Faith, Hope, and Love

... in the words of Jaime Grace (who was totally reading my mind). Absolutely hilarious and perfect video. In general, I feel a lot of pressure to be in a relationship. Part of it comes down to the fact that my unofficial part-time job is "wedding attender." There is at least five weddings a year in my life. And there was the year I went to 10 (and had been invited to more). And at every wedding, I sigh with a lot of happiness for the couple, but also a little bit of longing for myself. But a huge part of it is that every Nigerian auntie wants to question me at every event possible (especially weddings) and during their questioning I get this niggling feeling that I'm not meeting expectations. That it doesn't matter that I have two degrees, or that I'm working my butt off teaching 6th graders, or that overall I think I'm growing into a wonderful woman. What matters is that I'm still single. And that makes me a failure. I don't truly believe t...

Whoever said it gets easier in Year 2 is a lair.   My second year of teaching is just as stressful (and occassionally more) than my first year. Granted I haven't broken down into uncontrollable tears yet (well, there was that one time...) and I actually know what I'm teaching the kids each day.   But... that's the problem. Since I know all the horrible mistakes I made the first go around, I'm bending over backwards and practically killing myself to make improvements. I still find myself at school until 9pm and being the last car in the parking lot. I still find myself knocking out while grading and frantically waking up at 4am to finish lesson planning. And I still find myself to close to no personal life.   But I still love what I do. It's a lot of fun. It's fulfilling. I'm more confident. And over the last month, it really has gotten better. So maybe that person wasn't such a big liar after all. In Year 1, things only got better after th...

So... I've figured out 63 things to add to my 1001 list . Thanks to Texas Monthly . Apparently they've done issues like this here and there in the past. And maybe, if I find the time and go through all of them, they can help me add to my list. I forgot I bought this one and just found it as I was packing and purging my apartment. And reading through it again, I probably don't have 63 things on my list because while I do want to take the ultimate road trip from Dalhart, Texas to Brownsville, Texas (apparently nearly 850 miles!), I do not really want to play Chicken Sh*t Bingo in Austin. Nor do I want to eat calf fries. And since I don't like beer or Dr. Pepper, I'd be willing, but highly reluctant to drink a free beer at the K. Spoetzl Brewery in Shiner or drink a Dublin Dr. Pepper. And then some things I've already done. Like visiting the State Fair of Texas in Dallas (duh, that's my hometown! or region... Fort Worth is really home). And while ...

I'm in the process of packing up my stuff to get ready for my move in a few weeks and I've been unearthing quite a few things that have brought back tons of memories and tons of laughs. One thing I seem to have a surplus of is notebooks, notepads and journals. One I recorded interview notes from my active journalism days. Ones I wrote down plays or Biblical vignettes for church. And of course, the journals with all my thoughts and dreams. I found my most recent journal. The last entry was dated a year ago. It's incomplete. I'm not sure why I never finished it. Although, it doesn't really surprise me that I didn't. But reading over this last entry made me smile... A year ago, I was offered my teaching job at YES. And much like with my magazine job, it all worked out at the last-minute. A blessing poured out when I was ready to give up. The job at CURE came right on the heels of my internship with the Dallas Morning News. I remember, it was ...

The short burst of fun and excitement, bookmarked between stretches of infinite boredom, a constant reminder of the loneliness. Distant friends, and nearby strangers. Unshared sorrows, broken heart. Hollow laughter masking hidden sobs. Solitude is overrated.

I own a lot of books. The four bookshelves in my apartments are almost completely full, and this does not count the ones I have stacked on my desk, the piano or the floor. These also do not include the five bookshelves I took to my classroom, or the half a dozen or more milk crates I've converted into book storage. In both places, I've run out of space... and I just keep buying more books. I can't help myself. It's like an addiction. When I'm feeling blue, the best pick-me-up is going on Amazon and with one click, filling my basket. It's even better to walk into an actual bookstore, flip the pages, and take in that new-book smell. I've had to ban myself from both in recent weeks. While my bank account is thanking me, my habit isn't. The funny thing, perhaps, is that I actually haven't read all the books I own. I'm like a collector that way, I suppose. I buy books just to have them... although, unlike a collector, I actually do wa...