I’ve never wanted to be a teacher. Actually, I think it was always safe to say that I would NEVER be a teacher. It you had asked anyone, they’d tell you “She’ll never be a teacher!” I’ve never thought of myself as the one to carry a briefcase, maybe a crocodile contraption of a bag, yet never anything black and sturdy. As far as school was concerned…. I wasn’t concerned! Those Cs sure made for an entertaining analysis….
C – committed, C – creative, C- clever, yet definitely not A – achiever. Never a teacher….yet there are moments from my childhood that pointed directly at the day when I’d fill out a teaching application….I sat on the floor of the living room, all nine years of youth behind me offering valuable lessons. The children gathered around me cut pieced of silk out of thrifted shirts and carefully, using paper glue, attached the silk behind the holes in denim shorts which we created earlier. Each of these babies sold for $5! The proceeds of which were applied toward the Mexican candy truck that attacked out streets daily at 4, insuring our running out of the building and straight into the street.
There was also the time when I organized “The Concert”. A bunch of us from the building created handwritten yet simply disgusting invitations to hand out to our family and neighbors. I charged a $2 entrance fee into the basement pool area, where the patrons sat on one side, and we kids performed on the other. We used a stereo and sang along using a microphone we found on the street. The damn thing didn’t function, but served as the much needed prop. I of course sang Madonna’s Like a Prayer while wearing white boots that to this day remind me of Nancy Sinatra – These boots were made for walking! We collected over twenty bucks and went straight to McDonald’s, where I made sure each kid got a damn Happy Meal, accompanied by a toy of the moment of course! Sometimes these memories scare the shit out of me!
And she wrote
Today is the day I equate myself with a pig! I don’t mean in a sense that I ate too much in one sitting. What I’m talking about is the ability to eat, then eat some more, and eat some more. It’s as if I didn’t stop eating all day! Some bulimics out there are reliving some memories right now, but damn! All this food and I swear I still can’t achieve the feeling of being full. So after the fourth sandwich, the second salad, the fifth cookie, third bucket of tea with honey and lemon, and endless array of crackers, I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to get my butt on a treadmill! Mind you I already went through the pig stage before, and at that time obtained a spinning bike. My husband said I wouldn’t use it, but let me tell you…I got on it twice in four months! So he can’t say that it’s a complete waste! So with pants full of excitement, I walked into my husband’s office and proceeded to make a claim for a personal trainer. Apparently my husband knows me a little too well, since he said that first I have to use the bike an hour a day, six days a week, and then we could talk. I guess this comes from the fact that I’m one to get extremely excited about starting something, but the furthest I get into anything is three days. Which brings up an even bigger question: when will I give up on this blog?!? Oh Lord (or Jillian Michaels) be with me!
and she wrote
We sat on the veranda. I was grumpy, which after a fourteen hour day has become the norm. He sat across from me with his warm smile understanding before a word was uttered. I spoke… “I hate myself. I hate that I now have the time yet am not doing anything that I’ve dreamed about doing all those years of crazy work hours. I’m not taking a writing class. I’m not learning a language. I’m not dancing tango. I’m not playing the guitar. I’m not reading all the right books. I’m not working out. I’m not writing a blog.” The list went on. “The only consistency is that I’m simply not doing anything. I should just blog about all the things I’m not doing!” We both laughed. So here it is…my first step…
And she wrote