I skipped work yesterday ;) Took a personal day to take Michael to the allergy specialist and to get Heather to orientation at Nashville School of the Arts. I realized today that her sudden outbursts of anarchy (ie, "I'm not buying one of their stupid planners. I'm going to get one from Staples. I don't care if they do put me in ISS.") are really her way of panicking - she feels totally scared and out of control, so she attempts to regain that sense of control by being obstinate. But we worked it out, talked it out, and by the time she'd gotten her photo ID and met up with five or six of her friends from previous schools/school years, she was in much better spirits. The defensive posture was pretty much gone. She was disappointed that she'd have to take Algebra again this year, but passing the Gateway with a 96 wasn't sufficient to excuse failing the class. Same thing for physical science - it's round two, but hopefully with different results. Spanish she can forget - she's taking first year French. I won't be able to help her much, because everything I learned I've pretty much forgotten, but I probably can help with the conjugation of verbs. That part I do remember, for some reason. My baby's in high school - I'm getting old.
Here I stand again, speaking to an empty room. My thoughts aren't worth the cyberspace they would take up if I cared to tweet or post to Facebook, but here I stand anyway. I had no idea how long it had been since my muse had forced me to write. I used to write almost daily, poetry mostly, when I was younger and believed that someone cared what I had to say. I wanted to be e.e. cummings or T.S. Eliot or anyone who seemed to be so comfortable in his own skin to pour out his emotions onto a blank page. It took me a few years to realize that the writers who filled my pantheon of literary deities were not that comfortable after all, but wrote because not writing was more painful than the spilling of emotion. So I think I will take up my keyboard once more, wade out into the battle, and write.
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