Shout Out

I've been crawling through time. This is not good. You pay attention too much to the clock and the second hands start playing tricks on you. Same with the calendar.

Shout out to Stephy and Ileah. You guys are too smart for your ages.

Pictures From Our Europe Trip Last Year. Eiffel Glitters Every Night.

Paris Subway

Freezing on Top of the Eiffel Tower. I can't feel my legs.

Power Nap

I don’t know what’s happening to me. I feel like I’m doing all I can to just maintain my job and keep the house from falling apart. Or at least keeping people from noticing that the house is falling apart. Or that English could better be taught by someone who does not speak the language.

There’s mold growing on the ceiling in one of the bedrooms. I know I’m supposed to bring myself to look at it and check it out. Investigate the matter somehow. But I’m having the same reaction I would have if the government informed me that Iran had nukes and I personally needed to do something to take care of it. I would put one finger to my mouth, shush them quietly, and go lie down on the couch for a long, serious power nap.

Disturbingly High Forehead Here

I just worked through $12 Japanese food with Che Che. It was magical. I don’t know why cheap food makes me feel so elated. Cheap everything makes me feel elated. Is that okay? I mean, I’ll spend on things when it comes down to the real nitty gritty. I’ll spend if my life is in danger. I’ll spend to keep the necessities is in order. I’ll even spend when I really want some things. But the thought of saving money has always been a big thrill.

I save like an old hermit hiding in the mountains. I keep shoving change in an old pickle jar that I’ve converted into a piggy bank and all of these one-dollar bills and five-dollar bills in envelopes. It’s a little bit of a bail-out fund I keep for Che Che and I. But really it just gives me a thrill to keep socking stuff away day after day. I’ve done this since I was a kid. And it’s probably not that healthy. I know the positive reasons already. But I’m thinking that deep inside, I’m putting my hope and thoughts into money instead of God for really coming through for me when I need it most.

My stomach is seriously starting to alarm me. It’s not a full-fledged beer belly but it’s at least more prominent than it was. I’m pressing the edge of my limits with the pants I was wearing. Like Santa Claus in his teenage years. I shouldn’t be worrying about this. There are so many other things to be stressing about. In fact, I stress about those things too but more in a general sense. Like stressing about the fact that I should be stressing about more things.

I’m still sore from the rock climbing wall.

Issues

I’ve been gaining weight lately and it’s disturbing to me. I know men are not supposed worry about things like this or they’re not supposed to admit they’re worried about things like this. But I guess that’s what writing inevitably does. It makes you admit the things that you’re doing your best to hide away from people.

Also I blame the fact that I’m an English teacher. We’re sensitive people, us English teachers. We read and write way too much. Or we force other people to read and write way too much and then stress about the fact that we’re not making ourselves do the same, which is usually my case.

I’m actually not allowed to be worried about a thing like eating too. Because I know there’s people out there that have weight problems that supercede my own which makes them scowl at me if I ever imply that I’m stressing about a thing like that. As though I’m implying that they should be stressing about a thing like that. But I’m not. This is purely self-evaluation. The fact that my stomach is beginning to bulge over my pants is no reflection on any one else.


I took my students on a field trip yesterday where I dared myself to climb a rock climbing wall. This didn’t start out well. If only I could accomplish things the way I’m envisioning them in my mind. Now my muscles are screaming with every little movement that this is all my fault. But this is not fair. We’re all in this together. It’s a team effort. It’s not like my muscles can just turn on me and say that I’m the one that’s keeping them from exercise. My muscles are completely willing participants in the not exercising. Explaining this to them has quieted somewhat. They’ve now resorted to a dull whimper.