I am a Rock, I am an Island

IMG_1710, originally uploaded by jshannon331.

I'm stuck. Like watching all of the pedestrians fly seamlessly in and out of sidewalk traffic in Time Square while your peacoat is snagged in the elevator door simply because you had been walking forever and just needed a good hotel to pee in.

As if everyone in the world has a destination and is moving swiftly toward it.

Everyone but me.

It's felt this way for a little while now, which generally signifies something. A need for a change. A reflection. A pause. A discovery. Instead, it feels like I'm just waiting. One of the stones in the middle of the river, blinking my eyes as the water rushes forward with zeal and fervor- leaving me stationary. In the mud. Just waiting. Whoa it sucks to be a rock.

The Fake

I am a fake

A mistake in a suit bearing fruit unlike that from which it came

Just the same

I stand unsmiling

Defiling those who stand in picket lines

Pay fines

Cry and whine

For one, small chance

To stand where I am standing now.

How

Did it go this far

To where I lost sight of the things with my name on them

To where I lay claim to other’s belongings because they were practical

And didn’t carry a stigma

An enigma in one room

With 64 eyes

All seeking answers

Speaking words they have yet to know how to pronounce

Denounce them.

Announce with a flourish, that though they are special

You were never really meant for this

For them

What are we really meant for, after all?

I am a fake

A mistake in a crumpled suit

Throwing accusations like boulders

Hurling expectations over shoulders of backs bowed and bent from anticipating my heels

I don’t know how it feels to fit tight

To fight

To reach for what is good- not just what is right

To light the torch and run deep into the night simply because someone else might see it

And know

That someone other than them is running

Running toward something

Not to run away

Or to find anything

Simply, to run

Because it is what I choose to do

Not what other’s expect

Or request

Or ingest

Or ascertain

Or place blame

Or diagnose- insane

In the sun or in the rain

Because I forgot my name

I’ll run until I find it

And shed the suit along the way

I was a fake.

I’m not today.

Confession

I worked hard today. I taught kids that innocuous has two n's and one c. And then, had to tell them what the word actually meant. Then, I spent an hour and a half on a yellow school bus both ways into Times Square with 67 of the little boogers to chaperone their sorry selves at Shrek the Musical and dinner at Planet Hollywood. After a day like this, reposing by the fire with a novel as thick as a phonebook doesn't do it for me.

I know, that was a shocker. Voracious reader though I am, this kind of day calls for something a bit different. I don't want to chuckle at Wilde's wit. I don't want to brood over Bronte's tragic love affairs. I want my p.j.'s that don't reach my ankles, my sweatshirt with the ugly wooden buttons up the front and to spend the evening with Oprah, with Samantha Brown, Anthony Bourdain, Giada DeLaurentis and the entire cast of Glee.

I am steadfast and unmovable in my stance against cable television. I believe it rots brains, provides our children with valid excuses as to why they should never have to lift a page in a book when everything can be uploaded directly into their front lobes by means of visual stimuli, promotes obesity and ultimately, removes any semblance of intellectual awareness. That being said, allow me to contradict myself.

I. Miss. Cable.

It happens only on nights like these when my synapses are sick of running into each other. When my mouth can only form the words, " No, you can't right now. You'll have to hold it until we get there" after hours and hours of repeating that phrase like a chanting, Byzantine monk. I want someone else to do the entertaining for once. Preferably, someone who can't see me in my dirty p.j.'s, blowing my nose, eating ice cream out of the carton. Oh, Travel Channel- where are you when I need you?

Lost in Transition

I have grown to hate this word. Transition. It's the word that people use when they can't put their finger on what the hell's going on. "Oh, we're just in transition right now." It seems to harken something temporal, something that is not meant to last long- that there is an end in sight in which, eventually, we will all know exactly where we need to be, what will transpire, etc. Pardon me, but I have come to find, this thought process is just a human comfort mechanism and holds no merit or credence.

Mine and my husband's living situation has been transitional the last few months. We have had 3 addresses in less than 7 months. I have not used my own towels. I have forgotten which sweater was the one that I loved to wear on the first snow. I have not held my own coffee mug, not read my own book, not polished my own silverware. We've been in transition.

We have just celebrated our fourth anniversary. Gone are the days when people giggle at our newlywed status. The term "just starting out" has waltzed right past us, leaving us stranded on the dance floor, susceptible to unscrupulous questions more personal than whether or not we are taking time to "enjoy each other". "When are you having children?" flies out like darts, from others, from ourselves. We are in transition.

We are attempting to purchase a home, settling in the least likely of places- a place we had sworn to never return. We are trying to reconcile what it means to purchase a home, to stake claim in something more permanent, to invest. Does this mean that our fly-by-the-seat- of- our pants days are over? By choosing to stay here, are we closing doors to bigger adventures that could possibly lead us outside of the home we never thought we'd return to? Are we no longer the whimsical, free-spirited ones evading ties and obligations in order to learn what it actually means to enjoy life abundantly? Transition.

We have both been in the same occupations for several years now. Occupations we would not have chosen, but are grateful for, for the income and opportunities they have afforded us. We are left asking ourselves, "Is this enough for us?" Is this what we want to teach our children? What else can we do now to change it, if we'd like? Transition.

I hate this word. Not because of what it is, but because of how it's used and the connotation it portrays. Is not our life, here, on this earth, Transitional? Won't we always be transitioning from one stage to the other? from one place to another? From one mind set to another? What if there is no end in sight, but transition is, in fact, the result? Will we ever, truly, know what is going to happen in the future? And once we attain what we're after, how will we ever know if we'll transition again?

It's not the destination, it's the journey, so they say. Let's embrace transition for what it truly is, and not what we'd like it to be.

Callings

I've been thinking a lot about the word "Calling" lately, and this was a fairly decent article I thought I'd share with you, here.

Sick

Have you ever been sick? No, like, really sick? So sick you've soaked through two tee-shirts in one hour even though you're freezing? So sick you're afraid to cough because your breathing stops? So sick that even when your husband rubs your back lightly it feels like he's raking nails down your spine? Welcome to my weekend.

It has been a long time-years-since I have had a sickness like this so I had all but forgotten how completely wretched it actually is. Surprisingly, it's not just the symptoms that make it so unbearable for me, however. It's the helplessness.

I am a stereo-typical eldest child raised by an independent single mother, which basically translates into meaning that I don't EVER need help. That's false, of course, but that's seemingly how I operate. That is, until I'm ill.

Suddenly, I can't get out of bed to get a glass of water. I can't cram my achy fingers into the advil bottle. I can't shower without a quick hand "at the ready" considering I'm infamous for the in-the-shower pass outs. I can't even walk to the bathroom on my own, my spine all crooked from lying in one prostrate position too long. I am utterly depend on my husband for all of my basic needs and it would be a lie to say I didn't inwardly hate it. Because on top of feeling awful and helpless, being sick makes me an emotional wreck. I get weepy. I get sad. I get scared that it will never go away, that I won't be able to unload the dishwasher in time for company this weekend, that I cannot go to work or worship practice or the other 800 things I've committed myself to throughout the week.

It seems, I identify myself by the things that I do, and when illness renders me helpless, the sadness comes from feeling worthless. So, I suppose I could consider it a good thing that I'm laid up here on the couch unable to independently move my legs. It is here, when I am floating in between naps, where God whispers softly of where my worth really comes from.

Oh, and that after all he's done for me, I should really consider giving Rich a kegerator for Christmas.

Maybe it was Rich whispering.

In Defense of Baths

I have been cold for two, count them, two days. Not just the "this is a nice, brisk autumn day" cold but the kind of cold that has you refusing to reach your hand out of the covers to hit the snooze button no matter how many octaves your alarm clock is bound and determined to climb. That kind of cold. In the car on the way back home from worship practice, I fantasized about Bahama beaches,endless mugs of cocoa- with a strategically displayed cinnamon stick, of course- and down comforters stretched out like canvas across the parking lot. My hot and steamy dreams led to only one conclusion; one answer to this bone chill I cannot shake: it was time to take a bath.

Baths are totally and completely underrated. Not only are they the only things that can thaw my hypothermic appendages, but it is in the bath where you can find complete and utter solitude. No one bothers you in the bath; not even your spouse. There is something sacred about water immersion. I've often envisioned a bathroom and tub placed right smack in the middle of my classroom so, whenever the need rises (like when I'm being called a F%$# face or accused of losing an irresponsible child's paper) I can politely put my finger in the air and excuse myself. It's time for my bath. Where I go, you cannot follow. Ha. Ha. Insert sinister teacher laugh here.

You cannot possibly be distracted with work. Paperwork doesn't fair well surrounded by water, don't you know? You can't answer the phone or e-mails- mmm, electric shock, anyone? Besides, how awkward would it be to have to ask your boss to repeat himself on that conference call- you simply couldn't hear him over the running water.

It's a one stop shopping excursion. Relax and get clean while you wait for the stillness to put your mind at rest. Makes you wonder what all of these spas are about, huh? Baths are great for the economically challenged. And the tired. And the annoyed. And the physically achy. Damn. I think I just talked myself into taking another one.