English Class...

A new quarter is set to begin. The syllabus is set and loaded to the required on-line systems. Writing Exercises have been planned and a grading system is in place. In a mere couple hours, I will be faced with new students set to stare me down and attempt to break me of my irrational passion for the written word.

This is what I have to say to them:

You will not break me. I have had those who already tried and they failed. I will always be the crazed instructor who loves the subject she teaches. I will attempt to instill in you the fight for expression--YOUR expression.

You will not break me. I will understand when you tell me you never did well in English class, but I won't let you use that as an excuse. I will show you English isn't all comma placement, but a puzzle that can create anything you imagine.

You will not break me. I will do what it takes to keep you entertained. As much as you may want to nod off in class when the discussion of independent vs. dependent clauses comes about, I will tell you how they both work. Notice how I said TELL. The subject I teach includes stories and poems, novels and magazines.

You will not break me. I fought for what I teach. I put in the hours, I went through the critiques. And surprise, surprise... I want you to succeed.

You will not break me, and I will never give up on you.

A Chorus Line of Kickers...

It's been in my head lately. Maybe it's because of all the employment sites I've been searching, signing up with, and the mass of lingering silence from the multitude of applications sent into the Ethernet. Whatever it is, the song is on repeat in my mind. You know the one:

"Who am I anyways?

Am I my resume?

That is a picture… of a person I don't know..."

Repeat people. Wherever I go, whatever I'm doing, the lyrics of "I Hope I Get It" from The Chorus Line kicks into my thoughts and starts singing. It's driving me crazy, making me constantly question who I am, what I want, what I'm doing…at every moment of the day. It’s exhausting. So instead of finding answers, I curl into my bed, pull my hoody over my head, and sleep in the attempt to drown the voice in dreamland. 

Now I get this is not the most productive practice. But I figure, configuring a line of friends and doing kicks in unison wouldn’t really help either (it might be fun, but I don’t think my knee joints would appreciate the minute of laughter I would get out of our non synchronized dance moves). Instead of high kicks in this depressing January inversion--known to all Salt Lake citizens--I kicked myself in the *!*, and got out of dodge.

A three hour drive in mountains with blue skies, home cooked meals from the Mom, and a lot of laughter over the conversations (I swear) only my family has, got me out of the smoggy-foggy-funk. In other words, I got out of bed—took off the hoody—and started some movement with a few pushups.

Lets face it. I don’t have the answers. God “I Hope I Get It” is in high gear. I’m still searching; as always—if you’ve read any of my other posts. 

But I figured out something. I’m not a follower. Whatever I do, I want to do my way (and yes, I’m hoping Frank Sinatra will demand a smack down with the chorus line of kickers in my mind and take over the tune stuck in my head). 

Singing and Dancing

Tonight, after a late night of work, I strolled the darkened streets of beautiful SLC.
The stars were crisp and clear in the near Fall night air.
My legs strutted their way down the hill in tall black boots (flip flops are gone sadly).
And I was walking/dancing with a hot mint tea in my hand.

I was also singing at the top of my lungs to the all powerful music of Adele (her album 21).

I find it liberating to sing into the void of the night. I may or may not be in tune, but it's the vibration of my voice echoing through the silent city streets that makes me keep moving. And then you happen to run into people and you have to ask yourself, "Do I stop singing? Or do I just belt out the lyrics louder?" I went with louder.

I have to laugh at the response people (or cats) gave as I walked past singing and dancing. Expressions of oddity take over their face. Either they look at you quizzically, thinking "that girl must be crazy." Or you see a smile come across their face. (If by chance you spot a cat, they usually just try to rub against your leg, in the hope they may be pet. And when done with that they walk away, tail in the air with not a care in the world--as cats always do.)

The person's smile makes me think, we all need to go out and sing and dance as we walk life's crazy path. Why hide your voice? Why not sing to the mountains, the trees, the cats and dogs? Why not sing for ourselves and those around us?

I can not come up with a reason people might find me crazy as I sing and dance to my own beat. (I mean lets face it: It's my own beat!!!) We should all do this. So I say to you tonight, "Go out... Sing a song... Let everyone hear your voice. Let yourself hear your voice."

I will tell you, a smile will come across your face and you will feel like skipping down the street when people laugh at you.