St. Anthony, the patron saint of saving my ass...

My grandmother was Catholic and spent a lot of her time trying to encourage me to branch out beyond my Lutheran roots and join her in Catholic-town.  It never worked, but along the way she introduced me to some of the more magical, impressive aspects of Catholicism....one of which is St. Anthony, the Patron Saint of Lost Things.  Every time I lost anything, from a sticker to a 10-spot, Grandma's answer was "Say a prayer to St. Anthony."  And I would roll my eyes and declare my treasure dead and gone.  But, secretly, I would think "Hey, St. Anthony, could ya help out?"  And lo and behold, my item would appear.

I don't know why, but it doesn't always occur to me to ask St. Anthony for help. Every time I do, though, it results in a win.  This morning I grabbed all my yoga stuff on my way out the door for a MUCH needed class after The Week of No Yoga.  I did my final inventory as I got into the car:  clothes, check; mat, check; post-yoga clothes, check; water, check; heart rate monitor watch, check; HRM strap, check;  HRM transmitter, check....waiiiit.  No check.  No transmitter.  I went back into the house and stared at the empty counter.  Wandered around the house even though I knew that I had dropped all of my HRM stuff on the counter.  Went to look in the car.  Under the seats.  Drove to yoga in a mild panic.  Checked out the price of new HRM transmitters while waiting for class to start.  Panic increased.  Those things are $70!! Why wasn't I more careful?? (The HRM transmitter, in case you're unfamiliar, is about the size of 2 postage stamps put together.  It's its job to get lost.)  I called the studio where I taught last night, the last place I knew it was attached to my body.  It wasn't there.  Finally, class was starting, and I thought "Please, St. Anthony, please find my transmitter."

After class I went to the studio I taught at last night and turned it upside down.  Nothing.
Crawled around on the floor of the car.  Nothing.
Walked into the house, checked around the kitchen, living room and dining room.  Nothing.

I looked at my spring jacket hanging on the coat hook and, since I couldn't remember which jacket I wore last night (short term memory loss anyone?), checked the pockets.  SUCCESS!! There it was.

One day when I was a little older, a teenager (and therefore smarter than everyone), I asked my grandma if the reason "praying" to St. Anthony worked was because the distraction of doing so freed up your mind and your panic to actually sensibly look for your item.  She smiled and said "I don't think so, but you can believe what you want."

I'm still not a Catholic, but the comfort of knowing that, when I lose something, I can ask someone else to look for awhile while I ground myself in a yoga class....that's worth believing in.

And then I lost my mood ring.

Let me say... with a friend whose mom just had a heart attack, and unspeakable horrors going on all over the world, and the basically perfect life I have, I feel a little bad. But, I'm not going to lie: today was a wretched day.

My chiropractor left on Friday and is not, apparently, coming back. Just done. Not "just" done...she's known she was going to be done for quite awhile. But last Thursday when I said "see you Tuesday" and she said "yep!" apparently she'd forgotten that that was her second-to-last day of work. And that I won't see her again. And I feel just a little betrayed and a little lied to and a lot, a fucking lot, of sad. I really, really liked her. I trusted her. I looked forward to seeing her every Tuesday and Thursday. And now, I won't see her again. She's gone. Not leaving, not "giving notice"--she's just gone.

And then I lost my mood ring. Sometime between 4pm and 7:30pm, somewhere between Savage and Bloomington, it fell off my finger. It's in the Normandale parking lot, or on the floor of my classroom, or somewhere inbetween. Or somewhere else. And it made me sad, because it was a token of friendship, it was a symbol of some very good memories of this summer's camping trip, and my hand feels kind of naked without it. Lighter....but not in a good way.

But I ordered a new one. Actually, I think I accidentally ordered two. Which is okay, because apparently a back up isn't a bad thing for me. Too bad I can't get a back up favorite chiropractor.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Well, not a lot to update except:

1. I've made myself far too busy than I can handle.

2. As a result of #1:

--> Insomnia has completely slowed me down. Like I think my heart is actually beating slower. I'm walking slower, talking slower, and, inevitably, thinking slower.

--> Nutrition and exercise have gone completely out of the picture.

--> Because of the insomnia, the nutrition, the exercise, my back and knees and neck have reached new levels of pain.

--> Because of the new levels of pain, my emotions are positively depressed (now there's an oxymoron for you). I'm like a vortex of depression--draining the energy of everyone around me. I got asked so many times today "what's wrong?" I think I may make a tshirt. Frankly, I'm too tired to explain it all.

3. This making myself more busy than I can handle is my own fault. And my attempt to keep adding fuel to the fire--adding more tasks--is only going to result in my shorting out and very possibly losing what I've been working really hard for.

4. Because I know myself, I know it's only a matter of time before my health is compromised. From the sounds of it, that's taking place as we speak.

5. I have a test in Death and Dying tomorrow. I'm really hoping that I don't fail it. Seriously. For the amount of time i spent studying for this test compared to the last one, failure is a very real possibility. Here's hoping the gods of test taking are with me tomorrow.

I think that's it. Oh, I referred to "12" and "midnight" as two separate hours today when telling someone that I'm awake into the night. As in, "I'm wide awake around 11, 12, midnight, 1, 2..." Yeah, I should take a test.

Well that didn't take long...

Got an email from friend Troy that reads:

Okay, just a little dig ...

Because you purchased Duma Key from Amazon, and for months -- months, I say -- Amazon has had a side by side comparison running of the Tin House story and the first chapter of the book.

:-)

Enjoy!

I checked it out and Troy speaks the truth. So I stand corrected, and humbly apologize to King for my earlier outburst. I should never have doubted you, Stephen.

Just a mild heart attack, no worries

No, it wasn't from the McDonalds.

Tonight after class Danielle asked me (for about the tenth time, apparently) to send her a copy of Advanced Woods, a story I wrote almost two years ago now, because she hadn't read the version that I subbed for mentor and to grad school. Imagine my confusion

that turned to shock

that turned to horror

that turned to stark fucking terror

when I realized that the most recent copy of Advanced Woods on both my computer and my back up file was from March of 2006. The first draft of the story.

I'll give the writers a moment to gasp and let the spots in their vision clear.

Fortunately, I have awesome friends and I'm a procrastinator. Awesome friend Jodi emailed me her most recent copy tout suite from 12/06, which was the second to the last draft. Because I am a procrastinator, I had three copies of the manuscript that were prepped to send out as subs but I never got them out.

So, I do have a hard copy that I can scan in and I'll have that to work with along with the copy Jodi sent. But, I don't know what else I deleted. I know I deleted it. I can tell you exactly when and how....but I won't, because I've already demonstrated my idiocy enough for one night. I still feel like it's totally possible I might lose my cookies over this, but I need to remember that having something is better than having to totally start from scratch.

And I'm never deleting anything ever again.

Ladies and gentlemen, gather round....see the amazing bird-bone woman!

My hetero-lifemate Jessie always tells me I have bird bones...that my bones are, in fact, hollow. A few years ago after I broke my foot falling down a flight of stairs at school two days before a spring break trip to Vegas, she bought me a t-shirt that says "I do all my own stunts" with a picture of a guy falling.

Naturally, she was the first person I called yesterday when I tripped over the dog, fell down some of my stairs, and fractured/cracked my foot...again.

I didn't go to the emergency room or to urgent care (the one located so conveniently to my house is, inconveniently, "temporarily closed"), but I know that it's a crack because it feels exactly like it did the last time. Apparently the top of my foot is my achilles heel. I know from the last time that there is absolutely nothing that can be done for broken foot bones. No cast, no bandages, nothing, except The Boot. The Boot is a godsend. While it's not the most attractive accessory, it keeps my foot stable and enables me to walk relatively pain free.

The Boot, however, and the fractured bone, will seriously impede my training for the half. I have to call a doctor, I'll call the same one who helped me with my foot the last time, to find out how much. The last time it took nearly six weeks for me to be able to walk pain free, and after wearing the boot during work for that amount of time, my calf muscle was so atrophied that it took ages to build it back up again. This time I plan to continue working out with non-running/waking activities. I can still cycle, work my upper body, and work my abs. But, if I'm out of running for 4-6 weeks, that puts me in a serious deficit for the half....I'll be 6-4 weeks out and it won't be possible for me to catch up.

Frustrating.

There goes that clean slate again...

So for the second time in less than a year I'll be scrubbing my computer clean and beginning from factory settings. This irritates me. It kind of makes me want a new computer.

Fortunately, my mom and dad didn't raise a fool, so this time almost everything has been backed up. My pictures and music are okay, and the biggest loss is my Sims2 Big Brother family, where Danielle and Howie just gave birth to twins. Oh well. I have a feeling that the Sims is to blame for the computer crashes, so I will not be installing it on the computer again. It's a sad day in Simland.

Tomorrow it's back to the blackboard for me, beginning week two of school. My student teacher is taking over two of my classes, though, so my schedule will lighten considerably. I get rid of one whole prep, and two classes. Yippee.

Sorry seems to be the hardest word

At least for me lately. It seems like I've been doing nothing but apologizing for being wrong, for my behavior, or in some cases for my general overall existance lately. Okay, not the last one, but pretty close.

I blew off a student today because I was late for class and he had just gotten into trouble with me. He left and then came back while I was rushing to collect my things to go to my second classroom and I acted like a bitch. I then proceeded to act like a bitch to my next hour, because I couldn't shake it off.

And then I thought, no wonder kids hate school. Teachers aren't allowed to be crabby. We're not allowed to have a bad day. Because if we are or do, there's no way to hide it. We can't just hole ourselves away at our desks and pretend our bosses/coworkers don't exist. We're out there. Add that to the pressure that if I take out my frustration on a student (even unintentionally), there's the chance that student will remember only how mean I was that day, not anything else he learned, which means that I've damaged that student.

So I apologized to the student I blew off earlier. I said that I handled things wrong and that I was willing to listen to him if he wanted to discuss the situation and I said that I was sorry I hadn't been able to do so earlier. He went from not speaking to me at the onset of the conversation to saying "thank you" at the end of it.

But I wish I didn't have to save myself by apologizing. I wish I could just do it right the first time. I won't always get the chance to say sorry and I shouldn't go through my job acting like I will.

21 hours, 8 minutes, several seconds and some thoughts

...Until I have to be at school. Classes actually start in 21 hours 43 minute and several seconds.

I started working on Grammar stuff last night, a new course I'm teaching that has left me holding my head and wishing I'd taught Math instead. I know. And I'm only slightly exaggerating.

I'm struggling with trying to prepare myself in life for how I KNOW things are going to happen. There's always a small part of me that holds out hope that I'll be wrong, and that's the part I cling to. But then, even though the REAL RESULT is staring me in the face I'm still hoping someone will come along and make me wrong.

For example.

Situation: I found out at the beginning of August that I'd be teaching this new class. The other person who teaches the class has taught it for a long time and has a TON of stuff with it. Now I, who has no stuff, needs to teach the class.

What I knew was going to happen: That she'd send me a bunch of stuff, let me copy anything I needed, and generally give me any paper materials that I could ask for......but no explanation on how to teach the class. I imagined the words "the class will be easy, just use my stuff" coming out of her mouth. The problem is that trying to use someone elses materials for a class is like trying to build a rocket with all of the materials and no instructions or verbal help. Possible, technically, but a million times as hard.

What I wanted to happen: Her to say "hey, I know you're in a tough spot teaching this class and I appreciate you not complaining about it" (to her...I complained to Erica, my parents, and Jessie ad nauseum). Let's hook up for an hour or so this week and we can go through some stuff to make it as easy as possible.

See, I KNEW the first one was going to happen when I first found out I was teaching the class. But I still held out hope, all the way until, frankly, now, where the small part of me who was holding out hope has now moved to complete denial.

The second example is Belize. I knew in my head that the worst case senario (and the one that would probably happen) would be five of my personal days and three days without pay, but I still held out hope that my school would be slightly understanding. I was WAY OFF in anyone being happy for me. I thought my department would be excited, that other teachers would think it was cool and congratulate me. Some of my department members have been happy, but when I say some I mean two. Somewhere in the gossip mill this honor I've received at being accepted into a writing program has turned into a vacation to Belize, that the school is practically paying for, blah blah. People in my own department are making comments, "I can't believe they're letting you go" and "Oh yeah, gee struggling with sub plans, you poor thing."

Okay, that's too upsetting to talk about anymore.
I think the problem is that I'm smart enough to project forward and see how situations will end up, but not smart enough to listen to myself and protect myself. I KNOW how things will go but I think I expect people to do more to help me out than I should. I don't know why people should help me out; I'm really not all that helpful to others, I guess.

Oh well. Now it's 20 hours, 49 minutes and several seconds until I have to be there. You want to do something depressing, go here and watch the minutes of your life slowly tick away.