A Home Away From Home Away From Home

My husband and I have been married a little over six months now… and yeah, that’s still weird to say. It seems to me that much of our generation is having a hard time picturing ourselves as “grown-ups,” which is probably not unique to our generation, but we feel like it is our personal struggle because we’ve got social media and Buzzfeed to document and hashtag it. I won’t claim to be immune to any of that, but as a nod to an older time and in a show of solidarity, I did change my last name to my husband’s. It was a very “grown-up” decision I would absolutely make again, but it’s a part of the newlywed experience that is still a bit foreign. It’s a constant reminder that life will never be exactly the same again – and it’s never the most common occurrences that are the most jarring. My new “teacher name” (Mrs. New Last Name instead of Ms Old Last Name, but always with the same, slightly whiny tone) washes over me as it constantly comes in waves. Signing my name isn’t difficult… unless I can’t remember whether or not I’ve had time to change that particular account yet. No, it’s always the little things that still stop me in my tracks: the new name on a prescription from the pharmacy staring at me in its bold, all-caps official way; the new introduction as “my wife, Amanda” at a social gathering, or the subtly surprising pangs of nostalgia when I encounter a piece of my “old,” pre-husband life.

I don’t run into my past self too terribly often since we’ve been together almost four years now and we’ve integrated our lives fairly smoothly. But once or twice a year, we go visit my parents in my hometown. It’s an objectively terrible place to be most of the time; there is absolutely nothing for a visitor to do there in the winter (and we are always there for Christmas) so I usually spend most of the visit worried that my husband may leave me over some idiot thing a family member said, or perhaps just out of sheer boredom. I always feel like I’m the less interesting one in our relationship, so in the craziness that comes at the end of a ten-hour drive, I worry that maybe it will just take him seeing me in my natural habitat for him to realize the error of his ways and leave me sobbing on my parents’ doorstep.

That’s the thing, though… It IS my natural habitat. My head understands every argument against EVER living there again, and believe me, I still never will – due to the abysmal, unrelenting cold if nothing else – but my heart still aches every time we leave because subjectively, there is so much to do there. Memories lurk in every closet, around every corner, and even where I’d least expect them, embracing me in a rare and bittersweet familiarity until the car door slams and it’s time to go because it’s no longer solely my choice to stay. It’s a very odd kind of heartache, too, being torn between things you love and knowing that they are mutually exclusive. Not the kind you experience when you’re single and pining, or when you’re dating and waiting… This is a gentler, fleeting, yet more profound kind of hurt.

It’s an experience made more difficult because it’s a feeling my husband – the person who knows me best in the world and is often nearly identical to me – cannot understand. I was a transplant before our relationship began, so this is really only a new iteration of the journey that began for me when I moved away for college. But this life we have created together is more a permutation of his past because we still live where he grew up, basically. He doesn’t have to get nostalgic for home – in fact, he never gets the chance because we see his parents almost every week. It’s not often that we have these disconnects (we are quite happily married for numerous reasons, after all) but when it does happen, that just makes it all the more lonely.

Now we’re looking to buy a house of our own – yet another definition of home – and that prospect is terrifying on an entirely different level. My head swims with the names of financiers and inspectors, and I’ve developed an irrational fear and hatred of Homeowner’s Associations. Yet, I am filled with an overwhelming sense of hope. Perhaps this is the step that will make it all real: the prescription bottles, the party introductions, the whole grown-up shebang. I hope it will be a place where we can showcase and harbor our strengthening marriage. I hope it will be a place with more good memories than bad ones. And most of all, I hope it will be a new place we can both be nostalgic for when we’re away, so that leaving home can truly mean coming home, regardless of the direction we’re driving.

***This post was originally created for and posted to a dear friend's collaborative blog: www.curesforcuriosity.wordpress.com Please go visit and check out the other "curious" categories!

Don't Stop Believing?

Guilty pleasure time: I still watch Glee. I also still watch Grey's Anatomy, I watched every episode of Private Practice until it was finally and mercifully cancelled, and I love The Office and will probably cry when it's over even though it jumped the shark long ago... but none of those are relevant right now. This is about Glee.

In all honesty, I don't really *enjoy* Glee anymore; I listened to the episode I watched tonight more than I watched it, and there are many points (last month's ridiculous "school shooting but not" episode would certainly be one) where I should have bailed. But I have a crippling inability to give up on anything once I've started, and that particularly applies to stories. I finish every book I start, I can't leave a play or movie before it's over regardless of how bad it is, and I watch every episode of every show I begin. (This is why I don't take starting a new series lightly - if/when I start Mad Men, Dr. Who, and/or Parks and Recreation, each one will consume a significant chunk of time.) I like to think that this is what makes me a good teacher, too - it is a *rare* thing for me to give up on a student, and even when I do, it plagues and pains me every time I see them.

But, I've been thinking a lot about giving up lately. I've thought about giving up on job applications that seem fruitless, giving up and phoning in my job that isn't my job anymore, and giving up on teaching altogether. Why should I keep subjecting myself to this? A profession where on a DAILY basis, I deal with students criticizing me, parents questioning me, and virtually NO ONE outside my direct peers praising me? The bathroom I use at work is constantly covered in phrases like, "I love penis" and "F**k this school and this town." It's still got zip ties in it from the senior "prank" earlier this week. I bring hours worth of work home with me every night, and then I feel guilty if/when I don't do it because I choose to *gasp* spend time with my fiancee or treat myself to a longer bath than necessary. If I had chosen any other profession, I'm sure I would have other problems to complain about, but I'm pretty sure I would feel (and be compensated) more like a professional while dealing with them.

But this is about Glee.

I realized this evening that tomorrow night is the season finale of Glee for this year. I immediately remembered, with terrifying clarity, where I was when I watched the first season finale of Glee three years ago (you know, when I really did enjoy it because the writing was more clever and the singing was still novel). I was watching in my "ghetto apartment" about two weeks after my student teaching had ended, on my 14" television which was dependent on the digital-age version of an analog antenna (which still worked better covered in aluminum foil than not and depended far too much on the direction and intensity of the wind) in the recliner I took from my parents' house, in the DARK because I was trying to save on the electricity bill.

And as those kids sang their reprise of "Don't Stop Believing" for what already felt like the billionth time, after utterly failing at regionals... I bawled my eyes out. In that cruddy old recliner, in the dark, I bawled my eyes out because their teacher was watching them with utmost pride, and that resonated with me.

That all seems so long ago. I was poor as sin, tragically single, and nearly devoid of friends (or so I thought at the time). Now I'm marginally less poor, getting married in 43 days, and the one thing I'm sure of is that there are people who care about me. But I'm not sure if I'll even so much as tear up this year when Mr. Schue inevitably gets misty-eyed over the performances and prospective futures of his students. I'm not sure if I have any tears left for anyone other than myself, or if I have enough idealism left to believe the same way those overgrown fictional teenagers or their teacher do...

... but I'm trying not to stop.

Losing It

Hi, blog. It's been awhile. Probably too long. I certainly wish it was under better, more creative circumstances. You see, about 11 days ago now, I found out I am losing my job. (That present progressive verb is used on purpose here because I have to keep DOING my job - my ridiculously difficult, emotional, and overwhelming even on a good day job - for another two months. All is not yet lost.) Needless to say, that was pretty devastating news for me, seeing as I absolutely love my job and I've been assured by everyone (including the bearer of bad news) that I am very good at it. Even though my love for my work had kind of been in doubt for awhile now (I had seriously thought about what it would be like to pursue a different career, even fantasizing at times about the "luxury" of working a desk job where I could listen to my own music, work at my own pace, and go to the bathroom whenever I damn well pleased), I remembered precisely how much I love my particular job the instant it was taken away from me.

I've already spent way too much time thinking about all my regrets, the people I will miss, the graduations I contributed to but won't see... so I won't use this space to cry about that. I'm done crying. Besides, I came here this evening for a different reason. Obviously, I'm applying for new jobs (I am definitely not marrying a sugar daddy... mama's gotta work), so even though I don't use my full name there and I'm practically unsearchable, I checked my Facebook privacy settings. Upon viewing my profile as the general public would, I noticed something odd - the only thing they have access to is the notes section of my profile. I haven't posted a note to Facebook in years. A. and I weren't even dating yet when I posted the last one, and we're getting married in 87 days, if that tells you anything.

Anyway, I naturally started reading through some of those old posts to see whether I should delete them or if they were safe to leave. It's mostly innocuous; lots of those dumb surveys that were popular back when Facebook was first really taking off, a few observations of daily college life, and one particularly feisty rant about Kansas' inability to clear snow properly (in my defense, KU had just lost, so I was quite irritable already). The most interesting thing I found, though, was a writing exercise I used to make myself do when I was feeling stressed and had time to kill at my reference desk work-study job. I would force myself to make (and publish, via notes) two simple lists: the things that made me happy at that moment, and the things that didn't. The goal was to list more happy things than unhappy things. Simple, yet effective. It nearly always worked to put things in perspective and forced me to look on the bright side. I can't think of anything I need more than that right now, so here goes. Indulge me, if you will.

Things that make me happy this evening:
Our incredibly warm and snuggly couch, a warm blanket, a stomach full (and relatively settled, thank goodness) of white chicken chili, leftovers of said chili packed and ready for lunches, an evening of good re-runs of Top Gear on BBC America, a cold beer, Cadbury Mini-Eggs (a surprise from A.), good news today on the job search front, A. getting really excited about Dr. Who commercials on BBC America, goodnight kisses, literally everything about my dear fiancee including how he just glued his fingers together while assembling his nerdy dudes, remembering words of encouragement from dear colleagues, my students were more pleasant than normal after a week's rest, a load of laundry is running, ridiculous Buzzfeed articles (seriously, I'm a sucker for a good set of autocorrects, and today's is gold), knowing I was strong enough to not tear up in front of students today, @FakeJoeDooley and his ridiculous tweets, my Jayhawks are in the Sweet 16, my ring is still extra sparkly from a spring break cleaning, texts from my BFF checking on me, and Pinterest!

Things that make me unhappy this evening:
Having to look for jobs at all, being nervous about going to work every day because I don't know how I'll react, being worried that I'll get another poor night's sleep, feeling like a failure despite everyone's best efforts to convince me I'm not, the gigantic pile of grading that should have been done over break but wasn't because of all the crying/staring/sleeping/puking etc. that happened instead, the draft that perpetually runs across our living room, job websites that won't load properly, a generally unclean apartment (see previous crying/staring...), an unfinished book I know I'll love but still can't concentrate on due to previously mentioned worries.

Well, the unhappy list has some seriously heavy hitters on it, but the happy list is still longer and prominently features the ultimate trump cards: my friends and my family. Time to focus on that and let them help me hope for the best.

SWF seeking man of her dreams

One of my colleagues posed a challenge to our department over the weekend: write a personal ad describing what you are looking for in an ideal relationship. She will be giving the same assignment to her creative writing students this week, and wanted to see what we would come up with. Here goes.

Single white female in her 20's seeks single male also in his 20's for long-term relationship. Dealbreakers first: No smoking (of any kind), must want kids (3, ideally, but 2 is negotiable), and must pursue an honest, equal relationship - no playing games. Must be smart, funny, handsome, and kind. Requests: Should push me out of my comfort zone but not mock me when I choose to stay in it. Sometimes Kraft Macaroni and Cheese really is where it's at. Should be an excellent and willing cook, though, or that's all we'll eat. Money is not a requirement, but ambition is, and you'll want to have a strategy in place for calming me down when mine overwhelms me. Should tell me I'm beautiful even when I'm disgustingly sick - and mean it. No playing games, remember? Should be willing to have fun, even at the expense of looking foolish, in any situation. For example, are you down with throwing bacon into a shopping cart ten feet away? Should come from a loving and supportive family, preferably one which fostered a healthy appreciation for the Muppets. Must be able to put up with my screaming at the television during sporting events, but joining in is not required. An appropriate understanding of personal space and alone time is helpful, but so is an understanding of the long, silent, supportive hug. Should be willing and able to squash bugs. Bottom line: must be willing to love, be loved, and show it every day.

Just for the record, no applicants need apply. Position filled. (Love you, A.)

A Change Will Do You Good

Dear New Resident of A10,

Congratulations! You’re probably very excited to start a new phase of your life, or to make a clean break, or perhaps simply to get the process of moving all your junk from one place to another over with. The good news is, you’re very lucky to be getting the apartment they assigned to you. I should know; it was mine for the last two years. There’s not really any bad news, but here are some helpful tips you should know.

-         Invest in accoutrements for your amazing new bathtub. It’s big, deep, and perfectly engineered for aquatic reading. I suggest a waterproof pillow and a good bubble bath mix.

-         You will absolutely need a new showerhead. The one that comes with the place will peel your skin off.

-         I think I got all the hairspray off the bathroom fixtures – all I know about the tenant before me is that she drove a red car, parked it too close to the garage walls, and must have had a bouffant to rival Marge Simpson that was hairsprayed within an inch of its life. If there’s any left, try a mix of shampoo and water on it.

-         The acoustics in there are perfect for making you sound like Adele, by the way. The stairs are good for that, too.

-         Speaking of sound, the bedroom only shares about 1/3 of a wall with any other apartment, so it’s very quiet. Enjoy that.

-         You should also enjoy the bedroom closet – I only hope that one day I can have another closet big enough that it has a window.

-         And speaking of windows, I hope you have budgeted for a big utility bill. The living room walls are almost entirely windows, so the insulation is horrible in there. Keep the blinds pulled as the sun goes down, but you'll still roast.

-         The view more than makes up for it. Especially when it storms.

-         The view is great from the balcony, too, but you’ll have to win it back from the birds. The babies should be gone now, so have the maintenance guy take the nest down and power wash the deck. Put up some wind chimes. They help a bit, but you’ll probably still find yourself cursing at the birds in the spring.

-         You’ll curse at the bugs in the entryway all year long. I recommend the heavy-duty spray that creates a bug barrier, but even that won’t eliminate Jiminy Cricket’s descendants. They rarely come upstairs, though.

-         If you don’t have one, get a man friend (or a manly lady friend - that's cool, too) who can curse at the birds and clean up the bugs for you. I didn’t have one when I signed the lease, but he came along soon and that’s why I moved out. Things might change a lot for you while you live here.

-         The garbage disposal smells a bit garlicky. Sorry, my fiancée does, too. Try running orange peels through it.

-         In the event that you should start a kitchen fire, don’t use the fire extinguisher if you can help it. Look carefully at the back left burner and you’ll understand why. Don’t make meatballs in a shallow pan, for starters.

-         Only turn the icemaker on when you really need ice. The noises it makes will scare the crap out of you when you’re home alone. Just keep enough for a drink by the pool, which is awesome.

-         If you get any of my mail, just bring it out to the pool with you. I’ll be the one with the book and the big drink. See you there.

Silly poem is silly

In American Lit 2 yesterday, we were reading Imagist poems to kick off our Modernism unit. While our textbook can be the bane of my existence at times (I can't wait until I have time and energy again to go out on my own and supplement that sucker!), it does have a fun little selection from Des Imagistes. The kids enjoyed the short and sweet (and accessible!) images of poems like "In a Station of the Metro" and "Heat," and they got a good laugh out of my personal favorite, "This is Just to Say." One class finished a bit earlier than the others (that will happen when there's only ten enrolled and six who show up regularly), so I had them try to write their own "non-apology apology poems." Here is mine, lovingly dedicated to A. :)


This is just to say

The computer froze
While you were out
I'm sorry
I thought I was fixing it
But it deleted all your games

Silly thing

-February 7, 2012

Resolved

As discussed in previous posts (re: Yoga class), I tend to require a bit of external motivation when it comes to establishing habits and meeting goals. This still surprises me, too, as it doesn't fit with the strong-willed, stubborn, goal-oriented persona I generally don (and in many ways, genuinely so), but I suppose you can only ask so much of a person who still only gets out of bed if/when other people expect her to (Although, I blame that entirely on my alter-ego, "Sleep Me," who values sleep over all things, including other vital bodily needs.).

Anyway. If I'm going to consider myself to be serious about this English Teacher thing, and I usually do, then I need to get much more serious about the amount of reading I'm doing (or in my opinion, not doing). Cue: external motivation, however artificial, via blog. As I did over summer break with a fair amount of success, I will list the major works I finish here as I finish them. I am also going to attempt to match my summer pace, so I am setting a goal of 50 books in 2012. To encourage progress, I will count books I read for work, even if I have read them before, and I will count books started but unfinished before the 1st of the year. To add novelty and a bit of anecdotal research for our iPad project at work, I will note which books are read via ebook.

If I am to have any modicum of success in this venture, I have to start setting aside time for it. This is where the true challenge and the true resolution lies. It's far too easy to choose passive forms of entertainment and lay zombie-like on the futon in front of Top Gear marathons or scroll through miles of images every night on Pinterest, but by resolving to read more, I am resolving to be a more active participant in my 2012. At least until the Mayan Zombocalypse starts, when they'll have to pry a book out of my cold, undead hands.

1. My Ántonia - Willa Cather (I liked it a lot more than I thought I would. It was also fun and easy to teach, which surprised me, too.)
2. The Soothing Soak - ed. Megan Worman (This book is waterproof! So cool! And yes, read entirely in the bathtub. A few interesting pieces and some classic poems, but also a lot of fluff.)
3. Iliad - Homer, trans. Stanley Lombardo
4. Romeo & Juliet - William Shakespeare
5. The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
6. Odyssey - Homer, trans. Stanley Lombardo
7. Sloppy Seconds - Tucker Max (Yes. I know. But I needed something completely inane and mind-numbing and it was free to download to my iPhone, which I read it on.)
8. Death of a Salesman - Arthur Miller
9. La Bella Lingua: My Love Affair with Italian, the World's Most Enchanting Language - Dianne Hales
10. Aeneid - Virgil, trans. Stanley Lombardo *read as pdf on iBooks
11. Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns) - Mindy Kaling
12. A Raisin in the Sun - Lorraine Hansberry
13. Inferno - Dante Alighieri, trans. John Ciardi
14. Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides (A. Ma. Zing. Don't be surprised if his other works appear here soon.)
15. Fifty Shades of Grey - E. L. James (Don't judge me, monkey.)
16. Running With Scissors - Augusten Burroughs
17. The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
18. The Pearl - John Steinbeck
19. Life of Pi - Yann Martel
20. Water for Elephants - Sara Gruen
21. Winter's Bone - Daniel Woodrell
22. Bossypants - Tina Fey *listened to on audiobook - very funny that way
23. Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk - David Sedaris
24. The Kid: What Happened After My Boyfriend and I Decided to Go Get Pregnant - Dan Savage
25. Girl From Mars - Tamara Bach
26. The Notebook - Nicholas Sparks
27. The Crucible - Arthur Miller
28. The Marriage Plot - Jeffrey Eugenides (less awesome than Middlesex, by far)
29. The Secret Life of Bees - Sue Monk Kidd
30. How to Tell if Your Cat is Plotting to Kill You - Matthew Ingram, aka The Oatmeal
31. Lord of the Flies - William Golding
32. The Scarlet Letter - Nathaniel Hawthorne
33. The Memory Keeper's Daughter - Kim Edwards
34. Siddhartha - Hermann Hesse, trans. Susan Bernofsky
35. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - Mark Twain *read on my iPad for the second time