The holidays were an awful, jumbled mess this year. My soon-to-be ex flew the kids up to Tennessee to visit his sister, only to return on Christmas Eve. A day later, we gathered painfully at the old house. I brought the stuffing for the Christmas stockings and the dog. I brought the presents I had carefully wrapped in bright snowman paper. It was excruciating, but I did my best to ignore the distance, the misery of the strange new reality. It's much easier to compartmentalize these feelings when I'm not sitting in the marital home. That is to say, I'm so glad I live somewhere else.
I held my breath until classes began this week. I'm finally back to teaching. In some ways, this semester has already proven to be less traumatic. My classes are over for the first week and I am still alive. I'm sure there will be many tales to tell about them -- not specific student tales, of course. Their secrets are safe with me. I've put more focus on the most recent addition to my weekly schedule: the class I'm taking in the masters program.
The first official 2.5 hour class took place last night. Those hours fall unfortunately within the parameters of rush hour. I wasn't so happy about that, but it was my only choice. It is an accepted detail of being an "evening" student. Instead of fighting my way to the quaint little cobblestone streets and the myriad of cars that clog them, I decided to take my chances with the train system (my only moment of genius yesterday). I caught the 5:40pm train down a few stops. I found there was plenty of time to meander my way to the campus from the station. I had time to stop at Starbucks along the way. I passed my favorite eatery with my favorite friend and texted him the photo below.
There are more tidbits about my day I'd love to describe, but I realize that I must try to get some homework started and some administrative business out of the way for my own students. Life is calling. To be continued.....
