I have words, but they won't form right. I came off a long stuck spell by fairly ordinary means. Stuck was reconciling that I am not an ambitious go-getter. Stuck was that I cannot define myself by my career, or even my intellect. Stuck was hiding something somewhere. Stuck was..stuck. And then I burned down that house with a series of uncharacteristic kinda rash changes in path.

I'm ridiculously happy now. And a lot of it is stuff that is not extraordinary. It's answering the phone when a neighbor needs talking down on 95 in a rainstorm and idiot driving. It's being the emergency shower-provider when the bathroom is being painted or the power is out/catsitter/babysitter when a husband throws a clot and is in the hospital. It's letting them help me, and me knowing to ask when they don't know to offer because I haven't mentioned it. It's taking up the offer of a free dinner despite the fact I'm in a really foul mood. And that it jostles me out of that mood.

I don't know what the fuck my career path is. I'll never be my father or my mother, careerwise. Despite his assertions to the contrary, I'll never have my brother's drive or whatever it is. What feeds me? Honest to god, this introvert says being a part of a close community. Feeding it and letting it feed me.

Once upon a time, I dreamed of joining the FS and service orgs and all that. While worthy, that's not something I excel at. I'm a (I hope) a good friend and neighbor and teen mentor. Doesn't pay much, but I've got a sideline that keeps me able to be that.

She did not, however, have to push a button to get food.

No, she did not.

There is an urban myth out there that Skinner's daughter grew up psychotic or disturbed or something. But, in fact, she is a smart, funny, woman who is beloved by everyone who knows her.

Sinner was very funny as well. Very dry sense of humor.

Aww... sara, your post is beautiful!

I volunteered at the hospital tonight and stopped at Bristol Farms to get Hatch chiles. I also got some cream cheese with chile spread and crackers. I gobbled that up. K looked at me and said, "We need to go buy more of this before its gone." I told her we had to save a bag for sara.

Today has been a hectic day. I have to get my syllabus in order and ready to copy. I should also go set up my classroom. Do not want to go in!

There was a horrific skunk smell outside early, but now it just smells like burned garlic.

Sinner was very funny as well. Very dry sense of humor.

Oooh, Freudian slip?

Stuck was..stuck.

I still struggle with. Some things I've reconciled pretty easily from that picture I had constructed a long time ago -- not being a PTA mom, not being very interested in keeping house -- but a lot of it is still really difficult, despite the writing success. Even that feels like it doesn't matter because I still got started late. But not owning a house by now? Not knowing how to best help my oldest kid? My picture of my life and my actual life were completely different things.

But I've also found things about myself I never knew existed, and taken a lot of pleasure in things I never expected. I think it's just taking time to have those things meet in the middle, or somewhere completely else.

Apple pie. In my survey of local pies for sale, they are the best so far.

Careerwise, I'm a senior whatever. So that means to get more accreditation and more money I need to do something else. I don't think I want to do something else.

However I do want more money. It's a toughie.

Mmm, hatch chile! I really need to book the tickets. I'll admit, I've felt so frazzled for various (mainly financial, but mom pulled a trump card) reasons this year that I thought about missing it, but I'd HATE that. This is MINE. So I'll get on that. Now that I have internut at home again.

Oooh, Freudian slip?

Skinner would say that it was a failure of chained responses in verbal associative learning, but it could be a Freudian slip.

If mom is pulling a trump card and you go to NM, that's okay. We'll understand (and adjust...) No guilt!

Freudian slip, Skinnerian camisole. Psychology often plays in dirty underwear.

For me, I think I'm learning to live letting plans go. And I'm a planner. Even in the midst of a crisis, I have worst case all mapped out and settled to an end I can accept. But I'm learning, barely, to let the routine shift. Doesn't mean I like it. Don't you DARE make my swim impossible, I chafe when plans get proposed in under 24 hours. But I'm getting more accepting (though not of the swim!)

The last few years, hell, sometimes every day, are akin to me climbing on the plane to Prague without knowing if my host knew I was coming (I hyperventilated halfway into the flight and the only thing that calmed me down was a blanket over my head and the window, staring out at the familiar Orion.)

And drunk on electricity, I need to go to bed.