Christmas vacation has already started for me since we’ve been on half days since last Thursday. For the first time in the three years that I’ve been teaching at my current high school, all four of the exam days are “early release,” which means my professional stress level has gone dramatically down. Even with the students turning in the last of their make up work, I have time during the two-hour final to start planning for the upcoming semester, but at least it’s a leisurely, pleasurable experience to map it all out.
Of course, nature abhors a vaccum; so I do have things scheduled for all of the half days. Thursday, I had my dentist appt. Friday, my academy had its culminating secret santa pot luck, where I discovered that my secret santa and I pulled each other’s names. And my “award-winning” cornbread went deliciously well with a coworker’s chili. Afterwards, I went to a Christmas bazaar and bought all the gifts I needed for my family.
Monday morning, I’m joining my science colleagues at IHOP for our semester breakfast since none of us have third period exams. Third period is when we’re scheduled to have our meetings. I must admit, this is my absolute favorite one. Even though we get around to shop talk, at least we’re eating! Actually, I usually bring my lunch to the meetings since I don’t care to wolf down my lunch in the allotted 38 minutes that I’m scheduled.
And this Tuesday, my favorite day since it will be the last day of finals, I’m having lunch at one of my favorite sushi places to talk with another writer. Wednesday, I think we’re obligated to report to school to sign for our grades and attendance sheets, but I’ve already planned to go to yoga and the chiropractor afterwards. What a dream!
Then, the real vacation begins, five days of being with my family…all nine of us under one roof! For just one week. That’s about the proper amount of time before I start sprouting more gray hair. Then it’s back to Austin to ring in the New Year.
Funny how this blog post still reads as if I’m plotting out lesson plans. Some things don’t take a holiday.
As the semester draws to an end, one would think that I would spend a great deal of my time preparing final exams and their accompanying study guides, but the school administration has geared up a final kick of its own. We’re now spending too much time in too many meetings “analyzing student data.” Once we finish analyzing that data, we have to drill and kill those objectives, assess the students again, then analyze that data. The cycle never ends until the students take their standardized tests in late spring.
In the meantime, I’ve been wrapping up the last physics objectives, which deal with the scientific meanings of “work” and “power,” along with their equations. The basic work equation is work equals force times distance (W = Fd). Sometimes, depending on the given information, we have to calculate force, using mass and acceleration; so work equals mass times acceleration times distance (W = mad).
And there it is: Work = mad. Very rarely does what I teach mirror how I feel about the bureacratic aspect of my career. I proudly told my students that the “mad” equation was my favorite work equation. I didn’t explain why.
I wrote all the work and power equations on the whiteboard. To help my students set up the practice problems, I read each scenario and asked them to identify the given variables. Then, I asked them which equation was needed in order to answer the question. Everytime the scenario gave the mass, acceleration and distance, some students chorused that we had to use the “mad equation.” Hearing them correctly identify the needed equation scenario after scenario made me less mad about the behind the scenes BS involved.
I wonder how many of them will remember the mad equation long after graduation. I hope I can always find a silver lining in the classroom to counteract the horrors of standardized testing.
I’m so happy for the overcast, misty skies, given our triple-digit, drought conditions in the recent past. Yet, I live in Austin and the best thing about this vibrant city is having far more things to do than humanly possible–rain or shine!
Part one of my Saturday morning involved writing the last of my 19 handmade greeting cards. Since I’ve been painting on the back of cereal boxes for the past 2 years, I spent part of Thanksgiving Day cutting my paintings into pieces no bigger than 4″ x 6″. This past week, I cut some folders into cards. Once I glued the painting pieces onto the cards, I was amazed how beautiful the cards looked. Once again, it has been proven that the sum is greater than the whole. My paintings had never looked as good as they did when I put them on cards.
Part two of my Saturday involved going to my capoeira music class followed by three hours of tango. Now that I’ve reached the next plateau with my tango dancing, I really dance with a lot of enthusiasm. It makes such a big difference to have the basics down and build confidentally from there. Plus, the beginner’s class had a shortage of women; so I got my money’s worth, followed by a milonga class.
Part three involved going to a “passion party” held at one of the downtown condos. I was mostly excited because I was reading a racy chapter from Tribe of One. No matter how big my audience is, I love the opportunity to read to people who aren’t familiar with my writing. And reading to women who’ve come together for a passion party is a primed pump of potential fans. No one was motivated to buy at that moment, but I left everyone with a business card and let them know that my book was available electronically, which made quite a few happy. Even if they do me the courtesy of reading some pieces from my blog, at least they will be more familiar with my writing. A few suggested that I should record myself reading Tribe since I have an entertaining voice.
For the final chapter of my rainy Saturday, I went to a salsa Christmas party at one of my friend’s house. The party was in full swing by the time I got there. I made a beeline to the kitchen for a glass of wine and a bowl of the most delicious chicken and seafood gumbo. After I was properly fed and wined, I then changed my shoes to dance. About two hours later, I was finally outta steam and ready to retire for the evening (or shall I say “wee Sunday morning”?).
I can hardly believe some people would let a little rain stop them from having the type of Saturday fun I’ve just had. Rain doesn’t stop me from enjoying life. Just means I’ll be wet while doing it.
This past week has been my favorite work week of the school year: two days at work, followed by five days off. Some students reminisced about the good ol’ days when they got the entire week off, but I reminded them that any time off was a good thing.
During the school year, my life is so scheduled that I normally do certain things on certain days just to make sure it all gets done. Most of it is social/health, such as my capoeira, yoga and tango classes. Then, there are the things I have to do: laundry, grocery shopping. Whenever there’s a change to the regular routine, I have to adjust the rest of my programed life. While on wonderful vacations, I have surplus time, which I attempt to preserve as much as possible for just relaxing.
Of course, with a more flexible schedule, I can pursue some other creative things. The one thing that I thought I would accomplish was making my own greeting cards. Not only did I envision making them, but writing them out as well. The first prototype batch looked so “ghetto” that I had to recycle them in the name of aesthetics and the environment. At least I know one way not to make greeting cards! I managed to cut up some of my older paintings that I had painted on thin cardboard. They are ready to be glued on cardstock just as soon as I get some.
During my programed life, I normally go grocery shopping on Thursdays, but since that was actually Thanksgiving day, I figured I’d avoid the crowd and go on Wednesday. Apparently, the crowd had the same idea. As packed as the parking lot was, there wasn’t a scarcity of food nor long lines at the checkout. Then again, the only traditional Thanksgiving item I bought was a bag of fresh cranberries. They looked so richly red that I could hardly resist. Too bad I didn’t realize that all the cranberries I’d ever eaten were artifically sugared. Those berries were the sourest things since my ex-boyfriend’s kisses. But I was determined not to waste my money. So I garnished my wine glass with cranberries. Absolutely beautiful, but they would have had to soak for a much longer time that it takes me to consume a glass of wine in order for the berries to absorb the wine.
Although I had been invited to a couple of Thanksgiving celebrations, I wasn’t in the mood for all the hoopla. Instead, I made pasta putanesca for the first time. While I prepared it on Thanksgiving Day, I called family and friends. I figured as long as I got in touch with people who I don’t get to see/talk to on a regular basis, I was generally observing the holiday. I watched some back episodes of one of my favorite TV shows and read. The way I saw it, I’d spent Wednesday being sociable by training capoeira and then dancing salsaafterwards.
Friday I painted, read and of course wrote my daily contribution toward my second novel. I went to Central Market to have dinner and get a good table close to where the salsa band would be playing about an hour and a half later. Since I love living alone, it’s nothing for me to dine alone with a good book and enjoy myself. Besides, I knew in this case, my salsero friends would join me closer to 6:30.
As predicted, my little table for 6 swelled well beyond 6 people and we cannibalized chairs from surrounding tables. Despite the crowd, most people were not salseros and there was a distinct lack of leaders. I still had a good time talking with my friends.
Saturday was the day I’d been looking forward to. Last year, I had participated in 3 out of 5 available days of a tango workshop. This year, I wisedup and figured that I actually wanted to be more than a tango zombie; so I only planned to attend the tango show and milonga afterwards.
Well before the tango festivities began, I had attended my capoeira music class and two tango classes. Of course I regrouped, napped and then got ready to tango for real. I was most proud to show off my “new” tango outfit. I spent one hour and less than $12 at Goodwill for it.
In between the magnificent tango show and the milonga, I grabbed two friends to pose with me. I spent the rest of the night dancing and resting up for the next tanda. Not only could I feel that I was dancing my best, but guys who didn’t even know me approached me for a dance. Normally, only the guys I knew from class would ask. As I was leaving around half past midnight, my tango teacher expressed surprise that I was going so early. He told me that I looked really relaxed on the dance floor and lamented that he would not have a chance to dance with me. That was truly the biggest compliment of the night.
As wonderful as my Thanksgiving vacation was, I celebrated every day without a drop of hot water running through my faucets! Once again, my Peace Corps experience helped me out. The two and a half years that I volunteered in Tanzania, I had to warm up my water and take a bucket bath. Here’s my “developed” country version of a bucket bath:
I actually don’t need a lot of water in order to get squeaky clean, especially since I only wash my hair once a week and that’s usually at the gym after swimming. It’s just so much more convenient to have hot water coming out of the faucet.
Apparently the apartment complex had some boiler issues and parts had to be ordered and didn’t arrive until Friday. Then, only 5 out of 6 circuits worked. The next memo posted outside my door informed me that someone had gone to Dallas to get the missing part. In the meantime, the chilly howling winds truly picked up enthusiasm throughout the week.
Sunday morning, after my 10 am bikram yoga class, I just had it in my mind that hot water or not, I was going to turn on the faucet and shower. Even if I had to run in place for 5 minutes to make the icy cold water feel refreshing, I was in no mood to warm up a pot of water, carry it to the bathtub, stoop over and go through the whole bucket-bathing ritual.
As I washed off my yoga mat, it took me a full minute to register that the water coming out of the faucet was warm. I laughed with joy, finished rinsing off my mat and then I draped it over the shower rod. Clang! That damn rod hit the floor. I just stood there in disbelief. I think things like that always happen in threes.
First, the smoke detector, then the hot water and now the shower rod. I laughed, shook my head and put the rod back up along with the shower curtain and my damp yoga mat.
What isn’t a laughing matter is how long I had to go without hot water. I emailed the property manager about compensation/a discount off next month’s rent for going a week without hot water. I’m already motivated to start searching for a new place. Before I do that, I want to give them an opportunity to appease me. With exam week two weeks away, I’ll have a few half days on my precious schedule to check things out. Granted, my lease isn’t up until mid-July, I don’t want to wait until the last moment and make a mad dash out of here.
I unofficially woke up much earlier than I’d intended, thanks to my mysterious smoke alarm that would start randomly beeping at thirty-second intervals for 5 minutes or so. Just when I’d fall asleep about 45 minutes later, it would start up again. I’d reported it three times, starting with last Friday morning.
A maintenance guy checked the battery and I thought the issue had been remedied, but a few days later, it started up again. I got up around 7:30 only because that was around the time I’d intended to get out of bed. I drearily gave the smoke alarm the finger as I dragged into the bathroom. Once I finished my business, I returned to the offending smoke alarm and pushed the test button as if I could miraculously fix it.
The real miracle occurred: I heard the alarm again, but not from the smoke detector that I was standing under. I entered my bedroom and to my surprise, a SECOND smoke alarm lie, flashing its red light. All I can say is that because I thought this tiny apartment only had one smoke detector, which was located in the hallway, I had not seen the one in my bedroom. I immediately took out the battery and felt a surge of energy that comes with being empowered over an annoying situation.
I preceded about my morning making breakfast, writing, painting and then waiting patiently for my friend to come over so we could hit the road to Houston to attend a “Getting Published” workshop.
Her good company made that 3-hour drive full of bad drivers bearable. We swapped war stories and discovered in many ways that we had had similar experiences although she’s more than ten years older than me, divorced with kids. It’s always a pleasure to find a kindred spirit, especially one who is far more spiritual than me.
As par for the course for me, I got a little turned around about ten minutes away from the destination, but I stopped at a gas station where, fortunately for us, I bumped into a mailman, who pointed me in the correct direction. We turned out to be one of the first of the thirteen participants to arrive.
We got situated and the 4-hourlong meeting started off with each of us introducing ourselves. I was delighted to have the opportunity to use my smartpen again. Thank goodness I had it, because there was so much information flying around the room, I could not have possibly caught it all. I discovered I was the only self-pub author in the room. (Rita, the facilitator, told us from here on out to refer to ourselves as “independently published authors,” but I’m not so sure if that’s just not swapping one stigmatized title for another. In which case, I’ll just stick to the original!)
During my intro, she asked me about how much money I’d spent on publishing my book. I told her around $3000. Then she asked if I got a ISBN through the company I’d published with or my own. I vaguely recalled getting one through the company. At that point she informed me that I’d made a $3000 mistake! Another woman, who represented one of the printers that Rita used, echoed that this is why it was important for new authors such as myself to attend workshops like this one.
I learned nearly two agonizing hours later that the reason indy authors want to purchase their own ISBNs is that there is a stigma associated with the “well-established” ISBNs that fall under the company I published with and some powerful people will not touch my book because they’ll recognize it.
I felt instantly relieved because I still see my $3000 investment as worth it. I have a sense of completion for that story and confident that I’m growing as a writer. Besides, I believe in the quality of my book. I just need to get motivated to promote it!
I was greatly disappointed that there were no healthy snacks available and anxiously looked for the conclusion of the workshop. Other participants started dropping off until only half of us remained. For one of the few times in my life, I actually heard and felt my stomach grumble.
I got a recommendation for a non-chain restaurant and was delighted that there was a huge steak place on our way out of town. We opted to eat at the bar in order to avoid the 45-min wait, which turned out to be an entertaining spot since the bartenders were fascinating to watch. Of course I had the inclination to flirt with one to get a free drink until I saw the security camera pointed directly at where all the drinks were made!
We both opted for a black Angus cheeseburger–I certainly was in no mood to shell out $30+ for a steak! And a much-needed glass of malbec was a sandalously-priced $12.50! I stuck to water, figuring I’d have a glass of wine at the birthday party I’d planned to attend once I returned to Austin.
The food was absolutely delicious and hit the spot. Again, I was happy to have such good company to curse at the other drivers on the highway and talk to in between.
I washed my face, put on my contacts, brushed my teeth, packed my wine paraphrenalia, including my impressive wine opener and headed for the birthday party, which was conveniently 5 min away.
I’d planned to stay about two hours or so, but hit my second wind and people started to arrive around that time. I got to talk with people I had not seen in a while. My only disappointment was that the designated DJ did not have any salsa on his laptop. Who does that? I would have figured that as a DJ, he would have made it his business to have a little bit of everything, especially here in Austin. I did manage to dance the bare minimum amount to justify going out to a party, but I still need to have a good salsa outing in the upcoming week.
I had taken a break from tango classes over the summer just to free up my schedule and pursue other interests. When I returned three months later in September, I was a little rusty, but quickly got up to speed. I’m such a busybody that I had not managed to attend a milonga until last night–in mid-November.
Outside of the safe, predictable confines of tango class, my dancing ability truly buckled. I danced less graceful than a dancing bear. Jumping back into tango class was just like riding a bike, but the more appropriate cliche for dancing at a milonga would be “practice makes perfect.”
Sometimes I feel that I spend far too much time planning my personal schedule. I even plan to relax, which is a good thing because some other busybodies don’t even do that. Now, I’m concerned about scheduling more tango time, especially since a huge tango event is rapidly approaching over Thanksgiving weekend, which will bring people from other states and countries.
Last year, I took three days of tango workshops during the festival, but emerged a worse dancer due to information overload and I felt like a zombie. This year, I’m only going to the Saturday night milonga along with the tango show by the master instructors. I’m definitely going to enjoy my 5-day Thanksgiving vacation, reading, writing and catching up on a few things that I’ve been neglecting.
Yet, I plan to attend another milonga or two before the great event just so I can shine more. If anything, I want to be as comfortable expressing my musicality as I do with salsa. Stiff dancing like I have a stick up my butt is not going to work well at the tango festival. I think some guys asked me to dance last night because we take classes together. Toward the end of the night, I was one of the few options some guys had to dance with. Even if that was not exactly true, I certainly felt like the last kid picked for the kickball team.
At least I got to practice and socialize with some people I had not seen in awhile. I plan to be more than a social butterfly at the next milonga.
I believe in celebrating Halloween like a celebrate my birthday, over a period of time. Anytime I get to dress up more than once in order to observe Halloween, I’m very happy. I don’t know if there’s any deep, pyschological meaning behind dressing up as someone else for a period of time other than using another creative outlet, but since this past Halloween fell on a school day, I rose to the occasion.
Even though I’ve taught at my present high school for three years, I’m still not clear as to whether I’m actually allowed to dress up for Halloween. Nonetheless, I’ve done it three times now and not once have I’ve been talked to about it.
This particular Halloween, two of the principals walked into my first period class in order to do an unannounced observation. They had their laptops tucked under their arms, but seemed disoriented when they looked at me.
One of them whispered in my direction, “Oh, she’s not here.”
As I walked toward him, I whispered back, “Who’s not here?”
At that moment, I had come close enough for both administrators to see that I was indeed there, but just in disguise. They laughed, looked around and noticed that the students were testing and walked back out without bothering to evaluate me. Normally, if the students are taking a quiz or test, the administrators don’t bother to type up an evaluation since they want to observe teaching.
Yet, that was one of my favorite experiences of the day since most people don’t immediately recognize me if I wear a wig. Many of my students initially thought that I was a substitute teacher as well. In addition to the wig, which is slowly developing dreadlocks of its own since I don’t have a comb or brush, I wore a dress, make up and had my nails painted.
I usually don’t bother with getting my fingernails painted since I’m very active, but my manicurist convinced me to try gel polish, which dries with the help of UV light and lasts for two weeks. I must admit that it is very impressive stuff, but with my busybody self, this polish has only lasted a week. I’m going back to the salon to get it removed since regular nail polish remover isn’t strong enough to do the trick. Nonetheless, this industrial-strength polish has been a far less frustrating experience than the usually cheap ass polish that chips mere hours after having it done.
Now that Halloween is officially over, I’ll just have to rely on my usual expressions of creativity through my writing, dancing, painting and whatever creative opportunities I can eek out of my teaching, given the district’s climate of pyschopathic testing.
This Halloween, I got a clue early and bought my ticket for the Zombie Ball. I’d heard about it last year, but had gone out of town during my favorite celebration. Perhaps that was a blessing in disguise since this year’s Zombie Ball was held in my new favorite venue, the Moody Theatre.
As par for the course with me, I attended this event by myself, but that did not stop me from having a good time…and posing with one of the most impressively costumed guys there. He reminded me of Darth Maul, but definitely devilish whoever he was supposed to be.
As a matter of fact, most of the crowd took pains to be “someone” for Halloween with just a few of us generic zombies. After seeing the caliber of costumes, I’m either going to start making my costume in the summer or save myself the grief and rent a costume. I usually take more pride in making my own, but seeing how Halloween kind of snuck up on me due to all the other activities I got going on, I’m losing my costume-making mojo.
Aside from costume watching, I enjoyed listening to the bands although I’d never heard of any of them before. As a matter of fact, the only entertainers I’d heard of was Brass Ovaries, the professional pole dancing group. Once upon a time, I’d wanted to try out pole dancing classes, but none of my friends would check it out with me. Damn social stigmas!
I was pleasantly surprised to see that a troupe of burlesque dances were on the docket and as one woman commented in the women’s room, they weren’t all a size zero! I was impressed that all the women in that group, who all ranged in different body sizes and shapes were all brave enough to bare all down to their nipple pasties.
One burlesque performance, if I can call it that, involved a guy dressed as the devil on stilts who carried a bouquet of baby dolls parading through the crowd to the stage and several muscle bound men carried a coffin on stage. A vampiress popped out onto the stage from the coffin and another woman appeared from behind a tombstone. At first there was some little cat and mouse dancing between the women. Then it looked like a battle between them. And just when I thought, “I bet those two women are going to start making out,” they did.
In between bands, there were a few aerial dancers, who varied in skill and entertainment level. I’ve seen aerial dancers before and was somewhat disappointed that all the performances were solo. That interaction between the performers was missing for me. At least they varied the medium: rope, hoop and cloth.
I must admit, I could have done without the stripper, who performed before the headlining band, the Bright Light Social Hour. Granted, she was a renown pole dancer and I could clearly see her skill level…I just didn’t need to see everything else! At least in burlesque, there’s a little more tease and entertainment. I got up to use the bathroom when the stripper, wearing nothing more than a love cord around her waist and a provocative smile, hopped off the pole and strode over into a portable glass bowl to bath for the audience.
That’s when I discovered that some drunk wench and broken one of the toilet seats in the women’s room. I have no idea what said beast had done to break a toilet seat clear off its base, but I felt a pang of fear that the action of some bitch would jeopardize the future of Zombie Ball being hosted at such a wonderful venue. The Moody Theatre is less than a year old and I’d hate for it to fall so quickly into disrepair. I reported it to one of the employees after the show was over around 2 am.
Certainly the cherry on top of the evening was discovering that I did not have to pay for my parking! Paid parking alone is usually enough to stop me from going downtown. Yet, I bit the bullet and parked at the Austin Convention Center parking deck since it was only a few blocks away. I’m sure that it was a Halloween special, but in the future, it is good to know about that parking deck whenever I’m going to a concert at the Moody Theatre.
I finally got to participate in my very first flash mob, thanks to the Sustainable Food Center. This past Saturday, Oct. 22 was National Food Day Celebration. Austin’s already very focused on supporting local businesses; so it’s natural that there’s a huge emphasis on buying organic, local food from our “neighborhood” farmers as well.
One volunteer, Andrea, choreographed a jazz routine to “Yes, We Have No Bananas” and posted it to Youtube. As soon as I saw the routine, I was pleased that I already knew how to do all the moves, but, as usual for me, I had to work on remembering the sequence–nearly the same challenge I have with capoeira sequences except there are some moves that I’m not sure I’ll ever get the hang of in capoeira!
We started rehearsing it last Saturday and although I kidded myself that I would practice along with the Youtube version at home, I never found the time to do that, but attended the Wednesday rehearsal along with the early Saturday morning rehearsal, an hour before the event.
About 50 or more of us volunteers and vendors participated. We ranged in age from about 4 to “mature, retired adult.” It was an exhilirating experience; so I won’t bother dwelling on the few mistakes I made. I’m just happy that the small child to my left who I bumped into/stepped on a few times was a real trooper and kept dancing.
Afterwards, another volunteer, who had worked with the children to make flags, passed them out and we had a little parade around the market. We even had a marching band song playing over the PA system.
That was a fantastic way to start off the day. I returned home to paint, clean up and attend two hours of tango lessons. We had a substitute teacher who actually ran the class at a refreshingly brisk pace and introduced us to different beginning and intermediate moves. In between the beginner’s and intermediate lessons, I went to the bathroom and read on one of the posted flyers that there was a samba de gafieira workshop afterwards. This couple’s style of samba isn’t taught in Austin; so I felt obligated to stay after my three hours of tango lessons. Besides, samba de gafieira is touted as the samba version of tango.
The Houston-based Brazilian couple were very friendly and patient with us. My heart went out to them since they had to teach in a foreign language, something I’ve not even done despite the fact that most of my teaching experience has been outside the States. At the 4 1/2 hour mark of dance lessons, I felt that I couldn’t absorb another thing. My partner, who takes tango lessons, hit the same wall. We’d learned four different moves with the basic step being the most challenging since it involved putting the opposite feet forward and back, compared to other ballroom dances such as salsa.
I crashed out on my bed for a good 40 minutes before tackling my daily fiction writing and a week’s worth of cooking. I’m so glad that I’d had four hours to get those things accomplished and just relax before heading back out to a birthday party that one of my capoeirista friends was celebrating downtown.
I’d never gone to that particular bar before and was rather surprised when the guy working the door asked me if I was there for karaoke or the birthday party. I immediately said the birthday party since there was no way in hell I was there for karaoke! As a matter of fact, the last time I went to a karaoke place, a friend had chosen to celebrate his birthday there.
Despite the fact that I was the first capoeirista to show up to the party, I must admit that I was highly impressed at the collection of interesting, friendly people who I did not previously know. That was the first time in a long time that I had socialized easily with people I didn’t already know.
As a special treat, my friend had sent a shout out to all her favorite DJs to stop by and play for a bit to help her celebrate her birthday. I had already danced for 5 hours; so I was not at all disappointed that not a single DJ played any salsa, samba or tango. As a matter of fact, I found it rather pleasant just to talk with people and pass out my business cards.
Around a quarter to two am, my day was finally done. Not a moment too soon…I still slept well enough to make it to my 10 am bikram yoga class. I feel that I’ve hit another good milestone with my yoga practice since my left lower back didn’t pain me as much.
And some strange mood has overcome me, but after months of making a small pile of clothes that I can no longer wear, I’m in the mood to go to Goodwill, get the replacements and then the mall for some inexpensive, going out dance shoes. My cheap pair have seen better days and are in danger of falling apart when I least expect it. Not that I care too much about looking shabby, I just don’t want anything to cause me to have another fall when I could have prevented it. Besides, I must live to marathon dance another day!
During the week, I hustle throughout the school day, juggling so many tasks that when I hit the weekend and only do 20 things during the weekend, I actually feel as if I’ve had a mini-vacation.
My weekend consisted of swimming, samba, flash mob practice, capoeira performance, salsa, painting, yoga, cooking for the week and a writers’ critique meeting–and those were just the big-ticket items I checked off the weekend to-do list. Some people don’t do that much during the week and yet, it’s my typical weekend.
I believe in making the most of my life. I want to spend every moment pursuing happiness. I enjoy being a busybody since I truly rejuvenate through my activities. The past three weeks have been the most intense at school and I’m attempting to turn things around so I can even out my stress level. At the same time, I feel that the more connections I make with people here, the closer I’ll get to the next big thing in my life.
One thing about my adult life since graduating from college, I’ve not stayed in one place beyond three years. I purposely chose Austin since it looked a creative crucible where I could be happy. The only thing I overlooked was how challenging teaching in its public school system was. I’m not going to allow the hostile school system to drive me outta town, but I’ve not yet discovered my next career.
I’d love to transition into writing, but I don’t want to close off any other creative avenues. Today, after I read the first chapter of my second novel, The Adventures of Infinity and Negativa, one of my critique partners suggested that I start a foundation for female mathematicians. What a lighting bolt! I’d never thought of starting my own foundation, but it gives me another realm of possibilities to explore. If I’m driven out of the classroom because administrators would rather have obedient robots rather than creative teachers, then I may have to start my own creative outlet in addition to writing.
I’ll have to sleep on that and see what my subconcious dreams about the situation.
