Where’s the remote?

I’d like, just for a few days to live my own version of “Click.” Rewind. Rewrite. Record.

 channel changer

Dec. 20:

The day had already been filled with leaky tear ducts and red eyes.  Yes, I was an emotional cliff hanger, dangling by one hand from a branch barely supporting its own weight against gravity.  I’d foolishly looked through the many entries surrounding my own for the SOAR scholarship.  And then I began the unfortunate process of berating myself for not doing enough – for not pleading for my worthiness and my desire, not presenting Rachelle to my best ability – and the regret I suffered kicked into over drive.

Around the time that I was completely losing my carefully crafted façade of cool and confident – albeit a sheer veil over a wicked jumble of modesty, fear, and self-doubt – I clicked over to Me Ra’s blog and saw the most hideous screen shot ever.  Me.  Oh my. There I was featured on the blog as one of the entrants in the barrage of final weekend video submissions.  Really, God?  Was this your way of letting me know something about having and keeping faith? 

I dried my tears, ventured out to the copy center at work and dropped off the abundance of worksheets my students so abhor.  A unit designed for poetic inspiration? Nope, it never works. They’ll dread it all.

Just when I’d thought I’d regained hold of my emotions, I get called into my administrator’s office.  No sweat, I’m on top of it. Or not.  Turns out that my Dec.16 1:15 p.m. venture to scrape snow from my windshield and start a treacherous trip to pick up my life-lines was premature.  Never mind that I left in the heaviest of snowfall, while streets were essentially slip’n’slides for car wheels, visibility was terrible, and accidents were abundant.  Never mind that the forecast indicated there would be no quick end to the storm and that road conditions would steadily deteriorate as the day wore on.  And don’t even consider the hike from the corner of a street where cars were swinging and swaying so much that it looks like The letter now in my file says I should’ve risked my own safety (and that of my kids) while waiting until all of the school’s students traveled to their homes.

The waterworks put on a fabulous show then, and the administrator was a bit taken aback by my reaction.  I assured her it had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with my feelings of inadequacy in self promotion.  I don’t think she believed me.

I returned to my classroom moments before fifth period. I set the students to task and then my cell phone chimed to indicate a text message. It was around eleven in the morning, then. Yadon’s grandfather – my father-in-law, though I’ve never been married – was in a Fayetteville hospital on life support…

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