at the end of myself: unpublished post from this past semester

I am drinking coffee again. It's decaf but it's the good stuff, the organic-whole-bean-fresh-brewed drug of choice for this girl. And I'm in a coffee shop, typing again. There was a time, a season where I was gone. I was in Seattle, then several beautiful but hard weeks of camp where I felt like I was stepping into a good, more mature version of myself, then packing with the family in Macon, and a two-day roadtrip where all of our earthly possesions were loaded into vehicles and driven to Northern Michigan. I was home for less than a week, living with parents who were living with grandparents. Then I loaded my essentials into my Oldsmobile and drove south, alone this time and I didn't stop. Twelve hours of driving and limited breaks at Shell gas stations until I hit Chattanooga, Tennessee, with an interview outfit and a car of clothes, a few books, some fine china, and a pillow. I stayed with a good friend in the country and over that week, I interviewed at five schools, going from place to place; sometimes I would change clothes in gas stations or coffee shops, going into the bathroom in my wrinkled jeans and tshirts and emerging in my black pencil skirt, blouse, heels, and deep burgundy-brown lipstick. Nobody called me back despite the lipstick. I went to Atlanta to help a friend paint her apartment. It was painted before I got there and I knew it was an excuse to get out of Chatty cause I was beginning to feel a little smothered. After sleeping on the floor, I woke up to a phone call from a school in Macon, Georgia; ready for anything after a summer of fruitless job searching, I grabbed my pillow and heels and drove to Central High School. I walked in and that administrator, that interview, that place was it. They offered me the job; I hesitated for two seconds and then said yes. I'm teaching high school English in Macon, Georgia, at an inner city school. I have a stack of essays to grade that weigh heavy on my heart as they're full of both sentence and thought fragments, and I have students who weigh even heavier because I've fallen in love with them. They make me laugh hysterically, and they make me cry at my desk after twelve-hour days, and they keep me awake at night, worrying about all their bad choices and bad home situations. And I love it and I love them and I live at the end of myself.

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