"Listen...you know those days when you get the mean reds?" --Holly.
"The mean reds? You mean like the blues?" --Paul.
"No... the blues are because you're getting fat or because it's been raining too long. You're just sad, that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?" --Holly.
I've concluded, based on the last three days of random crying jags, that I have the mean reds. Greg came over last night and we watched football, had dinner, played scrabble, and it was awesome. When he left, though, I went to bed and then I started to cry and couldn't stop. This is the second time in as many days that that's happened, and I don't know why.
I have concluded that I need to at least look for another career. I need to face facts: I never planned to teach. I was too far into the program in college when I realized I probably didn't want to do it. Then I gave myself a five year timeline. This is my 8th year. Now, usually I look at what else is out there and decide that teaching is a pretty good gig. NOT because of the summers off (teachers don't ask for that, folks, we have to do it. If I had the choice, I wouldn't.) but just the overall coolness of having kids look up to me and because I do make a difference. So I'm sure I'll check out some of the jobs in my Great Jobs for English Majors book and decide that I like teaching just fine.
The mean reds, man...they're just no good.