Tomorrow, I have to teach Sunday school. I have not taught Sunday school in eight years. My dad and are a Sunday school teaching team. Two weeks on, two weeks off. I love kids. I get to work with the young ones. It's supposed to be from pre-k and Kindergarten, but I believe one of my little guys is only two and a half- little Max. He's adorable and a hand full.

We're starting a new Sunday school program called "Godly Play" which is based upon Montessori. It's very hands on and esthetically beautiful. The wording is very specific and cleverly simplistic. ("cleverly" is not the word I wanted to use there, but it has escaped me. I had it five minutes ago, but now it's gone. That's so annoying!) The words are surprising in the depths of their meaning, made easy for little ones to understand, but definitely with hidden depths.

What we are teaching are the stories, things that, hopefully, they will remember and carry with them through whatever life brings them.

I'm nervous, though. Worried about screwing up, losing class control when I'm supposed to have their focus on something specific, worried about- well- about being a good teacher. It's my most common worry nowadays. I don't actually worry about my school work. There's a lot of it. I'll get it done, somehow, and hopefully with the grades that I want. (What I want and what I deserve are sometimes two different things. Isn't that most things in life, though?) As I read my texts and different articles are discuss teaching in my classes, I worry, will I be a good teacher? I don't doubt that I'm doing the right thing. I feel that I am, but I worry about being a good teacher. That's a lot of young minds to put in my hands and I don't want to waste or ruin any of that potential.

I'm tired. I have to go and re-read my script for tomorrow. At least a couple of times. And then it's off to bed. I ought to read more Catcher in the Rye. It is due on Monday. It'll get done. It has to. Good night, fair e-peeps. May you all dream beautiful dreams.

Yes, I mean when people snort snot down their their throat. I know it's allergy season- but I would argue that it is technically always allergy season for SOMEONE, and that doesn't make it any less repulsive. That is why they invented tissues. I know I have done it myself, but I try to only in the privacy of my own home and so only gross out the ones I love, not total strangers! Outie.

Okay, Guys in particular- snorting in public is gross- especially when you're trying to flirt with someone. It detracts- a lot! No matter how cute you are, it's still really gross and rather repulsive.

DAMN IT! DAMN IT! DAMN IT! I just wrote this whole big blog, hit publish and got "Can't display site" Phuck! I hate when that happens. And now the muse is gone! (She declares melodramatically with arm draped across forehead.) Okay, probably not *gone* but it's still annoying! ARGH!

Trees are changing.
Lives are changing.
continual,
ongoing,
never-ending,
enchanting,
must stop fighting
the
inevitability.

Such a fit of temper had to be seen to be believed, especially for such a mild mannered lady. No one knew what started it, how it began, but there it was, none the less. A feeling of pure rage welled up and before anyone knew what happened, the vase filled with fake flowers went flying across the room, shattering into a thousand pieces. She began to kick and scream and rant and rave and flail. The myriad of things that were dashed against the grey tile floor- stamp pads,coins, papers, pens, a glass of water. Papers and posters and postings were ripped down from the wall with much ferocity. No one knew what to do for it was so unexpected, especially from *Her*. And as quickly as it began it was over. There she sat on the grey carpet in a crumpled, defeated form, all fight gone, the storm subsided. More herself than she was, but never the same. She who has always been so safe, so predictable, was never to be looked at the same. No one ever knew what caused it. No one ever knew that the breaking point was something as simple as having her e-mail access removed. The grey, soulless place had taken away the final thing that had given her hope- the possibility of hearing from him.

I am one of the most tightly wound people I know. That being said, I am also one of the most impulsive people. I find it very hard to say no to what I think I want so that I actually give in to myself when I see, hear, feel something that I think I need because I can't get what I really want or need. I don't know what that is but I feel like it's just out of my grasp. Perhaps that elusive feeling will always be there, that supreme feeling of discontent. I am not a simple creature. Someone I know would negate that statement just because I made it, but he hasn't figured me out yet. I'm very tense, always tense. I'm so upright in manner, I know I must seem very Victorian. Time for a cartwheel, perhaps. Sorry, I must go. Adieu

AARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

She screams dramatically into Cyber Space, as there is nothing else that can be done.

I have a love affair with books. I also have a hate affair with books. I hate books where I can see so much of myself and my emotions splayed across the pages. There was one book that dreadfully broke my heart. I was still raw, you see, from an old wound, and I saw so much of myself in the heroine that it seemed as though all of my hopes and dreams were wound up in this character. By the end of the book, I was haunted by the injustice of it all, literally in tears and avoiding sleep. One stupid novel had ripped open my poor brutalized heart and the ache was more than I could bear. I couldn't sleep for I knew what would be waiting for me and that was more than I could bear. Today's book, a book I had to read for my English lit class, was not the tragedy of that last tale. It ended happily, as I believe all tales should end because life is brutal enough. Books are to be an escape away from all of that. At least, in my view. I found myself dangerously close to tears, although truth be told, I have been dangerously close to tears all day brought on by the memory of Sept. 11, 2001, the tragedy of New Orleans, the beauty of a baby girl being christened this morning- all things that had me tearing up. I suspect hormones has something to do with it as well. But for those books- that, I believe is unrelated, and now I am left feeling distinctly unsatisfied, which is a feeling that I generally try my hardest to keep at bay, but it's always hovering in the background, waiting illicitly for my weaker moments. Lately, those seem to be getting closer and closer. I don't like that at all. Maudlin thoughts surround me. I have to go. School works beckon to me.

I hate that feeling of being out of the loop, but I suspect I will just have to get used to it. I should be used to it, with various groups and at various times of my life I am the one out of the loop. I suppose it represents a lesson I must learn or something. Apparently, I am too thick skulled to get it through my dumb blonde head.