Thursday, July 31, 2014

Blog Resurrected

The dust was twelve inches thick when I returned to these ancient ruins. I'm not sure why I came back. I'm not sure if anyone cares.

Regardless, I did some summer cleaning; I tweaked, revised, and altered until this domain was restored to its original operating condition. I'm not sure how long I'll stick around, but I do know I missed this place.

It's extremely possible that nobody is reading this. It's also likely anyone who stumbles here will think to themselves I don't care about this while simultaneously clicking the x in the upper right-hand corner. And that's okay. Because unlike when I first joined the blogosphere - when I thought this site needed a distinct purpose and theme to remain popular, a target audience so to speak - my purpose for returning is singular. My purpose for returning is me.

My brain is much like a pile of magnetic poetry pieces dumped on the kitchen table; it requires thought, reflection, and evaluation in order to transform each isolated thought into something coherent and meaningful. I miss having a place to do that, a place to document what's in my head, frightening as it may be, and possibly hopefully engage in stimulating conversation with others about whatever is on my mind at that given moment. A place to learn, a place to plan, and a place grow. And that's what I want this place to be. Somewhere to share and question and strengthen all parts of me - the part that longs to teach, the part that writes, the part that cries, the part learns, the part that lives.

I finished my first manuscript shortly after I disappeared. I wasn't planning to disappear, but I knew it was taboo to share anything about querying and finding an agent. So I took a break. Then last June, I experienced my first sports-related injury when I sprained the acromioclavicular joint in my right shoulder. So my break was extended while suffering through doctors appointments, specialists, MRIs, X-rays, and physical therapy. It eventually would lead to surgery, and since the rehabilitation process is like an additional part-time job, there wasn't much time to write.

With no apocalypse or rapture occurring last summer, the new school year began and all went back to normal. I started the year working in the emotional support classroom, but in November, unexpectedly received an opportunity to step into a temporary teaching position when a coworker had a baby. For twelve weeks, I was back in my comfort zone, and even though it had been five years since I last taught, it felt like no time had passed. I was back in seventh grade social studies, a position where I previously thrived, determined to make the most of my opportunity. Mother Nature tried her damndest to ruin the experience; the cranky wench made it snow just about every week. When it wasn't snowing, she kept us entertained with frigid cold temperatures, ice storms, and power outages. Needless to say, consistency did not exist.

But I loved every second in that classroom. Even when the heater wasn't working.

My assignment ended in March and I was sent to be an assistant in an autistic support classroom. The days were long compared to teaching, and I quickly realized I needed to devote every second of my free time to becoming a contracted teacher again.

And that brings us up to speed.

It has been a long, daunting summer, one filled with unanswered applications, unsuccessful interviews, and limited opportunities to seek. Having to once again stare failure in the face, I found myself motivated to post. Though the words I type are not capable of changing my situation, I've always found it therapeutic to release them into the universe. It comforts, it heals, and it's a helluva lot cheaper than a shrink.

What else is new?

Not much. I turned thirty. I'm about to turn thirty-one. I joined pinterest. I gained ten pounds since my surgery. I started selling old junk on eBay. I discovered the brilliance of Modern Family. I ate fried alligator. I bought deodorant.

Anyone still with me?

I didn't think so. Still, it's good to be back.

See you soon, friends.

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