I'm working on a yearbook deadline, which I guess I technically will miss at the close of business today. Oh well...I suppose I should get motivated.
I haven't been motivated to do anything lately. In fact, I've been going through some nasty insomnia and depression feelings. Why? I'm not quite sure, but I think the aforementioned deadlines have something to do with it.
I used to love deadlines, but only when I know exactly what I'm doing. Being a first-year instructor on the yearbook and teaching freshman leaves me without knowing 3/4 of the student body. That sucks. Also, having to spend 1/2 the year finishing last year's yearbook has left me drained on this one.
I also need to get all of my personal pictures downloaded to the computer and put up on MySpace and Facebook for all of your viewing pleasures. There are some funny stories regarding bison that hate my driving.
Other pictures include me running on the beach on the 4th of July. We decided to have a picnic with my brothers and my parents back in Iowa at the local county park--where my youngest brother works. We met for lunch, and then hiked around the park. I took a couple of artsy pictures, but nothing I would consider to be life changing.
Other than that, I'm avoiding MySpace and Facebook like the plague. A couple of high school classmates have found me on those sites and I, not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings, decided to add them. This has been a challenge, because I don't really talk to anyone from high school, nor do I want them to know anything about my life.
Many of my classmates were self-absorbed, spoiled kids, whose parents grew up in the same town we lived. Thus, since my parents grew up outside of the tiny 500-person town, and we moved there when I was 3, I was an outsider. It didn't help that teachers would often think I was dumb because I didn't have the same last name as 1/2 the other kids at school. I was teased a lot because I liked to read, was clumsy and of course, was chubby. It wasn't until my 6th grade teacher (who didn't give a shit about generational heritage) that I finally started to see some light at the end of the tunnel.
That teacher, Mr. P., put me in the challenging reading groups and had me work on my math skills until I was in the top of that as well. The previous two years of being ignored by the worst teacher ever, had finally been vindicated. I was doing better than most of the kids whose parents grew up in the system--and in only 1/2 a year. Suckers.
Junior high and high school were very easy for me, if not too easy. I never studied, and rarely did homework (except algebra and geometry), which in retrospect was dumb. Even though I graduated with honors, I could have done so much better. But, I was bored and found reading books or writing stories to be much more fun.
But, alas, I didn't have any close friends. I had three or four that I talked to, and hung out with a lot, but none that shared my interests or hobbies. I had a couple of friends in my Odyssey of the Mind group, and Tonya and I have stayed good friends, but she was a year younger than me in school. I also had a few friends from 4-H, but one was 5 years older than me, the other 1 year younger. Also, woodworking and cooking don't always make your friends knock down your door wanting to talk.
I felt alone a lot, caused by my hobbies. But, I don't regret it. I enjoyed working on antique furniture, reading and cooking. It's enhanced my abilities as a writer and storyteller, not to mention it's taught me patience.
Additionally, I've learned to be ambitious. I always knew I would get out of that 500-person town, and go somewhere else.
Did I know I would end up as a teacher with a master's degree in English? NO. I was a political science and drama major my first year of college, and then I met a couple of English professors who changed my mind.
I finally realized that writing/teaching could be a viable life choice. It was like a light turned on in my head and it felt right. I had found the right career--something I had been doing pretty much my entire life, alone.
There's also an air of mysteriousness that I like to create.
One of the two classmate I still talk to I saw at my wedding a couple weeks ago, the other I see on occasion at special events back home. Of course, neither one of those classmates were the ones to add me on MySpace or Facebook.
I'm a very private person in real life. Writing is a totally different experience for me, because it's how I express myself best. Ask my husband; I get tongue-tied when I try to talk about my feelings. But, writing about feelings comes easy--it's a release and I can always delete a sentence if I don't like the way it comes out. It's what I consider a bleep-button for verbal-diarrhea. Anyway, instead of all of my posts on MySpace, I may actually begin to use blogger again.
I am supposed to have a 10-year high school class reunion sometime this month. What day? I'm not sure. The post card, which was mailed to my parent's house, didn't have a date. Instead, it had a time, place (2 bars nonetheless) and an email address for questions. HA! Out of pure, unadulterated facetiousness, I thought about emailing the contact person about the date, but then realized that would corner me into a position of "are you going?"
I don't think they would appreciate a, "HELL NO."
Part of the reason I don't want to go is because I'm proud of the accomplishments I've made for myself. By myself. Earning a BA with a 3.5 GPA, a MA with a 3.8 GPA and reading papers at 2 different conferences. I accomplished more in those two years at graduate school than some professors do in 5 years.
But, in reality, that's not good enough for me--for someone who was once ostracized because her parents didn't grow up in the same town. I want to be at the top of the chain, earning my Ph.D. and living somewhere other than the mid-west. I suppose I'll always be self-conscious because of my adolescent experiences.
The other part is that I really don't care about my classmates, but I did consider going to check out their lives. I've heard rumors that some are now living train-wrecks. I would hate to laugh in their faces.
I guess I do care about them more than I should.
