Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
-Mary Oliver

21 May, 2014

Personal Monologue

I had a homework assignment to write a thing.  So I wrote it.  And now I'm typing it and putting it on the internet.  I don't know why.  Well, actually, I do.  Anyway, this is pretty much it:

I sit down to write this on Sunday afternoon, but when words fail to magically appear from behind the blinking cursor on my computer screen, I watch an episode of "House" on Netflix instead.  I sit down again on Tuesday evening and face the same dilemma and at this rate will have worked through all eight seasons of "House" in no time at all.  Finally, at 11:48 pm on Wednesday, the day before my assignment is due, I crawl into bed with a notebook and pen and think "What the hell am I going to write about?"  I could tell them, I think, about my job related anxiety.  How I worry so for my kids when they aren't in my classroom anymore and how I'm quite confident that no one else will ever be good enough - appreciative enough - to take care of them.  But no, they'll be bored stiff.  I talk about work all the time and who wants to hear stories about some stranger's kids?  Ok, fine.  Not work.  What about this idiotic, unrequited crush I'm nursing right now?  Nope.  Nope.  No.  No.  No no no no no no no.  Noooooope.  No.  I'm actually just embarrassed that I typed that and I'm considering deleting it before I click publish.  We'll see.  Because that topic would be juvenile and ridiculous, and I'm a grown up, damn it.  I'm think about these things that I don't want to share with my lovely, attentive class and I wonder: why, when I think seeing someone display genuine vulnerability is one of the most beautiful things in the world, am I so hesitant to do that myself.  And then I think it's because everything I have considered writing about feels silly and inadequate.  And there are big, real problems in the world to keep my up at night (and they do), so I shouldn't waste my time worrying about these insignificant, irrelevant things.  And before I know it I am in full on existential crisis mode, struggling to find the balance between wanting to feel validated and important, but knowing that in the infinite, unfathomable chaos of the universe I am not.

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