I miss smoking indoors, sometimes. Oh, not usually--I'm glad to have done with that (gross smells, ash and dirty ashtrays, fewer smokes, etc). But sometimes I miss writing and smoking together. Right now, in fact. It's a lovely sleepy afternoon and I've not been doing a damned thing except sitting outside with the dogs reading Jane Austen and smoking. Waiting for Jeff to come home so I can talk to him and cook with him and love with him. He is the sunshine in the wintertime and the rain in drought. God bless Jeffrey Dean.

I've been thinking, this slow afternoon. Here's what I've come up with: it's actually a very good thing to have some odious task in my life that I must struggle against or come to peace with. It's the only way to move forward, the only way to grow.

Oh? You already knew this, did you? Well.

Teaching is a good thing for me, is what it comes down to. I must actually be productive. I must actually think. I must actually care for members of my species outside of the few I already love. I must interact. With people (oh, heaven for fend). And I've come to a point in this ridiculous job where I actually enjoy it. My students see me as their teacher and it's taken me this long to begin to live up to their expectations but I think I'm getting there, getting into teacherly shape. In the last week, I've had five or six students stop by my office to chat and I've had five or six students tell me I make some kind of difference in their daily life. In a good way, I mean. I changed the entire dynamic of my horrible horrible every day writing class by talking to two of the trouble makers (who are now! two of my best students!) What novelty. I had another one ask me today if I'd be teaching the next level writing class next semester so she could take it with me. And y'all know I put zero faith in what folks think about me--but it's entirely different when it comes to my students. It matters what they think of me. I become a different person and a better one, too. More confident, more fair, more disciplined in my work habits and more devoted to their well-being. Their opinion of me, matters. Because, and I'm just realizing this, this is not just a job. I have to actually care about their lives and what's happening in them and to help them. Me! The hatingist bitch on the east coast! I have to engage with the world in a positive proactive people-y way!

I like who I am when I'm working to help my students. That's all. I like who that makes me. I like how I've had to stretch waaaaay outside of my comfort zone. I like finding that I can do it and do it well.

I think we all have to throw ourselves into the great ocean of the unknown sometimes, to find out how much we can actually take on. This throwing ourselves--it has to be inescapable, too. God knows I would have quit many many times over before now if I'd had a choice. But I didn't because I couldn't and finally I've reached this point where I feel like I can not only survive the year, but I can be good at this work. Darlings, this is an awesome feeling. I'm not one for making overmuch of accomplishments, but getting to this point, knowing how much time and heartache I've put into this, I feel rilly rilly strong and smart. I still miss the library and the people who work there. But I never challenged myself there and thus, never grew. I'm growing now. Yeehaw.

When I got to my every day writing class, they'd all heard about how I threw my american lit students out of class earlier in the day. I think I got a rep now. This place is closer to high school than I ever imagined.

Ah well. I have to read The Scarlet Letter this weekend. Teachers can't use cliff's notes, can they?

Nah, I'm just fooling. Adios amigos.