I tossed and turned last night, dreading this day that has trickled between my fingers. It’s nice when you don’t know whether something you did was right or wrong, good or bad, but your time to act is gone. Nothing’s changing the choices you made, so you may as well exhale.
This is what I’m doing now, though I know I hardly have time to do that. I have an assignment to do that I have blown up into mammoth proportions in my quest for perfection. This keeps me from wanting to start it, as starting is to open myself up to falling short of my goals. The fresh, clean notebook will be forever tainted with mistakes once I start writing. Nothing is safe. Nothing is clean. Nothing is almost as comforting as something perfect sometimes.
I have my workshop downtown tomorrow instead of dealing with students. Hooray! Is it bad that I’d rather train to do my job than actually do my job? Is it bad that I can endure hours of theory - and even enjoy it - but find myself cursing the application? Not all of it, but so much of it. I am a teacher, and I don’t particularly like children. Some are nice, great even, but most are just regular people. And I’m not a [regular] people person, though people do happen to be the organisms I prefer hanging out with. I like magnificently uncommon people who don’t say “exspecially” or live through television or think they know what’s going on or believe in the miracle of certain hair care products. There is too much to do, too much to wait to start to do to be so… Standard?
