Tendons creak and crack. Ligaments slide across muscle, kinking into cramps. The unexpected pain so sharp you yell, wanting to grab the wretched calf while fearing movement will aggravate it further. You bite off your cry and keep your teeth grit, arching your back until your crown is pressed into the couch. Ten, fifteen seconds later the muscle unwinds just the slightest amount and you breathe again. It'll be days before this pain retreats fully, but right now you're concerned about walking again. Time passes. Bending your toes back becomes a three-act play, maneuvering tiny muscles to extend the injured calf a millimeter at a time.
I would like to see the tide come in and go out again. I haven't been to the beach for a vacation in years. I want to plant myself in a low chair with an easy book and soak up a morning and afternoon on the sand. The ocean's slow march up and down the beach would be the only way to mark time. The endless soft sounds of the breakers banishing thought. Staring out at the sea, a blank landscape holding my attention for far longer than a television or movie, letting my mind float atop the ocean's depths... Getting so hot that you don't feel hot anymore. Feeling the physical pressure of the sun on you, washing out stress... The two glasses of ice water and an afternoon nap in preparation for a night of silly drinking with friends. Romping on the beach at night, stumbling through sand and surf. Crashing into the ocean chest deep and noticing the bioluminescent plankton that swirl around you, electrifying your every motion with an orchestra of living, glowing creatures. They flash and light up the dark water as I swirl my arms and legs, twisting and turning through the sea trying to excite all the life I can reach! At the beach, your own life is ironed out, pressed flat and clean by the depth of the ocean.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Listening to NPR on the Way Home
Today the first U.S. citizen died from the H1N1 virus, or swine flu. The 33-year-old teacher lived in Mercedes, Texas, a border town in the Rio Grande valley. Authorities were quick to calm fears, explaining that the person has several other medical conditions which made her susceptible. Soon enough, the initial panic over the swine flu subsided and the world shrugged it off as another pandemic false alarm, much like the bird flu and SARS before it.
But a virus is a beautiful thing. It exists in a strange limbo between life and death. As nothing more than DNA enclosed in a simple protein coat, a virus is incapable of surviving independent of a host. A virus cannot reproduce, it cannot actively seek out prey, and it is so vulnerable to changes in the environment it is the rare virus that can maintain it's physical integrity if exposed to air.
But its simplicity is what makes it so dangerous. Once inside a host cell, it replicates itself extraordinarily quickly, overwhelming the cell until it literally bursts from its sudden lethal pregnancy of new viruses. This swarm attack is very effective. The larger the swarm and faster the replication, the more damage is done to the host organism. If the host organism cannot find the correct antibodies or medicine in time, the virus will have reached a "critical mass" of sorts, where it will be able to destroy enough of the host's cells so as to kill the host.
If that weren't enough, the virus' simplicity is a double-edged sword: because it has no cellular membrane or nucleus, and its DNA is often exposed, the virus can undergo dozens of mutations as its replicates millions of times in a few days' time. HIV is incurable largely because of this. It also explains why there is no cure for the common cold, although that is typically bacterial.
So as the summer of 2009 drags on, several more people die from the H1N1 virus. This goes largely unreported. The world views swine flu as no worse than the regular flu, and while its unfortunate that a few have died, well, people die from the flu all the time. In March of 2009, the swine flu became transmissible by human-to-human contact, instead of swine-to-human. In May 2009, a Canadian farmer re-transmitted the virus back to his herd of swine. Other reverse transmissions occurred: in June, a Mexican cattle rancher and a New Zealand shepard infected their respective stocks; in August, a U.S. farmer infected a poultry farm.
As the H1N1 virus was passed back and forth, it continously mutated. Being exposed to a variety of organisms, with different but similar enough immune systems, encouraged the evolution of several strains. When these virus strains once again made the leap to humans, the results were quite different than earlier. In the winter of 2009, as the typical flu season rolled around, governments around the world were reporting huge increases in flu outbreaks. Almost before the numbers could be processed, people began dying. There wasn't anything grotesque to these deaths, like the pus-filled boils of the plauge or the spontaenous hemorraghing of Ebola. Rather, people simply exhibited the typical flu symptoms - fever, chills, headaches, coughing, sneezing - but at the end of the week, instead of recovering, they simply died. The virus overcame their body much too quickly for medicine or their immune systems to respond.
Chaos ensued. People no longer trusted hospitals, governments, doctors, or each other. The slow onset of the flu meant individuals were contagious for days before they knew they were sick. Communities saw deaths occur in waves. The first infected group would unwittingly pass their viruses onto others. When that group died, the second group followed a predictable 5-7 days later. The reaper's scythe swung in back and forth over the world's population centers once a week.
They fled the cities. Urban areas were deserted as survivors sought to avoid crowds, where the virus could be transmitted effectively. Small country hamlets were under assualt by caravans of SUVs and imperious or panicked city-dwellers needing sanctuary, a place to hide. But inevitably one flu carrier would get in, often unknowingly a carrier, and another commuity would fall before Death's touch. Some small towns barricaded the roads leading in, guarding their health by whatever means necessary.
The virus, of course, didn't care. Its simple existence centered soley on replicating itself. There was no consciousness, no intent. When a host died, the viruses could not survive. Eventually, the population of humans became so spread out and isolated that the virus could not reach another host before it disintengrated. Humans, having reached a population critical mass, exploded. The population crash in fact insured their continued survival. Resources were abundant again. Earth, having the cancerous tumor of humanity excised, began recovering its ecosystems. Birds sang, rabbits hopped through a meadow. A bee buzzed lazily. Other pastoral images. Adam and Eve, Garden of Eden type thing going on. Maybe the human population returns but shuns clothing as a divisive symbol that encourages hate of the other! The whole human population becomes nudist! Ah, I like you better when you're naked anyway.
But a virus is a beautiful thing. It exists in a strange limbo between life and death. As nothing more than DNA enclosed in a simple protein coat, a virus is incapable of surviving independent of a host. A virus cannot reproduce, it cannot actively seek out prey, and it is so vulnerable to changes in the environment it is the rare virus that can maintain it's physical integrity if exposed to air.
But its simplicity is what makes it so dangerous. Once inside a host cell, it replicates itself extraordinarily quickly, overwhelming the cell until it literally bursts from its sudden lethal pregnancy of new viruses. This swarm attack is very effective. The larger the swarm and faster the replication, the more damage is done to the host organism. If the host organism cannot find the correct antibodies or medicine in time, the virus will have reached a "critical mass" of sorts, where it will be able to destroy enough of the host's cells so as to kill the host.
If that weren't enough, the virus' simplicity is a double-edged sword: because it has no cellular membrane or nucleus, and its DNA is often exposed, the virus can undergo dozens of mutations as its replicates millions of times in a few days' time. HIV is incurable largely because of this. It also explains why there is no cure for the common cold, although that is typically bacterial.
So as the summer of 2009 drags on, several more people die from the H1N1 virus. This goes largely unreported. The world views swine flu as no worse than the regular flu, and while its unfortunate that a few have died, well, people die from the flu all the time. In March of 2009, the swine flu became transmissible by human-to-human contact, instead of swine-to-human. In May 2009, a Canadian farmer re-transmitted the virus back to his herd of swine. Other reverse transmissions occurred: in June, a Mexican cattle rancher and a New Zealand shepard infected their respective stocks; in August, a U.S. farmer infected a poultry farm.
As the H1N1 virus was passed back and forth, it continously mutated. Being exposed to a variety of organisms, with different but similar enough immune systems, encouraged the evolution of several strains. When these virus strains once again made the leap to humans, the results were quite different than earlier. In the winter of 2009, as the typical flu season rolled around, governments around the world were reporting huge increases in flu outbreaks. Almost before the numbers could be processed, people began dying. There wasn't anything grotesque to these deaths, like the pus-filled boils of the plauge or the spontaenous hemorraghing of Ebola. Rather, people simply exhibited the typical flu symptoms - fever, chills, headaches, coughing, sneezing - but at the end of the week, instead of recovering, they simply died. The virus overcame their body much too quickly for medicine or their immune systems to respond.
Chaos ensued. People no longer trusted hospitals, governments, doctors, or each other. The slow onset of the flu meant individuals were contagious for days before they knew they were sick. Communities saw deaths occur in waves. The first infected group would unwittingly pass their viruses onto others. When that group died, the second group followed a predictable 5-7 days later. The reaper's scythe swung in back and forth over the world's population centers once a week.
They fled the cities. Urban areas were deserted as survivors sought to avoid crowds, where the virus could be transmitted effectively. Small country hamlets were under assualt by caravans of SUVs and imperious or panicked city-dwellers needing sanctuary, a place to hide. But inevitably one flu carrier would get in, often unknowingly a carrier, and another commuity would fall before Death's touch. Some small towns barricaded the roads leading in, guarding their health by whatever means necessary.
The virus, of course, didn't care. Its simple existence centered soley on replicating itself. There was no consciousness, no intent. When a host died, the viruses could not survive. Eventually, the population of humans became so spread out and isolated that the virus could not reach another host before it disintengrated. Humans, having reached a population critical mass, exploded. The population crash in fact insured their continued survival. Resources were abundant again. Earth, having the cancerous tumor of humanity excised, began recovering its ecosystems. Birds sang, rabbits hopped through a meadow. A bee buzzed lazily. Other pastoral images. Adam and Eve, Garden of Eden type thing going on. Maybe the human population returns but shuns clothing as a divisive symbol that encourages hate of the other! The whole human population becomes nudist! Ah, I like you better when you're naked anyway.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
A Few Sentences
Treading through the hallway, almost awake, she trips slowly over the undulating floor. Pitching forward softly, she breathes out to slow her descent, resting her hands and forehead gently among the carpeted waves. Alas, to be at last down here, knowing rising again is not needed. She lies there, just enjoying the movement, because there is nowhere that needs to be moved towards. Not tonight. The ocean kneads her body, stretching her like dough over a dozen baker's fists, coated in flour and pushing out the original forms and releasing the stress within. The intended form is free to exist now, drenched over her present and soaking, slowly, seeping into the future.
Full Circle
My first month in California I lived by myself in a spartan one bedroom apartment. Because I drove from Atlanta to Riverside, I only brought what I could fit in a 1991 Honda Accord, which amounts to a few boxes of clothes, some pots and pans (but no dishes or silverware), a TV, and a cat. Because I didn't have a job yet, I was very concerned about money. I ate out of Tupperware, leeched internet access from the rental office, and didn't hook up my cable. I was so frugal that I didn't even buy a bed, instead spending what was at the time an exorbitant $30 on an air mattress from K-Mart.
The cat I brought with me is a very loyal, and very tailless, breed called a Manx. This cat and I had been together for several years in Atlanta before I shanghaied the poor thing across the county. Being very alone and in a new place, the cat would follow me closely around the small apartment, even waiting next to the tub while I showered. And when I would go to bed on the air mattress, the cat would plop herself on my chest!
Well, one morning I awoke to find my ass touching the ground through the mattress. It being early, and there being a severe lack of caffeine in my system, I found this perplexing. My air mattress was, well, squishy. It felt like I was on an under-filled water bed. Before going back to bed that night I blew the thing back up, waited for the familiar weight to settle on me, and drifted off. But the next morning, there I was, being uncomfortably unsupported. It actually took me a whole other day and night to figure out what was going on - the damn cat's claws had poked a small hole somewhere in the mattress, and over the night the air would leak out, slowly contorting my bed and my back.
Well after that I began sleeping the second-hand couch I'd picked up. For an entire month I would settle down onto the couch, never thinking of a mattress because it existed outside my "price range" of single purchases. Eventually I did bite that bullet, and that bed is still around today.
The reason I'm telling this story is that now, at the end of my time in California (it feels great to say that!), I've just spent another month sleeping on a couch. Crashing on couches are the bookends of my two-and-a-half year trial out here. With one more month left before I leave, I am back to living in a spartan one bedroom apartment, leaving the way I came in. Over the next few weeks I'll be selling the remaining pieces of furniture, including that mattress and a second-hand couch. I'm shedding the remnants of my time here. When I return to Atlanta, the first thing I'll buy is a good bed.
The cat I brought with me is a very loyal, and very tailless, breed called a Manx. This cat and I had been together for several years in Atlanta before I shanghaied the poor thing across the county. Being very alone and in a new place, the cat would follow me closely around the small apartment, even waiting next to the tub while I showered. And when I would go to bed on the air mattress, the cat would plop herself on my chest!
Well, one morning I awoke to find my ass touching the ground through the mattress. It being early, and there being a severe lack of caffeine in my system, I found this perplexing. My air mattress was, well, squishy. It felt like I was on an under-filled water bed. Before going back to bed that night I blew the thing back up, waited for the familiar weight to settle on me, and drifted off. But the next morning, there I was, being uncomfortably unsupported. It actually took me a whole other day and night to figure out what was going on - the damn cat's claws had poked a small hole somewhere in the mattress, and over the night the air would leak out, slowly contorting my bed and my back.
Well after that I began sleeping the second-hand couch I'd picked up. For an entire month I would settle down onto the couch, never thinking of a mattress because it existed outside my "price range" of single purchases. Eventually I did bite that bullet, and that bed is still around today.
The reason I'm telling this story is that now, at the end of my time in California (it feels great to say that!), I've just spent another month sleeping on a couch. Crashing on couches are the bookends of my two-and-a-half year trial out here. With one more month left before I leave, I am back to living in a spartan one bedroom apartment, leaving the way I came in. Over the next few weeks I'll be selling the remaining pieces of furniture, including that mattress and a second-hand couch. I'm shedding the remnants of my time here. When I return to Atlanta, the first thing I'll buy is a good bed.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
How I Learned to Love Rajon Rondo and Hate Dwyane Wade
First, let me say that I wasn't a huge NBA fan until this season. I knew of the NBA, I knew the basics about which teams/players were dominant (or not), and would watch the playoffs (but not the regular season). This year that changed. Propelled by the Hawks surprising showing against Boston in last year's playoffs, I began following first the Hawks and then more and more of the NBA during the this year's season.
Living in the Los Angeles television market, I was stuck watching Lakers and Clippers games. I hate the Lakers and pity the Clippers, so I usually tuned in to watch the opponent. It was rare that I would see Atlanta play - it only happened when the Hawks were matched up against a league leader, like Boston or Cleveland. So, most of my information about non-Western conference teams came through ESPN highlights and statistics.
Which is what led to me love Dwayne Wade, especially after the All-Star break, when he started scoring at will and imposing himself on every contest like it was Game 7. But he wasn't just putting up big scoring numbers. His statistical lines were almost nonsensical, putting up 40 points but grabbing 10 rebounds, 5 steals, and 4 blocks. Basically he was a freak, playing beyond his position and beyond the game.
But having been able to watch him now in four consecutive games against the Hawks, I can see that he is just playing the system instead of using his impressive athleticism and skill. He takes dives! Many of his points are accured through free throws awarded to him as he hurls himself at players under the basket. Based on his dramatic flailing, refs think he was clearly fouled. He even uses the trick where he pump fakes a defender into the air, and then throws himself into the defender while tossing up a half-assed attempt at a shot. This translates to a shooting foul, and two easy points for Wade.
Other players (Kobe and Paul Pierce, for example)use refs to their advantage, and while it is within the bounds of the game, is nonetheless shameful. It's exactly the same as soccer players flopping around the lawn like a bunch of caught trout. What makes it doubly frustrating is that Wade has such prodigious talent. When healthy he is always a threat to take over a game, much like LeBron and Kobe are. He takes away from the athletic competitiveness of the game, degrading his abilities and himself.
***
Rajon Rondo, on the other hand, is a less a freak than he is a mutant. Last year, his rookie year, he won a championship. This year he has replaced Kevin Garnett as the soul of a team that includes future hall of famers Ray Allen and Paul Pierce. At 6'1" and 170 pounds, he's undersized even for a point guard. But in five playoff games he's averaging a triple-double! And he's doing it without a jump shot! When Rondo has the ball, everybody knows that he's going drive for a lay-up. He doesn't even consider shooting from outside the key. Yet he gets his points, gets his teammates touches, and he's averaging ten rebounds. That's just beyond understanding. Chris Paul can't do that. Steve Nash can't do that.
Rondo has activated some hidden DNA for this playoff series. He appears to move with complete abondon when handling the ball. I even think he doesn't know what he's going to do until after he does it. He embodies the game utterly, trusting his body to make the moves rather than plotting an attack. Because he plays the game, not the system, Rajon Rondo is the better basketball player than Dwyane Wade.
Living in the Los Angeles television market, I was stuck watching Lakers and Clippers games. I hate the Lakers and pity the Clippers, so I usually tuned in to watch the opponent. It was rare that I would see Atlanta play - it only happened when the Hawks were matched up against a league leader, like Boston or Cleveland. So, most of my information about non-Western conference teams came through ESPN highlights and statistics.
Which is what led to me love Dwayne Wade, especially after the All-Star break, when he started scoring at will and imposing himself on every contest like it was Game 7. But he wasn't just putting up big scoring numbers. His statistical lines were almost nonsensical, putting up 40 points but grabbing 10 rebounds, 5 steals, and 4 blocks. Basically he was a freak, playing beyond his position and beyond the game.
But having been able to watch him now in four consecutive games against the Hawks, I can see that he is just playing the system instead of using his impressive athleticism and skill. He takes dives! Many of his points are accured through free throws awarded to him as he hurls himself at players under the basket. Based on his dramatic flailing, refs think he was clearly fouled. He even uses the trick where he pump fakes a defender into the air, and then throws himself into the defender while tossing up a half-assed attempt at a shot. This translates to a shooting foul, and two easy points for Wade.
Other players (Kobe and Paul Pierce, for example)use refs to their advantage, and while it is within the bounds of the game, is nonetheless shameful. It's exactly the same as soccer players flopping around the lawn like a bunch of caught trout. What makes it doubly frustrating is that Wade has such prodigious talent. When healthy he is always a threat to take over a game, much like LeBron and Kobe are. He takes away from the athletic competitiveness of the game, degrading his abilities and himself.
***
Rajon Rondo, on the other hand, is a less a freak than he is a mutant. Last year, his rookie year, he won a championship. This year he has replaced Kevin Garnett as the soul of a team that includes future hall of famers Ray Allen and Paul Pierce. At 6'1" and 170 pounds, he's undersized even for a point guard. But in five playoff games he's averaging a triple-double! And he's doing it without a jump shot! When Rondo has the ball, everybody knows that he's going drive for a lay-up. He doesn't even consider shooting from outside the key. Yet he gets his points, gets his teammates touches, and he's averaging ten rebounds. That's just beyond understanding. Chris Paul can't do that. Steve Nash can't do that.
Rondo has activated some hidden DNA for this playoff series. He appears to move with complete abondon when handling the ball. I even think he doesn't know what he's going to do until after he does it. He embodies the game utterly, trusting his body to make the moves rather than plotting an attack. Because he plays the game, not the system, Rajon Rondo is the better basketball player than Dwyane Wade.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Shit
Quiz Question: Choose one of the following misconceptions about evolution and explain, in at least two sentences, why it is incorrect.
Misconception chosen: "Evolution is a theory about the origin of life."
Written answer given: Because the life of the theory is origin next I don't good on the life. Becaus the origin is a other think in the life with Evolution want the life.
That's what he wrote, word for word.
I didn't get the job at Walker.
Misconception chosen: "Evolution is a theory about the origin of life."
Written answer given: Because the life of the theory is origin next I don't good on the life. Becaus the origin is a other think in the life with Evolution want the life.
That's what he wrote, word for word.
I didn't get the job at Walker.
Friday, January 9, 2009
I don't know what to write about
Back in California. School starts back on Monday, so I have the weekend to do... whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing out here.
I came out to get away from home, Georgia, my social network, my "comfort" zone. I needed to move away and do something entirely on my own, I guess just to know that I could do it.
Before I left, I had no particular desire to get anything done, because I guess deep down I knew I didn't really need to get anything done. Graduating and moving home in 2006 made it very clear that I would go absolutely nuts if I didn't have a reason for existing, and by that I mean a job that I cared about, or alternatively a goal/purpose to be actively reaching towards. If I spent any extended time and my parents - we're talking hours here - I would start crawling the walls, picking fights, getting anxious, pulling my hair out, etc. So in the four months I was home I almost drowned myself in work: three jobs, two classes at Kennesaw State, successfully applying for a teaching credential/master's program in California, and finding an apartment out there. So the day after Christmas 2006, I loaded up my 1999 Honda Accord with clothes, a Super Nintendo, a cat, and finally, a purpose.
I reached Riverside on the 30th and started classes about a week later. Unemployed for five months. Accord wrecked in May. Finally got a job as a waiter at a sports bar 30 miles south, a bar that stayed open until 2 a.m. on the weekends. Around the same time I also found work as an in-home SAT tutor. During late spring I take a bus 15 miles to student-teach at a high school. Five days before the school year started in the fall of 2007, I had interviewed at four high schools and none had offered me an internship (full-time teaching without a credential). Four days before the school year starts I am offered a position.
Now I've got a day job, but the credentialing program is in full swing and between that and being completely terrified at my new job I'm working about 12-13 hours a day and sleeping 5. The year slogs on. I can't remember anything that happened except that the days and weeks ran into one long, tired cycle of driving, teaching, planning, grading, going to classes, more planning, and sleeping. I surprisingly manage to quit smoking over the Christmas break, move to a new apartment, earn my credential in April, finish the school year feeling a hundred times more confident, graduate my university work in July.
So in the summer of 2008 I've been in California for a year-and-a-half. I've taught a full year of public school Biology, earned my California state teaching credential, earned a Master's of Education, and am supporting two pets instead of one. Late in the summer I make a desperate attempt to get a job in Georgia public schools, but am too late and only manage one interview at a middle school.
Year 2 starts. I'm in a such a different place this time - stable, confident, capable, and ready. Teaching is great. I make four trips back to Georgia in four months. I am recognized repeatedly by my department head and asked to host a seminar for other teachers, which went extremely well. All is well.
Except it's not. The sun sets at 5 p.m. I've reached my purpose out here. I am now comfortable with myself. I've pushed myself to the limits and succeeded. I know I can survive on my own. And that is what this move was all about. I've become something resembling an adult. I needed to know I could do this, and I did. And so there is no reason for me to be out here. It sucks at all times, and I am ready to move back to Georgia where my family, friends, and future I want to be involved in hopefully await.
Sorry, got a little cheesy there at the end. Plus this is probably shit to read, I wrote as I spoke.
New music: The Decemberists, Drive-by Truckers, the new Erykah Badu, Gaslight Anthem.
I came out to get away from home, Georgia, my social network, my "comfort" zone. I needed to move away and do something entirely on my own, I guess just to know that I could do it.
Before I left, I had no particular desire to get anything done, because I guess deep down I knew I didn't really need to get anything done. Graduating and moving home in 2006 made it very clear that I would go absolutely nuts if I didn't have a reason for existing, and by that I mean a job that I cared about, or alternatively a goal/purpose to be actively reaching towards. If I spent any extended time and my parents - we're talking hours here - I would start crawling the walls, picking fights, getting anxious, pulling my hair out, etc. So in the four months I was home I almost drowned myself in work: three jobs, two classes at Kennesaw State, successfully applying for a teaching credential/master's program in California, and finding an apartment out there. So the day after Christmas 2006, I loaded up my 1999 Honda Accord with clothes, a Super Nintendo, a cat, and finally, a purpose.
I reached Riverside on the 30th and started classes about a week later. Unemployed for five months. Accord wrecked in May. Finally got a job as a waiter at a sports bar 30 miles south, a bar that stayed open until 2 a.m. on the weekends. Around the same time I also found work as an in-home SAT tutor. During late spring I take a bus 15 miles to student-teach at a high school. Five days before the school year started in the fall of 2007, I had interviewed at four high schools and none had offered me an internship (full-time teaching without a credential). Four days before the school year starts I am offered a position.
Now I've got a day job, but the credentialing program is in full swing and between that and being completely terrified at my new job I'm working about 12-13 hours a day and sleeping 5. The year slogs on. I can't remember anything that happened except that the days and weeks ran into one long, tired cycle of driving, teaching, planning, grading, going to classes, more planning, and sleeping. I surprisingly manage to quit smoking over the Christmas break, move to a new apartment, earn my credential in April, finish the school year feeling a hundred times more confident, graduate my university work in July.
So in the summer of 2008 I've been in California for a year-and-a-half. I've taught a full year of public school Biology, earned my California state teaching credential, earned a Master's of Education, and am supporting two pets instead of one. Late in the summer I make a desperate attempt to get a job in Georgia public schools, but am too late and only manage one interview at a middle school.
Year 2 starts. I'm in a such a different place this time - stable, confident, capable, and ready. Teaching is great. I make four trips back to Georgia in four months. I am recognized repeatedly by my department head and asked to host a seminar for other teachers, which went extremely well. All is well.
Except it's not. The sun sets at 5 p.m. I've reached my purpose out here. I am now comfortable with myself. I've pushed myself to the limits and succeeded. I know I can survive on my own. And that is what this move was all about. I've become something resembling an adult. I needed to know I could do this, and I did. And so there is no reason for me to be out here. It sucks at all times, and I am ready to move back to Georgia where my family, friends, and future I want to be involved in hopefully await.
Sorry, got a little cheesy there at the end. Plus this is probably shit to read, I wrote as I spoke.
New music: The Decemberists, Drive-by Truckers, the new Erykah Badu, Gaslight Anthem.
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