Something smells rotten in the state of Denmark

And all throughout upstairs at work. With all of the water damage in the ceiling, the school has involuntarily taken up a science experiment of seeing how long what I’m certain from the smell must be toxic mold can grow above our heads before it affects the students. (But could it really bring their grades down anymore? Just kidding. I’ve lucked out with mostly decent students this time around.) It has gotten to the point of them no longer allowing classes to go up there (mind you, I moved out of my classroom after it went underwater and falling ceiling tiles threatened to take out a couple of students).

At any rate, my latest class has finally gotten through Hamlet. It was very shaky at times—at many times—but I am pleased to report that no one has failed. I’m not too sure my little lessons have fallen on appreciative ears or that my students have gotten too much out of cramming one of The Bard’s greatest in eight days, but we got through it.

And I’ve gotten through another five-week session of classes and five weeks of working pulling 13-hour work days most days with only two workfree days in those five weeks (no exaggeration). So you can almost understand why I haven’t been writing in forever, right?

But all of that is hopefully going to change soon. As I found out on Monday, there are no classes for me to teach for the next modular. This is completely not what I signed up for, but I won’t get into that one this posting. So, perhaps, I shall soon be writing for my supper, or something like that.

No going backwards

I couldn’t quite master the elliptical the other day.

Last week, I started taking personal training sessions. Although it’s hard work and I don’t have too many good thoughts about my training going through my head when I’m actually in my sessions (but she’s really sweet), I’m really excited about it. I’m excited about the end results. If I do all I’m supposed to do, I’ll have my smoking hot body back in just a few months. Well, truth be told, my body will never quite be what it once was because you can never quite go back to the way things used to be.

“Go forward!” Jody, my training, kept encouraging me as she was adjusting all of the levels and whatever on the machine.

But it took me the longest time to get the hang of it. I don’t know why, but I kept cycling backwards. For some odd reason, going backwards just seemed so much easier. Yet, it wasn’t getting me anywhere…

That much it seems can be said about life.

Lately, I’ve wanted to do nothing more than just pack up my bags and go home. I’m just tired of continually forcing myself to put on a bright smile when this dark cloud of loneliness keeps following me around.

I’ve always been one to roll with the punches and make lemonade and all that other stuff they always say to do when faced with adversity. But sometimes it’s just hard to do. Some days I just want to stop fighting back tears and have someone there to lean on and tell me it’s OK. Some days I just want to be myself and not have to work so hard to try to make friends. I just want people to like me for all of the good and the bad. I had that at home.

So, why did I ever leave? 

Yet, as much as I want to just head back some days, I know I can’t. I can’t go backwards. There’s no growth in that.

And things have changed. People have moved on, gotten married, fallen out of friendships, created new friendships, and passed away.

So, I’ll just keep moving forward. There is progress to be made. And if I keep moving toward the horizon, one day the sun will rise ahead of me.

I’ll always love my momma

She is, indeed, my favorite girl. 

It’s 2:30 a.m., and I just woke up about fifteen minutes ago thinking about her. And now with the sound of my downstairs neighbor’s snoring vibrating throughout my bedroom (imagine your cell phone set to vibrate laying right next to you constantly going off; no, I’m not exaggerating in the slightest), I don’t think I’ll be able to fall back asleep for a while.

So, what’s got me all bright-eyed, you’re wondering? A slight panic attack. For the last two days, I have been trying to plan a small afternoon tea for today for my mom’s birthday. Being as though, I am not in possession of my mom’s friends’ phone numbers, I’ve been just trying to invite who comes to mind. Well, at about 2:15 a.m., the names of everyone I’ve forgotten to contact suddenly began to fill my brain, and now it’s pretty much too late to let them know. Oh, no.

Now it will be bothering me all day long. I just want things to be perfect for my mom’s birthday. I always want things perfect for my mom.

Believe it or not, her happiness so often means more to me than my own. But this early morning as I started praying that things will be perfect for my mom, I realized just how little control I have of her happiness. From this distance, all I can really do is pray that she’s happy, which is exactly what I imagine she does for me.

There’s just so much that we have total control over in our lives. But happiness, I suddenly realized, is one of those things. Yeah, things happen to us that aren’t always fair and aren’t always the happiest. But how we respond is totally up to us.

After living in Virginia Beach for about a year and a half now, I have yet to find myself well-adjusted. I haven’t even figured out where I fit into this place. 

And while I don’t imagine I will figure all of that stuff out once the sun comes up, I think I can manage to still be happy in the meantime.

Thought I’d see Ashton

So, I’m sitting at my desk awaiting Ashton Kutcher’s arrival. Seriously. He just has to be out in a van parked in my school’s parking lot, just listening for a reaction.

The clock on the wall doesn’t work. One of my students took it down and set it on the first day of class, but it still doesn’t work. Before, I thought the battery was dead, but now I think I know the truth. Ashton’s up to his shenanigans. It must be rigged with a camera to listen and see my reactions.

Well, at least part of the joke’s on him. I lost my voice, so he wouldn’t be hearing anything. But then, no one’s even stopped to ask me anything for me to say anything, anyway. I can explain.

It all started about an hour ago. One of my co-workers peeked in my classroom and asked if my class was over. Well, seeing as though I was the only one sitting in the classroom, one would only assume, right? But, I suppose she reached that conclusion on her own because she left before I could grunt out an audible response.

Then, the next thing I knew, two women came into my room with boxes and bags of sodas and food.

“We’re just leaving this for a bridal shower,” one woman told me and left before I could labor to get out any questions.

Whatever, I shrugged. Just as long as it’s not in the way when my students come tonight.

But then, as I continued on with my work, two more people came in dropping off stuff, and then more people came in with streamers, flowers, and balloons.

So, for the last two hours, my classroom has turned into a party scene without anyone saying anything to me or even stopping long enough to notice that I can’t talk.

Apparently, this seems to be something the whole school’s known about, yet no one’s even as much as mentioned it to me.

I’m surrounded by chips, chicken wings, cake, and pizza in my room, yet I’m not even a part of the celebration. When nobody’s looking, I should fill my purse up with wings. Take that, Ashton. Won’t that make for good footage?

But I’m not going to touch the pizza. See, two students of mine are extremely ill, and I was just about to sanitize that desk—the one with the pizza and all on it—where my one student was sitting at before he dashed out of the classroom to vomit.

Well, you’d better hurry, Ashton. I’m clocking out in five minutes…

It’s time for me to leave now, Ashton. Where are you? Haven’t I been Punk’d?

I found it on Craigslist

You know that little paper I used to work for? Link? You know. It was the free daily publication from The Virginian-Pilot that was filled with news, entertainment, and loads of snarkiness. Well, if you didn’t know (and have been living under a rock or outside of Hampton Roads), Link published its last issue on Dec. 19, and its staff—including me—was laid off.

The news didn’t come as a surprise to us. We’d been told of the possibility early November. And it that same week, before my future was completely known, I applied for a new job.

So, in my panic of figuring out what I was going to do with myself, I went on Craigslist and looked for new jobs. And on that first night, I found a listing for an English instructor at a local career college. Not knowing much about the school or the requirements, I put together a cover letter, got my grad school transcript, and faxed my stuff off to the unknown—never, I thought, to hear anything.

And I didn’t hear anything for a very long time.

“Forget them,” my best friend suggested after I hadn’t heard anything back from them and, at this point, knew my days at Link were numbered. And so, applying for a new job every day, I did forget them.

But as I was driving around with my mother, right before Christmas, I got a call from the college asking me to come in for an interview on Jan. 5.

So, I went in for the interview on Monday, and by Wednesday, I was offered and accepted the job.

And now, my new adventures begin this Monday. For the first time ever, I will be teaching two English composition classes  to college students. Plus, I get my own classroom! I am really excited. Stay tuned for updates on my first days on the job.