my life in fictional country music, part II

"Drinking on Weeknights (Gloating)" by Jacked Up Truck

"No Work Pays No Money" by Union Shop

"You're Not Where I Want (But It's Not About Me)" by Jett James

"It's Not Secret, It's Strategy" by Four Large Hairy Men

who you invent

The restlessness is the part of a new place that I loathe.

I get to reinvent myself, break habits, start new ones, and make a batch of new impressions.

Yet for a time, the relationships are awkward and superficial. I dog-paddle, trying to recall names while reading a person: is this someone with whom I want spend time?

Being careful costs me: I watch a lot of TV, read a bunch of books, and generally imagine that most everyone is having more fun than me. On another, of course, I know it isn't true. Not that I'm frustrated, but that everyone else's life is a parade of parties and esprit de corps.

Then again, it's a new city, new people. Maybe things are different here.

In any case, whine's over for this evening. Life moves ever faster. And there's a lot to be said for books.

maybe I'll break hearts and be as fast you

Oh my, I haven't done this in a while. However, the voyeuristic gulf left by me leaving Facebook must be satiated.

My life, as described by fictional country songs:

"The Lady Is All Right (I Can Sometimes Pronounce A Soft 'S')" by Rufus Todd and Tractor-Trailers

"Blame (He Said, She Said)" by Estelle Jacobs and the Salt of the Earth

"I'm Confident In My Masculinity (Unlike Most Homophobic 15-Year-Olds)" by the Redneck Boyz

"Curt Weldon Is Batshit Crazy" by the Downshifting Truckers

you are aghast for all the wrong reasons

For reasons that left you after the second margarita but you believe had something to do with being home for the holidays and at your parents' home, you met your ex at Chili's.

"....just blows me away. I was in the magazine rack at Barnes and Noble and thought I saw someone who looked like and immediately got shot of adrenaline..."

Your ex is in minute six of describing his current girlfriend. He knows he is being both boorish and an ass, but cannot help himself; he is truly smitten.

"She is so smart. Like, hella smart. She was a finalist for the Rhodes and the Marshall."

You wince. Hella? This is the guy who introduced you to Toby Keith.

"Our first day, we did nothing but talk. I didn't even worry about kissing her. It was like, I knew it was going to happen anyway--why rush it? I mean, she told me about the Palestinian right of return. She spent a summer organizing participating in sit-ins before the Israeli army bulldozed villages. Kinda strange for a Catholic girl from Kansas, but there you go..."

A red flag rises in your mind. This girl supports the Palestinian right of return? That would obliterate Israel! What's the point of having a Jewish state run by Muslims? What kind of slut would believe this crap? You begin to voice your objection, but your ex changes the subject.

"And she likes sports! Like, loves them! She has season tickets for the Yankees. She's so devoted that she moved to a cheaper apartment in the Bronx so she could save enough money to buy the tickets. Closer to the stadium, too."

You are furious. What kind of whore roots for both the Yankees and supports the Palestinian right of return? That's like serving Coke and Pepsi at the same party! Like an incumbent running as the anti-Washington candidate! Like buying a copy of The Nation at Wal-Mart! The cognitive dissonance gives you a headache.

You look at your ex, searching for a trace of comprehension in his apologetic, beaming face. You'd hit him if you loved him a little less.

You decide to say nothig and empty the margarita pitcher in your glass and ask the waiter for the check. You realize this is sending a message that he'll misinterpret, forcing an awkward phone call regarding his boorish, ass-like behavior. You decide this is an acceptable outcome; after all, the Yankees?

to see in all directions at the same time

For the curious...

I love my kids.

At this point in the year, I think I am learning more from them than vise versa.

Don't look down now, but perhaps the walls can be leaped.

I moved North to avoid heat (among other reasons). When's that gonna happen, huh? I'm talking to you, Hurricane Ophelia.

I wonder if some dudes at the National Weather Service in eastern North Carolina mess with the intern by playing Adam Cohen's one hit wonder, "Cry Ophelia" every morning. I so would.

I need to sleep and run more than I have been the last few days.

My instinct for equilibrium will soon bear out.

I gave me away

Some storms just don't end...

The Katrina fallout has been like seeing a nasty wreck on the Interstate. It's so painful to see, but it's impossible to look away. I keep telling myself to stop reading and watching TV reports, that the suffering is constant, that peoples' lives will remain wrecked for the forseeable future, that our incompetent leaders can't be voted out of office right now, that I can't do anything, that getting angry doesn't do anything except raise my blood pressure.

I tell myself these things, but of course, I don't always do what I'm told.

get a firm grip, girl, before you let go

So....

I have been assigned. I don't know what grade I will teach or if I will have a classroom. I do, however, have a spiffy ID card that says I'm a teacher.

If I don't hear otherwise, I'm supposed to report to the school September 1.

****

District training would've been made a great unintentionally hilarious reality series had I not had to show up every day. Instead, it was painfully boring.

****

My Mississippi friends seem to be mostly OK. A's house survived, though her mother-in-law's did not. K's parents lost a good chunk of their roof. No word from reporter-buddies on the coast. The Times-Picayune evacuated their main office Tuesday morning because of flooding. As for Sun-Herald people, I saw their bylines this morning, so they must be doing well enough to do their jobs.