First of all, allow me to shamelessly plug myself on Instagram by finding me @willowwendy
Now that that’s done…..
I admit. I feel a little flaky as of late. It’s hard to explain without getting too into detail about what’s going on in my life. Yes, ironic that when I have the most going on, it’s the one time that I feel the least inclined to talk about it. I suppose I will soon enough. Maybe some things are too personal. Or perhaps once I actually write about it, I’ll never be able to take it back. But such is life. We hold on to the good, and cling to the bad until it cripples all around us. And that’s where I am on certain aspects of my life. When one area goes phenomenally great, the other sinks as fast as that grand ship in the Atlantic in mid-April of 1912. And like the Titanic, my internal band is playing on, clinging to illusion that all is well if I keep playing the calm, somber music that everyone wants to hear.
There are some good things that are going on. Just when I vowed that if I didn’t find job satisfaction this year, I would leave the teaching profession, I managed to walk into my best year of teaching. The irony of it all does not escape me. I’m in a new district, new environment, with a new demographic of students that amaze me every day. I concurrently teach students in my classroom and on Zoom calls. Each day presents a new challenge with not only teaching the mechanics of English, but I fell as if I’ve become Roy, Maurice, and Jen all in the same body as I navigate tech issue after tech issue with 130 students. Moreover, I have a generation of school students who literally have no idea what a due date is, even though I say it, post it, perform an interpretive dance, send a raven, and infuse essential oils in my classroom specifically designed to help with memory. Yet, with all that, I still love my job this year. The irony comes from my coworkers claiming this is the worst year in teaching of their lives. I suppose when you come from such a toxic environment as I did the last four years, I can roll with the baby punches like a true champ. And amazingly enough, I have. My only fear in that arena is that the ball may drop.
But six in one, half a dozen in the other, one might say. I’m struggling with my health goals. After a small surgery to remove uterine fibroids, weight gain has snuck up on me. I’ve gained like 15 lbs. in the blink of an eye. Yet, even I fully recognize I’ve made some unhealthy food choices as well. Bread is my crack. Pasta is my cocaine. Chocolate is my heroine. I am truly an addict. As before, with my keto journey, it was simply mind over matter. My mind is as squirrely as it can be as of late. What helps is cutting down my social interactions. And even in the time of COVID, you would think that’s simple. But it’s not. I am socially engaged more than ever before because I do not live in fear of the pandemic. I am responsible for my health, and I am aware of all the guidelines. Hell, I’ve often said that children spread disease more effectively than 14th century Europe. Knock on wood, the plague has skipped over my classroom as if I’ve smeared lamb’s blood over the door. A miracle perhaps? Maybe it’s the sage I burn in my room as well. Hell, I’m willing to try anything. Yet, it’s worked. (Have I mentioned knock on wood yet? It’s not like I’m superstitious or anything.)
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, a wise man once said. On a good note, I’m learning French through Duolingo. I started it back in April when it appeared I would not go back to work anytime soon. I’m close to 300 days so far. I can say I’m reading French well, however, don’t think I can hold my own in a conversation anytime soon.
In the meantime, my writing is still slow. The story is still solid, but I’ve backed my self into a corner of writer’s block with plotting out writing a soccer scene and I know nothing about soccer. If anyone can help, lord knows I’d appreciate the help. I can’t say I understand the dynamics of sports, other than I understand the appeal of athletically buff men of a field of green as I wait with bated breath that they may take their shirts off. The likes of Beckham is surprisingly lost on me. If Johnny Depp was a soccer player, I’m sure I would know the ins and outs of every game and have the companion guides to accompany the season. Alas, I do not. So, I pray as I write this next scene it doesn’t become abundantly clear that I haven’t a clue about sports.
Remember when I said my mind is squirrely? I just discovered the Radio Garden app. I’m currently listening to an FM Radio stations out of Dunfermline, Scotland. I suppose I’m off to find live Soccer commentary.
In the meantime…