. Suddenly, these things are at my disposal.

In 8th grade, I am teaching some of my favorite books, including Catcher in the Rye. I met with teachers about it; I preped more things for 5th grade and sat through meetings. Thursday night, I gave M.D. a ride home and we talked about missing college/Greek life and our friends. He went to UMichigan and I talked about how much I loved Ann Arbor. I made a tacit friend.

This morning, I was more energized upon waking. I didn't mind the storms from the night before; instead I felt ready for my day. I sat next to M.D. and L.M. through the sessions and learned about my retirement benefits and how my 401(K) works. I have a savings plan now, apparently. M.D. doesn't really have a classroom so he hangs out in mine, ordering posters and checking the computer because I get internet on my laptop. I laugh with him and L.M. and next week, we're all riding in together. I feel like I am building a community.

Instead of laughing that I don't know Kosher symbols, people are eager to help me. L.M. said she'd work with me on explaining all the holidays I get off and what everything means. I am thinking of learning Hebrew. There is another new Ashley, teaching Senior Kindergarten and she doesn't know anything about Kosher and Shabbat and everything else that had terrified me. But, instead, I'm learning and making friends. On Monday, I will have someone to sit with; things are good. M.D. comes to see me, L.M. checks up. And the veteran teachers are there when I need them.

It costs $16,000 to send little kids to my school. This is not even for the older kids; we're talking tiny tiny babies. The parents are demanding. This is why I could order like $200 in art posters and no one complained. This is why they order new things when old things are broken. I am going to get spoiled.

What I feared happening is happening; I am beginning to call it home. I have keys there, and smile when thinking about my room, smelling like cleaning solution and dry-erase markers. I am smiling thinking what it will be like when the borders are up and my art of Egypt mingles with Hebrew letters. And me, I'm getting easily sucked into the environment and their notions of community. The Temple is beautiful. The stained glass...I want to take pictures of it. The statues are moving and the artwork speaks. I've never felt so different but so welcomed. I'm learning, slowly, and finding that it's going to be alright this year. We had to write our "Hopes and Dreams" for the year (of course it sounds hokey) but, I kept thinking, I hoped not to fall in love with this place. I want to teach high school. But, it might happen. I just might not be nervous about germs when children hug me. I just might love their innocence when exploring To Kill a Mockingbird. I just might...love this place.

Three Bits O' News

• In-service begins tomorrow. I'm terrified and excited. I think once they tell me all the stuff that new teachers are going to need to know, I'll feel much, much better about the whole process. Like, which bathrooms are for teachers and which are for students. It's almost like a birthday, really. Four months ago, I was using the student bathrooms. Nothing's changed about me, I simply have a new title. And now, I get to use a different bathroom.
  

• Had dinner with LSB and EPS on Monday night. We went to Rosebud's which was, of course, amazing. I absolutely love going there; this time I even tried something new--the shrimp and shells. Delicious! But, more importantly, LSB says that she is going to get Erin and I a tv from Benet. Which is le awesome. Now we won't be watching on our 11 incher anymore. Actual movies and perhaps, actual reception for the 4 channels that we do get.
  

• Oh, and most importantly, I'm going to Vegas!!! CA and I got tickets yesterday so yesssssssssssss. We're definitely staying at the Luxor, and we're definitely going to have an excellent time. And I definitely think he's fantastic. September 13th, we're off and running. Where do I get shirts without sleeves? EEEEW.
  

Keeping Busy

This weekend, while it should have included more reunions than it actually did, has involved a lot of catching up with people. On Friday, I went to Hyde Park, dressed like a lipstick lesbian whore gallery owner for Dave's Murder Mystery party. It had been a long time since I'd seen the whole dorm crew, and I, although skeptical initially, was exceedingly glad that I'd gone. Dave even made a huge website for the whole thing. A murder took place at my gallery, "Xenophon," and Dave, the gallery's newest exhibitor, was killed. There were plotlines involving peanut butter, female impregnation and crazy flying cab drivers. SR wore a labcoat whilst her boyfriend, PW, wore nothing but boxers and a graduation robe [he was clearly supposed to be a mad dictator]. I was the one who impregnated someone, but with someone else's seed. An art critic killed Dave but on someone else's orders because Dave's lover was also her lover. And, S was secretly sabotaging the government, but crazy cab driver believed it was she, herself, that was the sabateur. Twisted, and decidedly fun.

I don't think I did enough of that general silliness in college; I think it was one of the most valid things about Boston for me. I reclaimed my silliness. I could owe this to my break with he-who-shall-no-longer-be-named or because CA is a fun-loving individual. I could owe it to removing some of my neuroses from my system or simply becoming who I was supposed to be, in a way, again. Either way, it was completely goofy. I had been skeptical about going; I hadn't seen some of the dorm gang [MP, AS, and others] for quite some time and was not sure what kind of a reception I'd receive. But, we had a great time. I even met people who had lived in the dorm once I had moved out. So, all in all, it was a really relieving, fun evening. Friend groups have shifted, over the years, and being back in Chicago, although wonderful, also means that I need to re-establish friendships. Because, I cannot and will not drive out to the suburbs on whichever weekends CA can't do something. It's a relief that SR lives so close and that I live with EPS. Overall, I think it's simply going to be just fine. This Friday was the start of the re-establishment.

On Saturday, after going to Sunrise Cafe with SR and PW for a salad, I was supposed to go to my five-year reunion. I was skeptical about it, too, because AR wasn't going, and EPS wasn't sure if she wanted to go. I then got a call from my friend JohnnyR, discovering he wasn't going either. Around 5, I called EPS and asked her if we were going. She really didn't want to, and in the end, I didn't either. If people are around, I'll see them. But those who were out of town didn't come in for it [it is, afterall, only five years] and so I decided, who needs a reunion when you live with someone from high school? EPS and I went to Piece with her boyfriend and his roommate; their pizzas were EXCELLENT. We came back here and watched Monty Python. Decidedly better than getting dressed up and explaining to six thousand people that no, I didn't know where he-who-shall... was and no, I didn't care.

Today, aside from cleaning the apartment because my old high school teacher, LSB, is coming over tomorrow, I met Petria for brunch at Orange. The place itself is really unique, with delicious coffee. We ended up being there for about 4 hours, talking about high school, old terrible roommates and our current situations. What it might be like to marry someone someday and everything else. We've promised to get together again soon since she picked up lunch/brunch/all-day.

Still nervous.

[begun on the night of the 14th, finished the morning of the 15th]

Let's face it. Life is nicer with him in it. Decidedly more regular. Decidedly nicer. Let's just be honest about that. I like my bed better with him in it. i like my life better with him in it. Period. End of story.

I had dinner with S tonight at innjoy on division street. They had amazing drink specials and totally cheap burgers (I love eating meat again) and so we stopped there and had a talk and a drink. It was a nice transition back into the city.

I'll be heading to school tomorrow; talking about my 8th graders and getting to see my newly finished classroom. Pretty soon, I'm going to have to go to the dollar store AND the teacher's store and get a bunch of stuff for my classroom. And establish a classroom library; I'm really excited about that piece of it. There's so much to get done. I'm saying to myself, when you wake up tomorrow, there's 14 days until CA gets home. In those 14 days, there is much to be done. I am making up a little to-do checklist with my time and hoping that when I either see him on the night of the 29th or pick him up in the airport, I will be able to say "these things happened and isn't that simply the most exciting! And I've done all this stuff." Ugh. I am so scared of this transition.

But, I am saying it's like when I went to Boston. I kept writing about it, thinking about how nervous I was, blogging all the time about everything and eventually, I just had to get there, have a couple terrible nights and arrive back where I was, comfortable and normal. It just takes a long time, sometimes, to get to that place.

I'll be honest and say there are thing about which I am scared; I don't know how things are going to work once CA begins his hellish work schedule. I don't know how things are going to work once I begin my not-so-hellish work schedule. I don't understand time, and validity and so many other things. I'm still a blurter-outer. I'm still nervous most of the time. I'll be honest and say that I wish it was October and I had worked through all of this. Maybe thinking about it just makes it worse. I don't know.

My classroom is done and I'm sitting in it now, looking at how quiet and dark it is without children and thinking about what it's going to be like once they arrive. As EPS put it, they're not going to love me the first day. They're going to be luke-warm and perhaps I should be honest with them and tell them that I, too, am working on things. We'll see how this goes. We'll see how all of this goes.

mope-a-thon

Perhaps I shouldn't have spent all of last week with him; I wouldn't feel so lonely now. I feel like something's missing. I am attempting, very diligently, not to call, since I know he's in Tampa this weekend with friends. I'm attempting to not be clingy. I'm attempting to pretend that I am not petrified about teaching, and work and everything else that comes with being me.

I have a reoccurring fantasy about driving to Michigan and going to wineries all weekend. Or flying out to New Hampshire to take long drives and look at leaves; all of these fantasies do not involve my being alone, of course. But they do involve running. I had dreams, before I left for Boston, of people trying to steal things of mine. I had fallen in love with this postsecret.The thing is, it all came to fruition. I spent a year without my things, and I did leave and was unable to say goodbye. Five days after CA beings work will mark the last time I ever talked to he-who-must-no-longer-be-named. How things change in a year. The postsecret remarks, in the bottom righthand corner, "Sono spiacente," which is Italian for "I'm sorry." The thing is, I'm not so sorry. I just feel differently now.

I think of this year, of all the things that I could focus on that are wrong. I am unprepared for this job. I spent a quarter of a million dollars on two degrees that are virtually useless. I don't feel entirely at ease with the circle I've chosen. I am scared to be in my apartment alone [but would never tell EPS]. I am secretly jealous that other people can afford bigger apartments, better places. I've never budgeted before, ever--I am worried about all of these things. I have not been sleeping well at night; indeed, I dread it. The last night at CA's, I took one of his Sonata, because I had lain awake for 2 hours tossing. I blamed it on the fact that I'd left my computer in the car, but really, it was something different entirely.

I want to call, already, and claim that I miss him, but it feels clingy. I want to scream across the table at ANR that I am nervous about school and don't think anyone understands how scared I am or how lonely it is when I am in bed alone, knowing that my roommate is with her boyfriend. I simply want to scream; sometimes, in August, I can feel myself going into a place I do not want to go. It's the latent heat and the fact that I'd rather be buying sweaters.

I bought a sweater dress today. It looks like this, except I don't look like that model and I'm wishing I did. I also bought a swimsuit. I like him enough to buy a swimsuit. I haven't worn one of those in years. I bought a sweaterdress ant it's 10,000 degrees outside. I want it to be time for sweaters. I bought him a sweater too.

In honesty, this is the list of things I want to do:

1. Murder Mystery Party: on the 17th, it's going to be real. I am excited to dress up like curator, be a jerk and make S take pictures with me.
   
2. teacher's store: buy some stuff for my students etc.
   
3. find a day when it is not-hot and be able to wear some of my new stuff, including this amazing J. Crew blazer. I own it in brown.
   

Other than that, I want to do very little. September 4th is when the children come. It sounds like an alien invasion. I need to get over myself but it's unlikely to happen. How things change in a year; how things change.

Halflife: Poems

When I read Susan Minot's "Poems 4 Am" I thought, in my almost freshman idealism, heading off to Indiana, that she was the way that I wanted to write. I still read that book, often and more often still that I understand what it means to leave and be left. I still hold "Did you always think we'd go/roaming wild over unlit roads?" as one of my favorite quotations that anyone has ever written.

But, I have read a book that takes Minot's quiet sensualism, her understated sexuality and overblown lack of intimacy and does not ask questions. Megan O'Rourke's book of poems, Halflife, is the first book since Minot that I wish I would have written. Many times it was enforced to me that I should not write with the "I" until I understood what possibly the I could mean. I believed this, hook line and sinker and so wrote poems about Vietnam, about homelessness and about a million other things I didn't know. I think, however, it took me writing a lot of poems about things I didn't know for me to reach the conclusion that there are things and selves that I do, infact, know. So, I am learning to use the I. To not vary my speech pattern in a poem and still capture the reader. I am learning that the tricks [ask a question here, or maybe put some quotations in...] are for beginners.

Reading O'Rourke's book made me think I might be ready, or that I am indeed writing, intermediate poems. There were poems in there begging to be read aloud, and others that I had to close the book and walk away for a moment because everything in the world seemed to be resting on my interaction with those pages. Those are the kinds of poems I want to write. Initially, I loved Minot for her understanding of the self, to embrace her longing, her loneliness and her desire. She knew the self. But O'Rourke knows the self in relation to the world; she too is poignantly aware of what she is missing as a self, but knows that this, in relation to the world is important too.

She only asks one question in the entire 100 pages of poems. "Do ghosts have neuroses?" It is moments like that that make me wish I could get a job simply writing poems. It makes me hate 5th graders and grading tests and having to show up to work every morning. It makes me want to quit my job, go to Spain with CA and write like I did when I was in Argentina. It makes me want to do irrational, terrible things. Or wonderful ones too. This, in and of itself, is the point of poems. If only I could get someone else to long in that same way.

Chic Teacher

Even if I'm petrified the first day of school, I can still be stylin'. I'll be wearing this little number on day one. I guess I can look the part at least.

Possible Regrets.

The days are rapidly approaching for boarder paper and stickers; for crib sheets and heels and only dress pants, please. These days are coming when I have a first and last name and children who reach my waist. I spent the weekend with high-pressure, high-power people, singing "Spider-pig" and building bookshelves. I spent the weekend wondering, for the first time, if I've made a terrible mistake.

There's a certain stigma that comes with being a teacher. There's a little bit of a frown when you tell people you teach fifth graders. EPS had some people over on Friday night and after a long, long evening of hauling boxes and discussing wedding rings with CA's sister, I went home to find five soon-to-be doctors sitting on my back porch talking of empathy and insurance and bad lawyers who sue doctors. I found myself, not for the first time since taking my job, attempting to explain what really goes into being a teacher. I came up short.

I don't know what options there are for me if I don't like teaching. I've been told, more often as of late, that I need to own myself and not wish my age or my job or my profession [which in my opinion, are two different things] away until it is too late. But, let's be honest, I have a feeling when someone says 5th grade teacher, we envision someone with a wooden necklace with apple beads and a sweater vest proudly displaying the 4 seasons. I do not wish to be this person, which is why I so desperately wanted to teach high school. And most of all, I feel un-intellectual. So, what's to be done about this problem?

I could go back to school. And do what?

1. Law School. Several times during my life, this has been a good idea to go to law school. After watching the misery that CA has gone through, I'm not sure how much I want to assume that much debt and go back to school to wear suits and eat Chinese food out of a container at 4 in the morning when I'm writing a brief. Besides, I don't think I have the hootspa for a top tier law school--and I don't even know what Torts really is.
   
2. Getting some kind of cogsci/psych degree. Also a decent option; I am not too good with sciences so we'll see how this would or wouldn't work. Also, since I've been a humanities major, I don't know how willing they'd be to take me to get a psych degree. If I wanted to dispense meds, I would have to go to Med School which would be a disaster in and of itself.
3. Get a PhD. But, in what?
   
   • Higher Education--become a principal, still not feel respected but maybe learn to get over myself, change the school system and feel good for a moment
   • Leaning Sciences--a really cool program at northwestern. But, I would HAVE to stay in Chicago. I do love me the NU though.
     
   • Get an MFA? (Oh god, do I really need one?)
4. Become a HouseWife. This is by far, at this moment, the most attractive option since I could travel, buy cleaning products and work out to my heart's content. But, I think that's just the fear talking.
   

Really, I have no idea what to do with myself; I don't think teaching 5th grade is my life calling, but what do I do? What if I can't get a high school job? What if I'm not a good teacher? At least, though, I will begin amassing my huge collection of apple-shaped paraphanelia that'll come from parents buying me holiday and end-of-year gifts. I guess there's an upside to everything. I'd love to start with this as my first bit of apple-ness, but, on a teacher salary who can afford Marc Jacobs? It's cute though, no? I don't know, and perhaps this sounds terrible, if I even GET holiday presents from the students, seeing as they do not celebrate Christmas. I've only ever gone to Catholic School where they most definitely celebrate Jesus' birthday.

However, on a Catholic Grade School Teacher salary, there'd be no way I could ever afford Marc Jacobs. So, thank goodness that I can now waste slightly more money on stuff I don't need.

Ah budgeting.

Pre-service teacher.

I've been actually staying at my apartment; it's nice to finally be where I am supposed to be. Over the weekend, my parents threw a bit of a graduation celebration for me, and the family got to spend some more time with CA [who even played bacchie ball... surprisingly enough] and I've had him and several other guests to my apartment. KF and EW are coming over tonight to eat at Sultan's Market and drink some wine and talk about life together.

Overall, though, the week's been eventful. On Sunday, I went to CA's new place, downtown near the Wrigley Building and Trump Towers. It's completely swank with a work-out facility and a pool. And a swell view of downtown/Michigan Ave. Such is the choice to write poems/teach kids versus work in business. He's starting to pack up everything now; being in his apartment for 2.5 years has had him accumulate a lot of junk. It reminds me of moving out of Hyde Park--my first apartment, first home and first place I took pride in whenever I asked people to come and look at something. Now, I feel much the same about this place and I'm sure I'll feel it even more so by the time they year's out. It looks fantastic, if I do say so myself. The more I'm around, the more I appreciate this neighborhood over a place like Hyde Park. It's safe here--at least moreso than HP--and when I drive home later in the evening, there is still a ton of movement on North/Damen/Milwaulkee Aves; it makes me feel safer knowing that there are other people up and moving in the world.

On Monday, EW and I had dinner and made a return appearance to Treats for more mixed-up soft serve. Yesterday, CA and I had lunch together. School and having to be professional is going to come as a bit of a shock to me, I think. Every time I look at purchasing a clothing item, I have to think about whether or not it's work appropriate. Not that I have a habit of buying inappropriate clothing, but there's an entirely other level of what can and cannot be done. I have to think about bending and cleavage and what's attractive to a 5th or 8th grader.

I'm more than slightly nervous about school after going to that Responsive Classroom seminar all of last week; I found that the majority of teachers who were there were great people, interested in teaching and bettering their practice. I befriended a Catholic grade school teacher and was relieved to find out that my salary is fantastic compared to what I'd be making teaching in the Catholic school system. However, the vast minority [can that even be said? Let's just say the majority and minority were close] of teachers were not prepared, were not creative and were just plain ignorant. People who say, "Wow, I've never seen that word before" [whilst pointing to the word pedantic] or say to me, "You Jewish? You don' t look Jewish" when I mention in what kind of a school I'll be teaching. It makes me question the education system and understand more why I kept hearing, "So, you really just want to be a teacher?" Still disconcerting though.

Harry and DC and RC oh my...

The past weekend, I headed out to Washington DC to see SAI and BP with KF and WS. We had a wonderful time; I love it when the five of us hang out and everything goes smoothly. Last August, KF, SAI, WS and I had a great time in Michigan...and this is the first time the whole crew has been together since then. It was really fantastic, actually. We went to the Smithsonian, which has a new African Art Museum [with a stunning collection by Walt Disney, go figure?] and the Air and Space Museum and a Nationals game and more. Overall, it was incredibly fun, and I got to spend good, quality time with all my favorite ladies and gents [minus the one taking the bar in a few days].

That's the crew. The crew of smiling, happy, respectable people. People with futures and brains. This week, I am doing this Responsive Classroom deal mentioned earlier. I am enjoying the principles that RC sets forward for teachers to use, but I most definitely am NOT enjoying the questions people ask. Hell, indeed, is other people. And I am wondering to myself why I am so interested in teaching. I had other teachers say to me today, "Wow, with a Harvard masters, you're still just going to be a teacher?" They fulfill their own stereotypes. Luckily, I'm not wasting too much gas on this excursion--my parents were gracious enough to let their daughter who, if they hadn't moved her into her spanking gorgeous apartment, they would think has never left home, stay with them this week. The Cossitt School is only 10 minutes away from their house, and as the sessions start at 830 in the morning, there's no way I would want to be commuting from Wicker Park.

Finally, speaking of things I would never want to do, that's be a lawyer. What CA is going through in these final hours before the bar is so incredibly draining to me I cannot even imagine the process that one goes through to become a lawyer. I cannot wait for this to be over; there is so much I want to say to him. So many places I want this all to go. In 48 hours he'll be done. In 48 hours, I am sure he will either be drunk or sleeping. And I, hopefully, will be somewhere near him. Sigh. I cannot wait for this weekend to come. Dear Christ, it's only Monday night.

But, I finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. To die for. I think it made me appreciate the 6th installment much more...Although OotP is still my favorite, this book really put a lot of things into perspective. But...so many questions. I will have to ask SR very soon. I can still remember my first conversation with her about Harry Potter conspiracies, after I read something on a website; it now, I know, is not the best or most reliable website, but oh, after I revealed to her my little "obsession," she had someone to share her own with and we became a little duo of HP madness. I almost feel like she and I should return to Salonica for a slow rice pudding eating discussion...

Is it Christmas yet?

I realized I am anxious for it to be the holidays. It's about 10,000 degrees outside, and while I am enjoying the last vestages of my freedom, I cannot help but picture how nice it will be to have a Christmas tree in my new apartment [which looks amazing and I will post pictures as soon as I can...]. I started scanning a fellow teacher's blog and reading about the fall season. It made me want to open up my sweater drawer, see oranges and reds and have it be October [which, shockingly enough, is not that far way--only about 2 months...].

I think there's something familial about the holidays, and comforting. There's thinks I think about already--like, will CA come to Thanksgiving with my family this year? What do I get him for Christmas? How does "Christmas" work at a Jewish Day School?--and then I think about making cookies with EPS in my apartment, watching Christmas movies on my couch and how great it will be to be in a relationship during the holidays. I think about "family Christmas" and bringing CA there. I think about the big present exchange with AR.

I should be describing my school; I remember in high school spending time with LSB and her favored APHistory students. We'd come in during the day to do tasks for her, help move things and set up bulletin boards. Here, it still feels strange to be in this place without students; it doesn't feel like mine yet. Maybe once I have keys, it will be different. For now, my classroom is not done and I sit outside HK's every day, because I am too nervous to not be the first to arrive. I'm discovering things, slowly. Like what it means to have a "secure network," where to go to get a giant rug for the classroom and how to get reimbursed for things I'll buy for the class.

The bathrooms up here are marked for teacher or student. I feel a strange kind of control and there's not even children here yet. There's specific areas where I can go and they can't. To think that only months ago, I was in the other position. The frightening thing is that I'm not entirely sure what's changed. I don't feel any older; I still own too many pairs of jeans and not enough dress pants. I'm still not fully paying for myself--not until I get a paycheck. I'm still the youngest one here. Someday, most of these things will change.

I think about the rest of the year and the things that will have changed. I remember, last December, when Guillermo buzzed the door and I ran down to get him, how nothing would ever be like that again. For years, I have been trying to describe those moments--where the light is soft and things feel fuzzy around the edges. Perhaps it is that those moments are easier to get during the holidays. Perhaps it is that I am trying not to think so much about how I really do believe I am in love. Perhaps it is all of these things.

Or maybe it's just that I hate the heat.

Unpacking

I've started the move-in process; for some reason, this process is less fulfilling to me than the move out process. Right now, everything seems messy and frustrated, down to the boxes that can't get thrown out because we can't find the garbage area. My parents are being amazing, hoelping me move and set up utilities and clean. In these recent days, I do not know what I would have done without them. I get a little homesick for them even thinking about it, to be honest. To make things worse, I'm getting scared about teaching in the fall and wishing that I could see CA right now. I understand this is a once in a lifetime two weeks of working and I get that I'm the one who went to Argentina [click to see photos] before this...but either way, when I listen to him be frustrated, I just want to hug him. And be hugged.

But, I figure that by the 28th of July, when my graduation party is, everything will be better. That's in two weeks. From the 20-22, I'll be in DC [I think]. From the 23-27, I'll be doing this. I just am hoping that the entire two weeks will make me feel happy in my apartment and comfortable in teaching. Starting on Monday, I'll be meeting with Hillary and Deanna, my co-5th grade teachers. I'm completely at a loss for 8th grade. It'll come.

I've heard, over and over, that the first year of teaching is the hardest. The first year of anything has to be the hardest. I feel badly, at times, getting hysterical or nervous on front of CA or other people who have done life before. but, it will all unfold like it should.

Movin' Up

EPS and I have signed a lease; we're on North Avenue and I love the apartment. The bedroom space is small, though and so I am worried that my parents are going to judge it. I worry a lot about those kinds of things; stupid, I know, but either way. The neighborhood is "urban," something I've been looking forward to and let's face it, I think I deserve some things in an apartment that I looked forward to since the first time P and I had to deal with a leaky ceiling. It's time to move to the city, which I'll be doing post-Argentina.

The parentals have been waking poetic and sentimental about the move, about my graduation with the EdM and about how I'm leaving them. I wasn't quite so sentimental about it until they started in on me. Started in sounds aggressive, and that's not how I mean it, but there's a conflict inside of me. On one hand, it's humiliating to have to call and say, "I'm not bringing the car home tonight," when I decide to stay with CA. However, it's nice to know that someone cares. Like Margaret Meed said to have someone want to know where you are at night is a very basic human need. Perhaps this is where I am; caught between being responsible in the sense of having CA or someone else need to know where I am and not being able to be mapped at every hour of the day and night.

I've taken to leaving my phone on vibrate, or tonight, leaving it in the car when I've walked in the house. I don't need it on me all the time; I refuse to be that reachable. It feels desperate to check email too much or wish that the world would call me. So, I've stopped trying too hard to care. Many people like SR don't even like cell phones. Hate them in fact. So why, why do I feel the need to be so reachable? I'll stop it.

In the very last Sopranos episode (which was amazing, by the way...), Tony takes his daughter Meadow to dinner. She asks him what the occasion is and he responds, "Well, you're going to get married and then we won't do this anymore." I think parents, including mine, have a sense of finality about things. My mom believes that if I move to the city, she and I will never, ever play cards together again. Or my dad believes our Sunday morning breakfasts will be defunct. So I've been trying to be more participatory with them, and argue less. We go get soft serve, go for long drives and eat dinners on the back porch. I'm trying to be present for the times that I can be present. But, they don't need to see my moving out as some kind of slamming the door.

I said to CA, "I can't understand how someone can be 23 and not want to find a job, find a path, find someone to be serious about and find a way to function in the world." He agreed. So, this is what I am doing, finding a way to function in the world. Looking at cars (ie Jeep Compass or Jeep Patriot or the Minicooper?) and looking at making insurance payments. It shouldn't be such a big deal to create a budget at 23. Or to go to the doctor alone. Or to take clothes to the dry cleaners.

There's also the fear of retreat. I know they'd welcome me back with open arms. But hundreds of millions of people have had to begin to leave before, to make that trek with shit in their car. There's the famous last scene from Six Feet Under where she leaves; I'm not going across the country. Im heading half an hour into the city. I'm scared I won't be able to budget; I'm scared I'll come home every weekend people are busy. It's time, AXR. It's time to stand up and not be scared. I want to talk about things like lives and futures. Then it's time to accept them.

Return

I have found a job; I am talking about apartments with ES in a very concrete way. I laid on the couch with CA and felt happy. Chicago, I am back.

The strange thing is, it wasn't so easy to divorce myself from Boston as I had expected it to be. I miss things, and people, there more than I anticipated. I am sure that this will dwindle in time, and especially once the people left in Boston begin to disperse. EC back to New York and JC back to Seattle. And GM to NYC as well. Last night, I sat at dinner with my parents and thought to myself, "God, I'd love to be drinking wine with Edward right now." I stopped myself because I definitely hadn't anticipated MISSING things.

The stranger thing is, the only time I don't get the missing feeling is when I am doing things that are totally, 100% fulfilling. The reasons I came back to Chicago. I'm going to be teaching 5th and 8th grade next year, and so whenever I think about that, I get thrilled. I'm going to be a teacher. For real. Then, when I am with CA or with ES or AR, I get excited. They are the people-reasons to return. It is going to be good. I am just surprised at the missing. Very surprised.

Job Unsuccess.

The job at Vernon Hills did not come through. I am beginning to grow rampantly worried and cannot be exceedingly honest about it because it might mean this degree, all my degrees, are a complete and total waste of time. That's a rather unsettling feeling. I'll figure something out, I am sure, but for now, in order to save face, I am calling the summer my exploratory summer. I'm going to go to Argentina for Guillermo's wedding, I'm going to go to Canada for that conference, and I'm going to do other fun things. Maybe do some roadtrips with C.A. Maybe go to New York to hang out. Maybe, maybe...

Something else will come through. I just don't like the idea of moving back to Chicago and not knowing what I'm doing. It's a very, ver unsafe feeling. If I do figure it out though I think things might start falling into place.

Ritualizing.

Amber and I sat on her porch, having a talk, her having a smoke and me having some pretzels. It almost felt like being back in Hyde Park, nestled with Suzanne in my dilapidated lawn chairs, listening to songs on my computer and watching her drink Mexican beer. It felt for a brief moment like I did not have to get back onto a plane today, go write some more papers today, and pump through the rest of something that I am having semi-sincere doubts has given me what I expected it to, through mostly no fault of my own. It felt right.

I wish I could explain how quiet it is in the suburbs; it started to rain softly when we sat outside. There is something comforting about bringing inside things outside and protecting them, like an afgan or a pillow. So we sat there, having a very personal conversation in what seemed like our carved our corner of the world. Even though I can email Poland in an instant, the world is still large; oceans are still deep. So, whenever there is a corner of the world that we fit into, that it seems was grooved for our bodies, it is important to note. Even when the rain began to slant and we had to go inside, it was a forced retreat. We did not want to give to the night.

Perhaps I over-exaggerate but sometimes the moments of infinity are all too short (mind-bender, I know...give it a second...)

I think this is the prevailing sentiment; things feel right when I am doing them. Things feel normal when I am in Chicago. Granted, I've had my share of ups and down, but since about mid-November, I've been able to construct what I am going to need to happen in order to be content (by and large) in this city. It's like drafting an experiment and then having to wait months and months to discover if it was the right idea.

Every time I am driving somewhere, especially lately with the roof open and the music up-beat, I realize that I feel different here. Maybe the air is different, or maybe it's simply psychosomatic. But either way, I have to keep believing that things are more realistic for me here. I like my body in this place; I don't think I could ahve realized it, perhaps, if I hadn't gone away first. I took this city, its diners, its people and its giant buildings for granted. I had easy access: the lake, the shore, the museums and the dinners and lunches--all mine.

I have developed a ritual with Stephanie, to go to Cupcakes. When I am back in Chicago permanently, we might have to regulate this ritual, otherwise, we're both going to end up big as houses. But, this is the kind of thing I have carved out for myself here. I know it doesn't seem like a big deal to get in a car and drive to a store that produces the likes of "Peach Bellini" or "Chocolate Merlot" cupcakes and drive home. But, it is this act of ritualizing that I am familiar with in Chicago.

Rituals have been a part of peoples' lives since we were drawing on cave walls. Rituals make us safe and keep us whole. They make us feel as though we are part of something larger, as though we fit in something. With Boston, I feel like I am a broken cog in some way. But when I am driving down LSD, I somehow have convinced myself I am contributing to the world in some way. My wheels are like prayers and my tapping fingers are repeating, repeating to make it real.

Post the First

I know, unfair to begin posting in my brand-spanking-new Chicago blog, when I am still in Boston for twenty-seven more days. However, I'm already starting to build the life here, so I figured I should begin ruminating on it in a more appropriate space.

I'm trying to have a lot of fun in the remaining days of Boston--Fenway Park, a drive to New Hampshire, a weekend with my mom and Audrey and of course, papers and papers and papers. And more eating of burgers and North End food. I will miss my buddies, especially Trish and Paula. But, in the end, there is so much more I miss about Chicago.

I was driving home last night, rounding LSD by the Drake Hotel, right before the exit for Chicago Ave. and I realized how much I am simply in love with the skyline of my city. My city. I looked at it, curving and bright, and thought how no matter what Boston, or Seattle or Georgia or anywhere else had to offer, there was something mythical and magical about how the buildings alligned and about diners like "Salt and Pepper" and the entire Gold Coast. Thereis something comfortable, but new, about Chicago for me. So much I haven't explored yet. i am not coming home to do mroe of the same; I am coming to a place to begin anew. Whether it's living with Erin or on my own, they'll both be completely new experiences. There's just a sense of permanency here, a sense of growth and development but with roots, that I don't think I can find anywhere else.

In twenty-seven days, I'm coming home. I didn't think I ever appreciated the immensity of that words before this weekend.