Run, run as fast as you can....

In the weeks immediatly following my grandma's death, sometimes I 'd find myself in the car driving with no real destination. It was the strangest thing. I'd get up in the morning and just feel like I could not stay in my apartment. I'd pack up the baby bag, feed and dress the babe and then get in the car. I'd sit in the parking lot and try to find someplace to go. I usually ended up at the Chic-fil-a near my parents house. If it was before 10:30AM I would order a number 1, chicken biscuit and tots and an iced tea. If it was after 10:30, I'd order a number 2, grilled chicken sandwhich with fries and an iced tea.

I'd park in the lot, eat my food and then drive. I would drive in hopes that I could find a house for us to buy. I knew what I wanted, something small, cozy, with a large yard for the dogs, and a fireplace. I wanted like a coattage style or cape cod. I never found that house.

For the longest time I've been trying to find a place that just feels like home. I can't quite find a place that fits. I know now that I miss the space we (babe, DH, dogs and I) had in the apartment, not the actual apartment, but what I miss is just being able to move around in my own space. I miss fixing tea at 2 in the morning, or pizza, or walking around in my underwear. I miss sharing that space with DH and babe.

We are working towards getting the county house together, but it just doesn't feel like home. I think its because it still feels so much like the other person still resides there, and well she does. She also has not changed anything in over 20 years or so. I need to find ways to put my own touch on things.

None of this is happening the way I thought it would, but I never seem to be able to have plans that work that way, do any of us?

I'm afriad, even as I post about wanting roots that these might be my roots forever, what if I don't leave? The house feels heavy and I'm really wanting to find a way to make it feel different. Different from the first time I walked through the door and felt like I shouldn't be there. Different from the first time I drove past with DH and knew I wasn't allowed to be there. Different from how I imagined it when I didn't even know the person who lives there.

Everything just feels different. But how do I make different my own? I'm tired of running.

I swear, in another life I was a nomad.

We've moved. This past weekend, actually a week to this night, we were shoveling sewer water out of kitchen window. Trying to call our maintance man and trying to not let the nasty water get into the rest of the deparment. We worked for like two hours and no one ever called us back or came. So, we called the city, the health department, whoever we thought might be able to help. Nothing got done until 2 days after it had all started. Then, a day later the flooring in the living room began to bubble up. At first it just rose in a few spots, then, before we knew it, it looked like a giant ass earthworm was breaking through the floor boards. And, there was brown nasty water leaking out from all over the place. Gross.

So, we got out of our lease and our now living with my parents, sort of. DH is back and forth because our dogs our at his mom's house because she has a yard and my folks are NOT pet people.

I can count how many times I've moved and the all occur with a quickness. Like most folks move over a period of time and plan things out, not me. I usually find out I'm moving about an hour before it happens and then I have to be out. I am really good at packing though. And thanks to Glad trashbags, I always have plenty of luggage.

My first move happened about 6 or 7 years ago. I'd been living at home when I decided I just could not take it anymore. My dad and I have always had a very weird relationship. The problem is we are both just alike. Well, one night we'd both just had it with one another and I called him a dirty ole dictator and might have said a few other things, and then told him I was gonna leave. So, I called DH then DB and was out and gone in like an hour. I fled to my grandma's (rip) house and stayed there for about a year. I lived in a bunk bed with two drawers to hold all my stuff. I shared a room with my 13 year old cousin. It was rough. But I was so thankful to have a place to go that was calm and safe.

And now, I'm back where I was 4 years ago. In my bro's room, but this time with a babe. It makes it harder and its really hard because DH has to be up and down the road.

Did I also mention that I'll be moving again? We got a house in the county but its old and needs so much work that it makes my head hurt. I have no idea when we'll move again. Soon. I hope. I want roots.

Roots.

I think Common said it best, "I just wanna be, be."

One of my students gave me this quote...

And I've got to think about it and want to write about it...just no time today:

Think about the exit, before you even enter.

Rainy Day

Well, I've been meaning to post sooner, but I've been so busy. Between the baby, a busted kitchen sink, preparing to move, and teaching, I'm just plum-warn-oout.

But, I do have some interesting news. The great-aunt who passed, her funeral was two days ago. I wasn't able to attend, but my mom and aunt did. Apparently, folks have been digging around trying to find out more about our family's history. And guess what they have unearthed?! My great-great-grandfather was in the Confederacy. Shocking, but true. My great-grandma was mixed, her father was a White man who was clerk of the county and had a 'hushed' relationship with a Black woman.

I always wondered why I could whistle Dixie.

There is a lot I want to write and say and think about this. So I'm filing this one in my brain and on my blog as something to return to.

I am just going to say a Bad word

Fuck cancer.

I lost my grandma to cancer on June 20, a great uncle on July 14, and now a great aunt on yesterday.

Fuck cancer.

My mother-in-law just finished her last radiation treatment today.

Fuck cancer.

My grandfather lost his voice and life 14 years ago this July.

Fuck cancer.

My father had testicular cancer.

Fuck cancer.

I challenge and ask everyone to find a way to Fuck cancer.

Fuck you Cancer

I am Broke and it ain't No joke

For most folks who are adjuncts, or have been adjuncts, or work as TAs in grad school, or whatever you know what its like to be this broke. I'm just that broke. We have been without two checks since my maternity leave ended this summer and I am feeling it and NOT feeling it.

I'm too broke to publish a free blog post.

The First Day of School

Labor day weekend always brings back very fond memories for me. When I was in elementary school I loved planning my first day of school. As soon as August rolled around I'd start scanning the newspaper for binders, notebooks, and bookbag sales. Because I went to private school and we wore uniforms, the only flare I was allowed came by the way of the supplies I choose. The only problem, my mom wanted to buy in bulk and find value, I wanted to get the flashy cool stuff. Strawberry Shortcake pencils, glitter pens, Trapper-Keppers with puppies and kittens, these were my items of choice.

Once I had my school supplies, which it normally only took us a day to get them because I was quite anal and would not leave the store unless we had purchased everything on the school's list, I would take my supplies home and spread them out on the coffee table and sofa. I LOVED labeling my supplies. I would prnt my name on each item. And I do mean each item, even crayons, last name, first initial. I would put masking tape on each of my magic markers and then print my name on those. My mom would order labels from the locak five and dime and I'd watch as she ironed my name into my shirts, uniform jumper, and sweathers. I can stil remember how the uniform felt soft and worn because we'd buy used, in grades 1-3 I wore a white peter-pan collared shirt, and burgundy plaid jumper with white socks and burgundy shoes.

I would line up my uniform in order of how I'd put my clothes on. That meant that the jumper was last, the shirt on top, them my t-shirt, socks, underclothes, etc. My sweater and jacket would be by the door, shoes under the rocking chair with the clothes.

My lunch-box was another matter. In the early grades, my grandma would pack my lunch because I caught the bus from her house. She would pack whatever she knew I loved. This made for a very interesting lunch, some days I'd have hamburger patties on white bread with the edges of the bread neatly trimmed off, and a pat of mayo. Or, a ham sandwhich with the same neatly lined bread, small plastic bags of chips, a cold drink in my thermos and a twinkie. Once, I was so excited by my lunch that I ate the twinkie with the wrapper partially on. Yum.

I remember that I would pack my bookbag several times, trying to find just the right way to line up notebooks, binders, and the pencil box. Pack, unpack, pack, unpack, trying to get everything in and snug. To this day, I am the best packer in my family. I can work wonders.

The beginning of the school year was my favorite time of the year. I always felt like I could turn over a new leaf, make changes, become a new person, I felt like anything was possible as I began this new year.

I want to label crayons again. I want to turn over a new leaf. I miss my grandma.

I am my grandfather's granddaughter

My grandfather (on my dad's side) used to wrap his hair. For those folks who don't quite know bout this, Lucy, let me splain:

He was bald/balding (not exactly certain which state his hair was in) around the center of his head. However, he had very long hair around the sides and the back. Long and black. So what he would do was to wrap his hair around his head, all the way around to cover the balding front hairline and the center. Then, sometimes, or most of the times he'd wear a hat. So he kinda had a turban of hair.

I am now doing the same thing, my hair is thinning horribly because of post-partum hair loss.

I now don the turban-o-hair.

Rock on.

the rise of the phoenix

Today I ran into the store to get a few items to tide us through this storm and I ran into an old friend. The last time she saw me was when I was preggers so she asked how the baby was, how I was and then she asked a question that people very rarely ask, how was the birth?

It made me stop and think about my answer. For the past few months its something that I've thought quite a bit about. Her birth was long and arduous, but in the end I got a wonderful baby girl. Of course normally when people ask I don't go into great detail, but today I did, and I think it was good for me. I finally admitted to being a bit disappointed. I had been in hopes of having a totally natural vaginal delivray. I'd taken the classes, done prenatal yoga, walked, squatted, drank mother's tea, and read all the books. I thought surely, I'd be able to handle this, certainly I could let go and do this one thing that women had been doing for thousands of years before me. But I couldn't.

I went into labor on May 3 around 2 in the morning, when I woke up to pee. I waddled into the bathroom and noticed my underwear were wet. Thinking I'd just leaked a little, I washed off changed underwear and went back to sleep, or tried to. Because I was laying down for only about 10 minute when I noticed I was feeling wet again. Up I went, back to the bathroom. This time I woke DH up and told him what I thought was going on. We paged the doula and called my mom. Both told me to take it easy and just try to get some rest to prepare myself for the long day ahead. That was easier said than done. I slept off and on for maybe about 3 hours, before the doula called and asked how I was. She suggested I eat a light snack and continue to get some rest because I couldn't feel any contractions.

Around 6 that morning I noticed blood when I went to the bathroom and decided it was time to try the hospital. So, I called and the doctor told me to come on in. I showered, got some yogurt, had some tea and did my hair. Yup, I was calm enough to do my hair.

We got to the hospital around 7, got checked in and the nurse told me to put on a gown. I was feeling good, real good. She checked me and hooked me up to the monitors and told me that I was already having contractions, they were about 3 minutes apart. This is nothing I thought, I'd noticed my tummy tightening, but nothing major. I knew I'd be able to handle this.

My doctor came in and checked me, I was only about 3 centimeters dilated and the baby's head hadn't dropped down. So, he broke my water and started me on pitocin. This is where the story starts to get foggy. I remember laying down in the hospital bed, water spilling out of me everywhere, the doctor, nurses, doula, and DH standing around my bed. Pretty soon I had IVs hooked into my arm, and I was feeling out-of-it. The pitocin made the contractions stronger and my body had a hard time adjusting. My blood pressure began to shoot up, at one point I just remember it being like 150/111 or something and the nurse made me lay down on my side. I'd planned to be able to walk around, do yoga, get in the tub, walk the halls, but none of that happened.

My progress was extremely slow, I just remember the doctors and nurses coming in ever so often to check my pressure and my progress. Not much changed. They tried to have me sit up occasional, but my pressure would go up again. I'd move in the bed from side to side, but still nothing. Finally, after a day of moving, peeing, water dripping, and the bed being turned almost upside down I was told that I'd have to have a C-section. At that point I think I was so tired and out-of-it that I didn't care. I just wanted to know how fast it could be done. At 9:30 PM the decision was made that I'd have a c-section and by 10 I was being prepped.

I'd known all along that because of my low platelet count, if I had to have a section, I would have to be put out with general anesthesia, but I don't think I fully prepared myself, but how can you? The anesthesiaologist came in and told me about all the horrible things that can happen and asked me if I could manage to drink a yucky liquid to settle my stomach acids, I chugged it like it was a jell-o shooter. The next thing I new my belly was being shaved and a folly-cath being inserted. From that point on, I kept my eyes closed.

DH whispered his I love yous, my mom rubbed my hair, and my doula said she'd come back to take pictures. But other than that, I was on my own. They rolled me out of the room and into the OR, I opened my eyes twice. The first time I was in the hall and the second time I was in the OR. Once there, the room was cold, they made me recite my social security number and asked me if I knew why I was there. I rattled off the numbers and told them I was having a baby, I was so afraid that if I didn't get it right they wouldn't do it! I looked up and just saw a huge light. It reminded me of an X-files episode where there were examining an alien on a table. I was the alien.

I remember a cold brush going across my belly and I could hear them talking about my case, "low platelets, examined the case earlier, 40 weeks, first pregnancy." The next thing I knew there was a voice coming from behind me telling me to breathe deeply and that she'd take good care of me.

In less than 30 minutes I had a baby and was back in my room. I looked around to see all the faced I'd left and then I looked down and there was my baby, attached happily to my boob.

I think my emotions have run the gambit when I think about my labor and delivery. Certainly, I'd wanted a natural birth and ended up with anything but that. But what I've got is so much more awesome, a healthy babe. I've also decided that out of this birth I learned about my own stregnths, ones that I never before thought I'd had.

Most people know I am HORRIFIED about doctors and hospitals. I mean a horrible fear, but I did it. I never once freaked out, got loud, or tried to control the situation. The entire time I kept reminded myself to just be like water, let the pain, the fear, all of it just wash over and out of my body. That got me through those long hours. I was able to just focus on each contraction and let it go. Before the c-section I was able to focus on the event and let go my fears and worries. I learned from this a very valuable lesson, one that I should have learned a long time ago, but it took this to really teach me.

What a wonderful way to learn, I got the best gift of all.

ernesto

We're getting hit hard with rain from ye ole ernesto. That combined with the fact that the babe is feeling sniffly and teething means that I'll be staying in most of the day. No complaints with that, just wishing that I had some better snacks in the house.

I looked back over what I wrote earlier about feeling crazy. And I can answer my own question, LOL, no I'm not crazy. I'm just having a hard time dealing with the way things are:

I miss my grandma horribly. The raw hurt that I feel will heal with time, but maybe it would be helpful to do something to try and get myself to think more positively about her. Most of the time I focus on her last month which was so difficult and full of so much pain. Maybe every Friday I'll post a story or memory. I think sometimes I'm afraid I'll forget.

I do have a baby now and that means I can't get things done the way I used to. Tough tits. (literally) This just means I will have to pick my projects carefully and work even harder. That's a challenge that should be good for me.

I do want to be a teacher. There's no denying that. I am also disappointed that I've not been able to start school. I'm sick of the adjuncting game. But I've got to look at what I do have, a beautiful, wonderful, daughter.

Now, the hard part is just applying and remembering.

putting it into context

I feel like i have to put my last post into context, to be fair to myself and others.

1. Yes, I was admitted into a PhD program but didn't go because my MIL got sick and I got pregnant. My own choice and one I do not regret.

2. Maybe I don't regret number one, but in some ways do I regeret not going to school earlier?

3. I am sick of the bull-ish that goes on in school. And I think more than anything I just need to get away.

4. I'm tired of myself.

5. I'm sad, I miss talking to my grandma who would have been able to solve all of my problems and I would be feeling much better by now.

6. I don't have the focus on school that I used to.

7. Sometimes I wish I did have the focus, or the ability to do things other than the stuff I've got not.

8. I don't know who I am.

9. Do you think I'm crazy?

do you think i'm crazy?

I really dig the Gnarles Barkley song. My bro and I have been saying that it really relates to how we're both feeling at the moment. Kinda down, missing our granny, wondering what's up with the world, and how in the hell we fit into this atmosphere. I just don't know. Some days I feel like I have no answers at all.

Like today for example. I have so much that I need to get done: an article to review, lessons to plan, GRE to study for, contacts for Grad school, clean the house, do laundry, and the list goes on. But I didn't do any of it. Some days I just don't see the need, or better I should say, I don't have the want to do things, not like I used to.

I'm trying to avoid comparing myself too much to how I used to be, because the person I was no longer exists. At least in parts she does, but she's different now. Why am I referring to myself in 3rd person? Maybe because I'm trying to distance myself from myself (mmm) and try to take a look at who I've become. I don't know, it's really cliche to say that having a baby changes you. It does, I don't argue that at all. But how does it change you? I guess its different for everyone. In some ways I think it makes you more focused, in my case, my little one commands attention and it means quite often I have to put other things on hold. I don't complain about this though, because it has taught me how to prioritize. I can now quick-spot-clean our apartment in 20 minutes, or fix myself something to eat, or grab a shower and check email. There's a lot that can be done in that amount of time. But having her has also made me re-examine exactly what's important to me. And to long for things to be simple.

Some days I just don't give a who about theory or writing or teaching or learning, not unless it has to do with my baby. It scares me though, because some days I just don't see the point of the work I've spent so much time on, so much time thinking about, and really trying to work my way up that ladder. Some days I wonder if I've fallen, out of the 'ivory tower' wanna-be syndrome and if I've plummeted to where I was before I knew what academia was about.

My first experience with teaching came about 5 years ago. I taught immigrants and refugees English. I loved it. I would have a classroom packed with 20-30 people each night, friends would bring friends, mothers would bring grandma, grandma would bring aunties. And I would work on the most basic things with them, learning to read signs, reciting the alphabet, counting money, filling out forms for the doctor's office. It was tiring and I spent way more time prepping those lessons than I did working on my own stuff for grad school, but I loved it. I felt like I really had the power to change lives, to help people. It made me feel good when a student would come back and tell me she'd gotten a job or when they would thank me in English. I really felt that I made a difference. Now, I don't know. I don't get that feeling. I think I'm really disillusioned from with the world of academia right now. Working as an adjunct also doesn't help any. No benefits, no ability to travel, and no hope for promotion unless you adjunct for a gazillion years and are willing to kiss ass. I'm just not at that point in my life anymore.

I guess its more just a part of me being able to see that there are other ways to claim success in life, and they don't always have to do with titles or status.

I'm wondering if I don't need to seriously rethink my career choice. I used to see the benefit of my going to school and pursing comp studies/rhetorical analysis stuff, but now I just ask myself why? And who am I going to help that way? I know I need to be a teacher, its just what I am, its what I do, its a part of my core. But how can I help those who need it the most? That's what I feel called to do.

first day woes

Well, my first day of school was actually last week, but this is the first official week, or at least that's how I count it. I'm not feeling super thrilled about much of anything and I think that it has to do with the fact that I'm still grieving the loss of my granny and learning to function on an entire new sleep schedule. I haven't had the time like I usually do, to plan and create new activities. Teaching the same ole class gets borning, but I always enjoy adding to my in-class activities.

I am also in the middle of GRE studying and writing a review. But I'm having a hard time doing both.

I have quite a bit of trouble learning to focus and meet deadlines.

ugh.

Things that are Weird II

Reading Tree's entry here Cheese & Responsibility made me think of this one:

11. Keeping a Jean Luke action figure in the pocket of your winter coat, at 22, touching the figure when you feel nervous and being worried when he's slipped into the hole in your pocket and gotten stuck in the lining, and sad when you've lost him at the dry cleaners.

And whats even MORE weird? I don't even really know who Jean Luke is, but I totally dug his action figure.

Things that are Weird

1. Not being able to get good iced-tea anywhere but in the South. Don't other people drink their tea syrupy sweet?

2. Not having traveled enough to actually make the assessment made in number 1.

3. Having a baby who acts like a 40 year old.

4. Seeing random folks who were the shiz-it in school; but who are now struggling to just get by. The fall of the superhero.

5. Teachers who float into your life and then out.

6. Having those same teachers talk to you in a very un-teacherly way.

7. Missing Friday nights where the highlight was eating pepperoni pizza and drinking diet coke (especially because now you don't eat pork and are afraid of the chemicals in the soda).

8. Teaching at the same place you went to school. Sometimes I forget and feel like I should be sitting at the small desk, not the big desk.

9. Reading about random people's lives and caring about what happens. I mean really caring, like staying up when you should be asleep because you have a babe who will wake you up for milk in another 3 hours...if you even have that long.

10. Blogging.

so....

I made it through one day of teaching/orientation. It was nice to put on real clothes and have adult conversations, but at the same time I missed my baby horribly! The longest I'd been away from her was maybe 3-4 hours tops, but on Thursday I was away from 1-7! argh! She was with her dad, but still it was much harder than I'd imagined.
Before she was born I thought that I'd want to go back to work, back to school, back to 'normal' life right away. Boy was I wrong, I wanted to cry when I had to get out of the car. Its hard, because I know there has to be a balance and trully I want there to be. I don't think it would be good for me or her if I didn't have any other interests/jobs, but right now my focus has been only on her for the past 3 and 1/2 months, so its like how do I get myself back in the swing of things I used to do?

Actually, what I've realized is that I can't get back in the swing of what I used to do. I'm not that person anymore, and if I continue to try to think that I am her, then I'll never be able to enjoy who I am now. Having a baby changed me, I'm a different person now. Sure, I 've got some of the same qualities and strands of person that I had before, but I've also got some stuff too, and thats okie, in fact its good. The old me could have never handled any of this. If you had told me a year ago, I'd have a baby, not go back to grad school, AND loose my grandma within a month, I'd have told you there would be no way. No way I would be able to make it. But I have. Slowly, yes, but making it still. I used to be so caught up in what other people were doing or what people would think of me if I didn't do things a certain way. Not any more, its a waste of time to be that analytical, and if its one thing having a baby has taught me, its to focus on the present.

So, when I started my first day of class I did not panic when I hadn't quite finished the syllabus, didn't have the right section number, had a bit of milk on my clothes, forgot to pack extra nursing pads, and wore sneakers because my feet have gotten wider since having the babe. No, no panic, no worry, I walked in and did what I do best.

Trying to break the Ice

Well....its been quite some time. Almost 5 months to the day that I said I ended this blog, and here I'm back. Feeling more than a little bashful and afraid *kicks rocks around with foot and looks down like a new kid on the playground*.

I ended this blog because I felt like I couldn't keep up with others, or rather I felt like I wasn't where I should be and because it was painful, I just stopped writing and tried to stop thinking about it, well, things don't work that way. You still think about it.

I have gone through so many changes, so many. So many. Three months to the day my blog ended, so did my grandma's life. Just like that, gone. It was cancer and it hit with a vengeance. I'm no where near healed from the loss. None of us are, but I realize that she is not hurting anymore and we said our I love You's and I have to let it go with that. Knowing that I'll never forget her.

My daughter was also born, little Cucumber! She came on May 3 at 7lbs 10 ounces and screamed to the top of her lungs when she saw DH (I was out of it from the meds/c-section), our first meeting came with me waking up super groggy to find her attached to my boob. It was love at first sight.

So, I'm trying to ease back into things. I'm still an avid blog reader, but its hard to type with a 12 pounder on your hip tugging for more milk. Now that I'm starting with work again, I hope to carve out a little time to be able to write and still read. I hope to put myself out there more and become more a part of the blogging community. I want to read and respond and do more than just talk about myself.

I am also not putting forth any rules on what this blog is and what it is not. Just like I said, I'm trying to learn balance and keep a level head. I'm also trying really hard to get back into the swing of work/school because I've not lost focus and realize even now more than ever that its important for me to go back to school.

So, we'll see what happens. I hope I can find a swing on this playground *looks around for empty swing, or maybe a slide...*

When this blog first began, it was going to be a way for me to write about the transition from a life of adjuncting to graduate school and my move up North. Well, life happens and things change, so this blog is now a reflection of those changes.

I don't like this blog.

I think one of the reasons I'm not very happy with it is because I started out with a set agenda, "This is what my blog will say. This is the purpose it will serve." I tried to model it around other academic-like blogs and tried to really put my 'academic' perspective on things. I tried to hard to be witty, to comment on things I thought I should comment on because they were academic-ish and to make this a place that was going to be intellectual.

Well, when you set out with an agenda it becomes difficult to make it always fit. Or at least for me, because I have a tendency to not want change or to not flow and be like water (Bruce Lee- what was that quote he used...).

So, inevitably, the blog's role had to change because I changed, but my mind was still fighting for this to be an 'academic' space not mommy/preggo central, or a place to complain and whine, or a place to post random snipits of my life. I think that's why here lately I've been avoiding it and not wanting to post. I don't want to post because I don't like what this blog has become, me. And I'm not always very happy with myself. Usually, I'm never very happy with myself. I am my worst enemy and critic. And I know most people would argue the same, but its different for me. I come from a family where my father is a perfectionist and as much as I'd hate to admit it, I am too. So, when this blog didn't turn into a hot trobbing place to discuss rhetorical analysis, or teaching, I became soured.

The other part of the problem is that I also have a tendency to compare myself with others. Big time. What is Sally Joe's blog about? What does Petey have to say about comp theory? Whats the hot topic at Four C's? How does Coco Joe tell a story? Blog's serve many purposes and it does give you a bit of space to focus on your self (for better or for worse) and when you read how things are grrrrrrrrrrreat for others and their moving and shaking and doing er-thing you wanted to, if you have a perfectionist personality and compare yourself with others, inevitably you began to doubt yourself and feel like a failure. That's just the way it is, for me.

So, a month or so ago, I really started hating my blog. I felt like I wasn't focused, committed to the purpose of why I started one in the first place (to record thoughts/emotions about transition). I also think that not having an audience was affecting me also. Most folks don't blog just for themselves, for some it might be that this is trully a journal, a private space, but I find that hard to believe. If you are posting on the net, you have to realize there is a chance someone will read what you have to say, and I think most bloggers want that. That's why you ask questions in your post, that's why you have a comment section, or a blog role. Because you seek a community. Well, I don't really have one, or rather I should say I feel like I'm on the outskirst of lots of different communities: mother to be, former adjunct, former phd to be, stay at home mom to be, full time 9-to-fiver, wife, writer-wanna-be. In some of these communities I fit perfectly, while in others I don't really feel like I belong. And much of that is my own fault, or rather my own perception.

So, with all that said. I'd like to announce that this blog is going-bye-bye. I'm changing. I am allowing myself to change and not feel like I have to stay with this form. I'm going to be like water. (Where the hell is that Bruce Lee quote!?)

Top 10 Reasons why I love living in the South

1. Southern style sweet iced tea. (You ain't had tea until you've had it down here, its ice-box cold as my granny would say, and syrupy sweet)

2. Warm winter days. (This past weekend I've been able to sun myself because its been in the 80s)

3. Random small talk. (People, most of the time, talk to you like they've known you for years and are always ready to offer advice)

4. Food. (Mac and cheese made with REAL cheese and milk, fried everything, mashed potatoes, and the fact that we can serve gravy with every meal)

5. Sweet iced tea.

6-10. Sweet iced tea.

Ok, so I couldn't get to 10, but these do sum up rather nicely how I feel. I usually always have something negative to say about living down here, but this weekend I was trying real hard like to come up with some of the good points to being where I am.

I guess I could add family down there too.....

It would be easier for me to find reasons why I disliked it down here, but I won't even go there. Not while I'm sipping on my sweet tea.

So much...

The past couple of weeks have been nothing but constant activity. I've felt like I was on some sick ride that just wouldn't stop. Like when you go to those cheap carnivals and you know that the people running the rides are murders and stuff, just using the carnival get up as a way to travel from town to town, but anyways...I digress.

The activity started when I stayed home from work one day last week, I was not feeling well and my ankles were swollen. The only real remedy anyone could offer was for me to keep off my feet. So, I thought I'd have a relaxing day at home. WRONG. I settled in to take a nap when the dogs began barking like there were cats on parade in the house. They could smell the smoke. An arson investigator knocked on my door and told me to come out of my building. Apparently, someone had tried to set fire to the building in the basement. Yes, fire. Flames. Fumes. Smoke. Fire. In. My. Building. Where. I. Lay. Sleeping.

I of course had a panic attack and immediatley began the ever-so-dangerous what-if-game: What if I hadn't gotten up? What if my floors would have burned? What if this had of happened when I wasn't at home and the dogs couldn't have gotten out? What if this happened once the baby was born? What if there is a crazy pyromaniac in the neighborhood?

Once H came home, which felt like it took forever, but was actually only 10 or 15 minutes after I'd been asked to come out of the apartment, I just melted. We decided instantly that come hell or high water we were moving out.

Now enters next chaos, where are we gonna live? We've got 8 weeks until the baby comes and only 12 weeks in a lease.

No, that's not all of it. The next day I return to work, trying to catch up and get a phone call from my cousin. My grandma has been taken to the hospital. She's blacked out while driving and they don't know whats wrong with her. I panick again. Rushing out of the buildign and to the hospital I start the what-if-game again: What if she's not conscious? What if she had a stroke? What if she can't see forever? What if she isn't breathing on her own? What if I can't get to the hospital in time?

I make it to the hospital about 30 minutes later to find her wide-awake in the ER. Smiling and reassuring me she's just fine. The doctors say that want to keep her for observation, but they can't figure out what made her black out the way she did. She stays over night, more tests, more blood more, more waiting. And the next day I go back to the hospital to visit her and she's been told that they've found two suspicious spots on her scans. They can't say for sure what it is, but they do say the dirtiest word-cancer. They have to say it, or at least thats what they tell us, they have to warn us. It will be 5 days before we know for sure. She is in the hospital all weekend and dreads every moment of it, we all do. Our granny is the most active person I know and its hard to see her sit in a hospital bed, even harder to see her not know whats coming next. Finally, there is relief when the biopsy results come back and she's released, no cancer.

Now, a cooling down moment, I'm feeling better for us. But then, alas, the ride is not over, no, the carnival man has decided I should go yet another round. At my doctor's visit this week he announces that he thinks I have hypertension and that I could possibly be induced. Induced. In other words, a scheduled deliveray. My blood platelle count is also low, possibly another sign that I have hypertension or it could be thats my norm. More tests to come. I heard these words and yet again started the what-if-game: What if the induction doesn't take? What if it means I have to stay in bed and can't move around and do my yoga? What if I bleed and can't stop? What if the baby doesn't respond well to the induction? What if my uterus explodes? What if I can't take the pain? What if something happens to the baby?

The doctor reassures me that the baby is just fine and that there is still a chance I could go into labor on my own and not have to worry about any of this. I also learn that platelles dip a bit when you are pregnant and that if mine were severly low, they'd have but me on bedrest. Relax, everyone says, you are in good hands.

What if....to me, these are two of the most dangerous words in the English language when put togther. They can rip your brain and heart apart in seconds. Moving from one emotion to another was hard for me, but I think even harder because of the pregnancy. But there is something I realized through each of these events. I've got to let go of the what-if-game. I don't have any control over any of the above situations. All I can do is let God take care of us. Really, not to sound preachy here, but thats what I'm learning. As much as I'd like to think I'm in control of everything, I am not. I repeat: I AM NOT IN CONTROL OF EVERYTHING. I feel like I should write that 100x over.

So now, whats on my agenda:

Let it go.
Let it go.
Let it go.

Week 32=8 months?

8 months. I just figured out on Tuesday that I am now entering my 8th month. How did I just figure this out? Well, with so much going on, it seems like time has just slipped through my fingers.
I don't feel horrible, but I am slowing down and feeling tired again like I did during the first trimester. My ankles swell a bit, and I waddle when I walk and need help getting myself up and down. My heartburn had subsided, but has now returned and wakes me up with a burning fire during the night.
But...I only have about 81/2 weeks to go until my daughter makes her grand arrival. And I'm sure it shall be grand. I'm doing yoga twice a week now and H and I attend birth classes every Friday evening. Its just hard to believe that this is almost over. Just when I was getting used to it, lol.

But what we have to come is even more spectacular I'm sure of. H sings and talks to her now, and she does thump and move in response to her father's voice. Sometimes I tap my belly and she taps back, we haven't started teaching her any intricate drumming rhythms or anything, but I'm pretty sure she's well on her way to being the SMARTEST KID in the WORLD.

100

This is my 100th post. I've had this blog since June of 2005 so its still relatively young and I am very much a newbie. That should be evident, I don't know html, don't have any pics, nor have I quite figured out how to do the blogroll. But on this 100th posting I wanted to reflect on why I started this blog in the first place. Initially, I cited my goals as the following:

i am startin this blog for many reasons:*i've been meaning to start
documenting my transition from adjunct life to grad school phd life*i want to
have an 'outside' writing environment, separate from my journaling*i want a
place to write where i can connect to others in the Blog-0-sphere
atmosphere

Well, I don't know how much I've kept those goals. I really can't document my transition from adjunct-dom to phd-om because I'm not going anywhere. But this has been a place for me to document my travels from adjunct-dom to full time work to pregnancy to...who knows whats to come. This has become an outside writing environment, I tend to only journal at most once or twice a week now privatley. And as far as this being a place for me to connect to other bloggers, I guess I still feel pretty isolated. That isolation comes from myself in some respects, I have a few blogs that I do post comments on and occassionlay those folks visit me. But I've also got tons of blogs that I read and never write a comment on because I feel like the little kid on the blogging playground with the fake keds. Come on, you know what I'm talking about. The fake keds your mama would get you from Kmart, they looked like the real keds, they just didn't have the keds written on the back.

I guess I need to break out of my blogging shell. I'm always embarressed by my writing though. That could be why I hate to look back over my thesis or anything I did in school. Why am I so embarressed to see it? I dread the thought of trying to ever publish anything because I lack confidence in my words. No, not in my words but in the way I use my words.

So, I don't know how my goals have held up. At least I did have something.

Now, my goals for the next 100 posts:

-Continue to be honest about tracking my feelings.

-Spend at least once a week posting about something good. Even if I have to look real hard out of my evil little eyes.

-Just be.

*****

At lunch today, my bro gave me a really cool quote from a song (I'll have to look that up later), from Mos Def.

"how you got high expectations, with no patience?"

Taping that one to my head.

And everbody sing...'Swing Down Sweet Chariot, and Let me Ride'

P Funk

That's the only thing that makes me feel somewhat like moving and feeling good. This morning, for like 2 minutes I forgot about everything, MIL's cancer, baby worries, money worries, dirty apartments, crap work, and I felt really good. It happened as I was walking into work, the sun hit my back and it warmed me up so much that I forgot it was winter, the wind blew and for a split second it felt like how it does on an early Spring morning.

Then I kept walking in and realized that was just a small reprieve.

I don't know. There is so much on my mind, I don't even know where or how to start. I feel sad, worried, and tired. MIL starts her chemo this week and I'm scared. I don't quite know what to say, so I tend to bumble:

Me: We can fix you soup.

Me: I can sweep your hallway.

Me: You want a silk or cotton scarf?

Its just scary because you hear the word chemo and of course you get the worse possible images in your head. I am trying to visualize it as something else though, not as your body breaking down and you feeling sick, but as your body trying to rid itself of the sickness and start anew. Fresh. Rebirth.

The way it looks now, her chemo should end about a month after the baby is born. That will be a real time to celebrate.

Happy Love Day

***Warning, the following contains a very random memory that attacked my brain on the way back from lunch today***

When I was about 13 or 14, the summer before I started high school, every day during the week my cousins, brother, aunt, and I would go to the playground. The walk from my grandma's house to the playground was an interesting one. It took us about 15 minutes because at the time my cousins and brother were young, the youngest being 4 and the oldest 7 or 8. We had to walk through a housing project known as Ruffin Road. The name about sums up the area. It was pretty rough, the ditches were usually filled with empty beer bottles and trash, condoms, torn clothes, and discarded toys. Weird combination.

But we trudged away anyway, mostly because there wasn't much else to do. We had one car, a small Buick, and there were 7 of us. You do the math on that one. We could've taken the bus downtown, but with all those kids it was hard. So, we went to the playground.

We would leave home around 10:00 AM, any later and you'd run the chance of drug dealers and prostitutes being in the way, plus it would get hot and we'd want to be back in before noon to put the kids down for naps.

Once there, we all had a routine. My brother and cousin played with the other boys there, my aunt and I would take turns pushing the girls on the swings or catching them on the sliding board. After everyone was settled into their activity, I did what I loved the most at that time, I played basketball. And I played hard. Against myself and against any boy who was willing to play me. I had no idea, until a few years ago when we were all reminiscing about these days, that it was such a big deal for my cousins. They had a girl playing basketball. On a public court. In the middle of the projects.

The only thing that would break my playing and the playing of everyone else at the playground was lunch. Free lunch got served anywhere from 11:30-11:45. The city provided free lunch for kids at the local playgrounds. It was never good, but for some reason we were all addicted to getting it. Most of the time it was just a sandwich, juice, and honey bun. Really nutricious, gotta keep those poor kids growing strong you know. But what I remembered today when this thought came dancing in my head was how much we all shared. Everyone would sit in the shadiest part of the playground and spread out their feast. A breeze blowing, we'd eat the edible parts of the sandwich, gulp down the juice and devour the honeybuns. The days they had donoughts were the best. There were some kids who would try to take more than one lunch (the rule was one lunch per kid and you couldn't take it off the playground). They'd sneak the food in their pants or on their bikes. For them, it was probably the only meal they would get that day. We would take whatever we didn't eat and trade or give it away to one another. Why the city had a lock down on food- crap food, is beyond me.
Some days, they gave us popsicles.

We only went to the playground that one summer. My mom said she had bad feelings about us being there, and sure enough, months later a kid was shot on that court. But what I remember are the hot summer days, the heat rising from the court, and lunch.

Reasons Why Blogs Hurt Me

1. I came to the library today with the intention of working on RESEARCH not reading BLOGS.

2. Blogs come in colors that are much more fun to look at than journals.

3. Blogs are funny, laughing too hard hurts my ribs, and makes the baby punch my lungs.

4. Blogs make me question myself, being pregnant with raging hormones, its not good to read about how the rest of the world is making strides and progress while you can hardly roll yourself out of the bed (feelings of Gregor surface).

5. If I could stop blogging and reading blogs I could get home quicker, eat two huge veggie burgers w/ cheese and onions and relish, drink a ginger ale, watch TV and take a nap.

Things I am Thinking About...

*Pizza

*Going Home

*Public Education Policy

*Teaching

*Labor

*Cleaning my House

*Poverty

28 Week Update II: Cucumber fights back

ite thThis weekend I discovered a delightful thing. As I was stretching out to take a post breakfast nap on Saturday, I looked down and could see my stomach move out in two different spots. Cucumber must have been flexing and practicing her gymnastics routine. So, I gently touched the spot where I'd just seen movembet, and she moved again! I reached to the other side of my belly and said her name, "__________," and touched again, she responded.

This was the best weekend I've had in a long time, despite the constipation, heartburn, and leg cramps.

I really do love being pregnant. Its moments like that one that make you realize just how special and amazing this entire event is.

Does this border on the obsessive?

This morning, I put DH out of the car at his shuttle stop and I kept on driving to work. On my way I saw a student, nothing new there. She had her bookbag on her back and was buttoned up tight to brave the cold. And out of no where I just got insanely jealous. I wanted so badly to park my car, get a bookbag and go to a class. Any class, French, Math, Bio, a Chem lab, Western World lit, it didn't matter. I just want school.

So, it got me to thinking (and no, I'm not about to go into a lamentation about not being able to go start a PhD in the fall) am I addicted to school? And if so, is that bad? Are all addictions bad? At first I would say no, but then when I think about it a bit more I wonder, does an addiction mean you border on the obsessive? How would you know if you were addicted to school? What would you look for?

I do have the need to smell books, I can think of worse things to smell.

I do find myself looking at course schedules to find just one more class to take.

I love shopping for school supplies. I love picking notebooks out.

And, I can't imagine myself not being in a classroom, either as a student or teacher.

I had a neighbor tell me once that the only reason I wanted to go to school was so that I didn't have to grow up, because as long as you are in school you can avoid 'adult' responsibilities. She also felt that I thought too highly of the academia and accused me of having Ivory Tower Syndrome. Now, two problems with this:

1. Being in school, at least for me at both the u-grad and grad level NEVER meant avoiding adult responsibilities. I worked the entire time because in my house, the rule was such that when you turned 18 you were on your own as far as school went. My folks paid for me to go to private school k-12 and figured that I should be able to handle what came next. So, I worked and took out loans. Both of those activities were very 'adult'. I had to learn about promissary notes, loan payments, consolidations, and at times had to debate whether or not I could afford an extra semester. I also worked 2-3 jobs at a time as an undergraduate student just to be able to maintain. And, I had no car. I depended on rides and had to schedule classes around that. I walked to work in between classes.

As a grad student, the responsibilities of course grew. In my program I didn't receive an stipend/TAship for grad work. So, I had to again make the decision as to whether or not it would be work$h it in the end. Taking out more loans and working (at times full-time) was difficult. The total of all my loans could buy me this to ride in or half of this to live on. You have to be very adult about making decisions regarding that much money.

The nature of graduate work (even at the MA level) also requires an adult attitude. I had to read, research, and write, on my own for much of the time. I had a wonderful advisor, but it was still up to me to actually do the work.

2. I don't have Ivory Tower Syndrome. First off, I'm not in any Ivory Tower. I'm in a building made of bricks and mortar, and technically as an adjunct I don't really have a building/office space of my own if you want to get into the spatial dynamics of the situation. I could go even a step further and discuss that issue: not having an office, or limited space, what does that say about how my work is valued? I lugged everything around in an old leather bag. But, I digress. The work I do and see myself doing in every way touches the world outside of academia. My research interests have me looking at issues of language politics and who gets to say what where, and how they say it, and how the message is received, and how this shapes our attitudes about culture/race/class. Why is this important? Well, in a world of sound-bites, you better hope that your 20 second relief gets cut and edited in just the right way.

I also see that we still talk about valuing language and writing but do we really? And what kind of value$ are we willing to put down? Many of our students (k-12) in poor urban environments still lack the ability to communicate effectively so that they can become active participants in circles outside of their communities. Who's responsible for this? Who's gonna teach them? How are we gonna teach? What approaches work best? I should also add that lots of our non-native speakers get more programs/funding than our natives speakers who could still be looked at as not holding enough English speaking skills to be effective communicators. That's not to say I'm against funding ESL research/work because that's another area I've been strongly committed to for much of my working life.

No, no, no. I don't plan to be locked in an office with books and coffee. Real academic work is not that easy. Working with language and writing and people means that your gonna get dirty. And I want to lather myself in the mud.

28 Weeks

I am entering into my 7th month of pregnancy.

Pregnancy. Month 7.

7 months, 2 more to go.

28 Weeks.

28 out of 40.

No matter how I say it, I can't believe it. My stomach is round and taught. What used to be my belly button is now a puckered navel. I have my dark birth line dividing my belly. I actually think my posture has improved, because of the weight of my stomach and breasts, I try to walk upright more. My hair has gotten longer, the hormones have blessed me with this. The rest of me hasn't changed that much, though its hard to see my feet and legs sometimes. I like how I look.

I'm utterly amazed at what my body has been able to do. And I didn't have anything to do with it. Jokes on me. I have no control over how much I would grow, when the baby moves, how I move, how often I have to go to the bathroom, or how often I can't go. I had not an ounce of control over any of these matters and yet everything still happens.

The baby now moves and shifts from side to side and I can feel arms and legs poke me in various places. In yoga class, there are certain positions she doesn't like (and I can't blame her). Downward facing dog gives me heartburn, but she seems to be comfortable with it. Any pose that requires me to sit or lay down still is not a favorite for her, she moves and kicks until you can actually see my stomach and shirt move.

I really don't know where the past 7 months have gone. Well, for 2 out of the 7 I didn't even realize I was preggers, so that leaves me with 5, and 2 more to enjoy.

Taking Advice from a lil bit of er-where

Last night I was talking to my grandma who told me that the moon had been through a changing phase, and this, she declared was the reason why so many people had been struggling. We've had several deaths (close relatives and friends of the family), along with financial problems, and the nasty ole black cloud that seems to have taken residence above our heads. So when I read Tree's post about giving unsolicited advice because so many friends and family seemed to be going through rough times, I felt like maybe my granny's theory had something going to it. It does seem like for so many people I know, there have been lots of hardships and obstacles here recently.

I have to thank Tree. I don't even know if there was anything directly related to me on that page, but little does Tree know, I was able to find meaning in many of the statements. I keep saying it, and its true, and I know I keep saying it because I'm still trying to force myself to believe it; there is so little we can actual control. What we have to learn to do is to be resilient. No, scratch that too. What I have to learn, is to be resilient. I think that's what separates me from being able to reach my goals. When something goes wrong, or doesn't go the way I planned, or just something unexpected happens, I spend so much time mulling over it and being angry/hurt/confused/let down/bruised, that I loose precious time. Time that I need to spend in finding another way, another solution.

This weekend, my dad and I exchanged our normal pleasantness after church. He asked how I was, and I said, "I can't complain." He said, "Oh really?" I responded, "Well, I guess I could, but it wouldn't do much good." Then he says, "No, the problem is the word you used. Complaining rarely gets results. You gotta think and be creative."

Creativity. I lack that. But again, I'm working on it.

I'm going to dedicate my next yoga practice to putting out positive vibes in the world for everyone-because it seems like we all need it.

...don't wanna be no where but here....

The title comes from a Mos Def song... don't know why but here lately I've had the most random songs in my head, for no apparent reason.

This weekend was weird, it seemed like it was gonna start okie, but then after a series of icky events on Thursday, then an upset tummy that caused me to go to the doctor on Friday (baby is fine, just had a touch of the old stomach bug), and the fact that I could not sleep well at all because of horrific heartburn, it was just kinda nay-pooh. I didn't accomplish much of anything, did get to spend time with my family which was nice, but did nothing around the house, no writing, no reading, just griping (both verbally and physically- my belly).

Sunday, H and I were able to finally figure some things out, or so we hope. I'm actually not even gonna say we figured anything out, from now on I'm gonna call any plans for the future sketching. Sketching is different from actually drawing plans. When you draw plans, it sounds like you use a hard pencil with thick lead, if you erase anything, the picture gets smudges or smears all over it. Sketching is just a bunch of light lines, its the way you hope your picture will look, but you realize that between the time you conceptulize it in your head, get it to paper, and then show it to others, there are some lines that might have to change. So anyways, we sketched what we'd like to do once Cucumber is born, and while I wasn't immediatley pleased, lets just say its far better than having to think about day cares or babysitters, or any body we don't know or don't trust taking care of her. My family is all gonna pitch in and try to help, so that I can work outside the house (!) after she is born and so we won't end up living in a cardboard box. I've got some other sketches that I need to make, but it made me feel like I could stop holding my breathe for a little while, just knowing that there will be plenty of folks around who want to take care of her, and who want to help take care of us.

I'm hoping for a much more productive week than I've had the past couple of weeks. I also realized (with the help of H) that I spend far too much time lamenting and complaining about things that I have NO control over. And therefore, what happens is that I waste time and energy on those things and don't dedicate myself to the things that I can control.

Now, how do I get myself to remember that?

Not a complaint, but can I share a fear?

I first learned about blogs because the PhD program I was due to start at was big on blogging. Well, it wasn't like they were just all about blogs, but lots of the students and faculty members were into this, so I started reading their blogs which of course leads you to other blogs, and before you know it, your addicted to a good 10 that you have to read each day.

Well, for a while, after I realized I wasn't going to be able to go to school in the fall because of the baby and my MIL's cancer, I just stopped reading the academic-related blogs because it was difficult. It was hard for me to read about rhetorical theory, research projects, seminar papers, books, classes, teaching, conferences, etc, because for so long that has been what I thought I was going to be about, and to have my life turn around so suddenly, it took some time for me to actually work through things. And I must admit, I'm still working through. No, I don't regret the baby and I don't have ill feelings towards MIL, but most of all I was just mad at myself. Angry because I know that life throws twists and turns, why was it so difficult for me to learn to be more resilliant? I used to pride myself on always having a plan B, C, D, and E. Never just one. But I slacked, I got comfortable, and God threw me a curve ball. Again, the lesson or theme for today seems to be 'thinking outside of myself,' but now I don't have a complaint to spew, but a fear.

I started reading academic-related blogs again today and I'm fearful. Not jealous. Not angry. Not anything else, just fearful. Why? Because I feel like I'm so out of the game, not around scholars, not in school, not studying to be a scholar, not writing, not reading (well, nothing that amounts to much), and just not using my head and thinking, or trying to take things to the next level. I'm afraid I won't be able to do it again. Afraid I may have lost it. Now days, once I finish working my 8 hours, I do what most folks do, the folks I'd sworn I'd never be like, I go home, get food and park it in front of the TV. By 10, I'm ready for a shower, more TV and then the bed. Then I get up and do it all over again. On the weekends, its grocery store, cleaning, church, then hit repeat. Last year at this time I was teaching, working on a grant-funded research project, and was just about to get my acceptance into Grad school.

I don't want to be too hard on myself (thats a first!) because hey, I am pregnant and it is harder to move around, I'm more tired and tend to get irritated very easily, but I just wonder, is there any way I can get back into that groove? Maybe the problem is that I'm a different kind of peg now and I can no longer fit into that groove, I'm trying to force myself into something I am not. But then what kind of peg am I, and how can I create a groove that will fit me?

I do want to go to school, I do want a PhD, I do want to write, I do want to research, and overall, I do want to teach. Those things help to complete me, they are just who I am. But now, there is another part of me as well, this part that is going to be a mother, and this part that has had to act in more of a supportive role than before while we've been dealing with MIL's illness.

How can I expect myself to be able to do all those things and keep a family in balance? My family will always come first, but its my use of time and my thinking that will have to change.

I'm afriad I'm not who I thought I was, or who I thought I was going to be. And maybe the problem is that I was holding on to one set image of myself and now that image is whats going to have to change? But how do hold myself up to it? How do you write when you feel out of it? Okie, lets cut the bull-shit as my dad would say, how do you kick yourself in the ass?

As Moe Greene said, " I gotta business to run. I gotta kick asses sometimes to make it run right."

Damn Moe, now how can I do that?

True

For about 20 of my 27 years, I've totally thought my dad was insane. Crazy. A monster. Paranoid. But the oddest thing started happening about 2 or 3 years ago, I realized that he was none of those things, I realized he was right.

Its weird though, how our perceptions of people can change. Kenneth Burke talked about terministic screens and I liken this to his theory. We move through life and experience things (events, people, language, images) and we try to make sense of them as best we can, but as we continue to move and note changes, our perceptions and understandings change and we try our best to make meaning.

I think (or rather I hope) that I'm learning that one of the best ways to make meaning is to allow the meaning to make itself. I tend to over-analyze almost everything and I think that's just the rhetorician in me. At times, we can't allow ourselves to do that, sometimes it takes the letting go in order to discover the meaning.

One thing my dad has always taught us is to keep our enemies close (yes, that is in relation to the Godfather), but there is truth in that statement. I've learned, and most often the hard way, that if you don't keep a close watch on those around you, you end up being hurt. I think some of these life lessons will become increasingly more important now that I'm preparing myself to be a mom, I want to pass along wisdom to my daughter.

Just minus the paranoia.

No Complaints allowed

Being pregnant has taught me one clear thing about myself: at times I'm a very self-centered/focused individual. Now, this does not have to be a bad thing, it can in fact aid in one's own protection. My dad once pointed to our front door and told me, "Once you leave this house, on any given day, there are numerous people out there who are out to get you." Whenever he said that (which was often) I would always envision someone in a long trench coat, a Fedora, and dark shades standing on the corner trying to lure me into a dark alley. But as I got older, I understood a bit more about what he meant and I think I did develop a real 'tough girl' attitude, so much so, that at times it bordered or being both paranoid and selfish.

Sharing my body for six months now with someone I know, but don't know, has taught me to let go of some of myself and allow someone else to delegate and be in control. The larger Cucumber gets, the more I'm aware that I can't control everything about myself. Getting up 3-4x during the night, having to take vitamins the size of my pinky finger, drinking milk, eating (gasp) meat, (and enjoying it, gasp), having to sleep on one side, not being able to just run or jump up in the mornings. These are just small things that I've noticed, but they prepare you for something that is much larger than yourself.

In our yoga practices we are always encouraged to dedicate our practice to something that is much larger than ourselves, to take us outside of 'us/me' and to join with 'we/you' its something that I have to try to remember daily.

Cucumber Speaks, I Listen

I know I've said this a gazzillion times before here, but I am just so in awe of the fact that every day, the baby's movements are stronger and more pronounced. I can't tell the difference between arms and legs, but I can definitely tell the difference between her head and appendages. At some points, especially at night, when I roll over in bed, I can tell she doesn't like it because I've interrupted her position. Her head will move firmly over my bladder or my rib cage. I love that she reacts!

Last night, the dogs were barking and being extra woofy, and she would actually start kicking when they started to bark. The baby books have said that at this point her senses are becoming more and more acute, so she can probably hear some sounds. As I write this now, she is pounding away at my sides.

Lovely.

Emancipation

My brother and I were both having a rough day yesterday and so as we lamented about our lives, I think we came to a new revelation for the both of us.

Sometimes you got to get really down before you can really get up.

News Flash***I know that most people would say, "Duh, who doesn't know this!" or as my family likes to say, "Quit complaining and do something already!" or as my Dear husband says, "You are just figuring this out, and you are how old?"

Well yes, I am just figuring it out, and I am 27 years old. Thank you very much. But for almost the past year I've been on a roller coaster ride, school, work, family, illness, moving, not moving, pregnancy, the list goes on. This morning as I rolled myself off the side of the bed and felt extremely tired, even though I'd gone to bed early, I started thinking about all the things that I've experienced this past year, not just physically from the pregnancy, but emotionally as well. And its no wonder I feel tired. Not only is my body working around the clock to sustain my life and the baby's; but my head has been working around the clock as well, to try as hard as it possibly can to make sense out of everything that has happened. And it can't. I don't know everything has been woven together to meet at this point. But it has, and even though I don't understand why, and even though I'm broke, and afraid, and scared, and anxious. I'm also starting to feel excited and happy. Out of all of this chaos, I want to emancipate myself from the anxiousness that used to rule my life, from my dire need to feel important to outside people, from my thinking that if I don't have a house, 2.5 kids and a SUV I'm not making it. Because the truth is, I have thought that way, in the past.
All bull shit aside, as much as I once thought I knew myself and had it together, I didn't have a clue. It takes changes and movement to really learn who you are and where you are going.
At some points, and I think this blog reflects some of those moments, I've felt so low and crestfallen, and I'm sure to have many more days like that too, but I also want to feel new again.
Me again.

I blog because

i don't have anything to say. To anybody at anytime.

How do you know when you need to switch gears? How do you know when no matter how hard you try, something is not worth it, or not necessarily not worth it, but just not for you?

I gave my official notice of not going back to school in the Fall and it was much harder than I expected. Initially, I felt relieved. Finaly, I'd wrestled with everythign and a decision had been made. Then I felt hopeful, I'll send the email, but something else will work out. Then I felt despair, the email has been sent, the pen lifted on that chapter and its gone.

Trying to reapply again for the future feels like it just can't happen. There would be tests to take, apps to redo, references to try and solidify again, and the need to write or do something. At this point, the most academic thing I've done in the past year has been to read academic related blogs by real academics.

I'm just tired. I don't want to think of myself as a quitter, but I've got a baby on the way and maybe I just need to reshape/rethink my focus, because this shish ain't working.

I don't feel like writing when I get home, I'm not forced to write at work, but my work is not creative in nature and I just feel zapped and fried by the time I get home. Once I'm home, all I want to do really is to crawl in my bed and read (non-academic minded books mind you) or watch TV. I've watched more TV in the past six months than I have in the past six years.

My mind is mushy. And I don't think its just the hormones.

.......

baldhfsdfoiusfdhsfsoijfs Week 24/25 Update

The title of my post describes exactly how I feel. I've got so much going on this week, and heck the next 3 months, I don't even know where to begin anymore.

Most of what I need to do now, involves prepping for the little one who is due to arrive in three super-short months, February doesn't even give me a full 30-31 days! My doctor's visit this past week revealed that my stomach is growing and growing and growing. She is moving more and more each day and in really weird positions that sometimes cut off my breathing. But the best part of it, is knowing that there is a tiny little person in there. The worse part, just the waiting and worrying. I am a worrier by nature, but now not only do I have myself to worry about, but also this brand new person! I worry about whether or not she'll have all her fingers/toes/eyes/ears/nose, whether she'll enjoy school, will she like to read, will she want to date at age 12, how will I keep the bad people away from her, and the good folks close? She's not even here yet and I panick.
I do try my best to control this panick though, because I don't want to pass along any of these feelings of angst to her. For now, the womb is a small, safe, warm environment. She'll have enough to deal with when she bursts into this world. Did I say burst?

We haven't started talking about what kind of birth we want. That seems to be the hot topic amongst many pregnancy groups, What kind of birth do you want? Uh, one that is pain free and leaves me ready to go to Disney the next day? What kind of birth do you want?

Many folks in my prenatal yoga class have done it before with no pain meds and say that yoga and breathing was all that they needed. Then, there is the medicated bunch who say that there was no way they could have gotten through it withough meds and lots of meds. I don't know where I fall with this yet. I have never been one to run to medicine or pain killers, for years I sufferred with menstral cramps that would knock me out for a full 8-10 hours. But I've never had to face the prospect of hurting for so long and then needed to have the energy to push out a living creature. I guess I've still got some time to decide on that one...

I want to up my yoga but can't find another class right now that fits into my schedule, though I just might have to create time, I feel like the more I get up and move around the better off I'll be. I just can't believe that time has gone this quickly already.

My stomach is not ultra huge, but I do have problems reaching my legs now to shave. So there, too much info for you!

***Note, I say 24/25 because the way I count my weeks (per the doctor) actually means that I begin a new week in the middle of a 'regular' week***

Ah...another task completed!

Okie, so another of my weekly tasks was to:

4. Create a list of writing projects.

And here they are:

1. Write about things that people have said to me that I don't want to forget:
-the time someone told me I was pretty, for a Black girl
-the time someone told me they were shocked that I was so smart
-the time I got called an Oreo
-the time my dad almost through my stero out the window


2. Write about rhetoric in pop culture
-My Good Times paper that never was finished

3. Continue w/ thesis writing

A running list of Music I will need to Deliver Cucumber

So, after reading a scary post about how deathly birthing/pregnancy are, I've decided to try to soften it up a bit for me by working on a list of music that I'd like to take with me. I've heard other mothers say that they planned to do all this stuff while in labor, but it never happened because well, they were in labor. I am going to try though.

Marron 5: This Love
James Brown: Paid the Cost
Dave Matthews Band: Crash, #34
Johnny Cash: Ring of Fire (To be played when the baby is 'crowning')
SWV: Weak in the Knees
Mos Def: Umi Says
50 Cent: Its your Birthday
Snoop Dog: What's My Name
Mary J Blige: My Life
Jill Scott: Thinking About You
(Artisit ?): Get Down on It
Annie Lenox: Sweet Dreams are Made of These
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers: Last Dance



TBC

Happy to Report

I am happy to report, that as of today, I have accomplished one of my goals for the week:

Number 7:

7. Determine whether or not I want to take a class this semester.

I have determined that I do NOT want to take an academic class this semester, instead I will increase my yoga!

Ah, its nice to feel accomplished.

Sometimes Isn't Always

Sometimes I don't feel like going to bedI don't feel like getting right up, sometimes.
Sometimes I don't feel like wearing my shoes
But sometimes isn't always
Sometimes I don't feel like combing my hairI don't feel like washing my face, sometimes
Sometimes I don't feel like saying "okay."
But sometimes isn't always
Sometimes I do feel like going to bedI do feel like washing my face, sometimes
Sometimes I do feel like saying okayBut sometimes isn't always
InstrumentalSometimes I don't feel like sometimes I doI feel like I don't like to feel, sometimes
Sometimes I don't and sometimes I do
But sometimes isn't always
Sometimes Isn’t
Sometimes Isn’t
Sometimes isn't always
Isn't always
Isn't always

(from Mister Roger's Neighborhood)

This is an exact mirror on my feelings right now. Some days I'm okie, and other days I'm not and feel like I'm just sinking.

Some days I want so badly to still go to school,
Some days I think I can stick around here and try a little harder.

Some days I miss writing,
Some days I think if I really missed it, I'd do it regardless of being in school or not.

Some days I feel like I'm on top of the world,
Some days I feel like I'm lost in the universe.

Some days I am strong and ready,
Some days I am weak and waiting,

Some days I trick myself,
Some days I'm honest,

Some days I miss my old self, so bad, and I just want to cry,
Some days I wonder if this is who I've always been.

Some days its all I can do not to cry,
Some days I laugh until my sides hurt and the baby kicks for me to stop, or continue.

Some days I want to pack and leave, and prepare,
Some days I want to move in with my parents.

But, sometimes isn't always, right?

My goals for the week

I feel a need to post these in a public space so that maybe, just maybe, someone will hold me accountable.

1. Go to work everyday.

2. Go to bed at a decent hour so that I don't feel like a train ran over me in the morning.

3. Practice one yoga move each day.

4. Create a list of writing projects.

5. Create a house inventory of things we have/need to get before Cucumber.

6. Start to look at room organization.

7. Determine whether or not I want to take a class this semester.

"You are your father's daughter."

I am my father's daughter. My mom reminds me of that whenever I get loud, argue, accuse someone of being "out to get me," or act overly paranoid. How can it be that the one person I feared and ran from for well over ten years, is the one person I see now as an ally, sometimes the only ally I have outside of H.
Maybe its because of his attitude (harsh, loud, conservative, theatrical, humorous) that now I really want to throw caution to the wind and do what I want to do. I don't mean that in a selfish way, naw, shit, maybe I do. Why is it that when you try to think of other people and what they want, or suggest, things seem to be so much more complicated. But, if you think only of yourself, while you might be happy you risk so many others being unhappy, either as a direct result of your actions, or an indirect result.
The past six months have changed me as a person, but my core remains the same. That seems contradictory, and I'm not even sure what I mean by that statement exactly. I just know that the same things I wanted six months ago are the same things I want right now, maybe even more so. Being pregnant, I know that I have to think of this person, this little girl who is inside of me. Everything I do directly affects her, what I eat, when I sleep, exercise, even showering (she does not like when the shower water hits my belly, she hits back). But the other decisions and choices I have to make affect her too, and I wonder just what it is I'm doing, and if its too late to change. And if I change, will those decisions really be any better for her.
I'm just tired.

help me

I want a ham (or) turkey sandwhich with mustard on white bread.

And an RC cola.

What is happening to me?

Everybody wants to rule the world...

I can't believe its 2006. This is the year of the Cucumber, ready or not she will be here in four short months. Its like I knew all along that in one way or another she'd have to come out, but now I'm nervous and not ready! I'm just at a point now, (week 23) where my energy has picked up, I feel pretty good and I'm getting used to my new body. My favorite part of the day is when I lay down on the sofa and she kicks and kicks and kicks and kicks until I get up and walk around. This kid likes movement, already so much like her mama.
We had a quiet holiday and it was nice. Christmas was good, New Year's o.k. with H's mom in the hospital we spent the later part of the holiday break we spent much of our time looking after her. She is home and recoperating now.
Over the break I spent some time watching TV and listening to music, no shocker there I'm sure, but I listened to some oldies and I'm amazed at the memories that came back to me, of course because I'm suffering from pregnancy brain I can't remember all of the songs, but here are a few:

Natalie Merchant and 10,000 Maniacs Because the Night

Tears for Fears Everybody Wants to Rule the World

George Michaels Careless Whispers

There is much to say about these three songs, but for now I must be happy that I've at least listed these here so hopefully I won't forget to come back and talk about them.

Rethinking: away

I'm thinking back over what I wrote. And noticing how I sound.

Angry, still. Sad. Pessimistic. Maybe a bit hopeful?

I still got a long ways to go, with everything.

I want to learn from all of this. Being pregnant has taught me so much, and opened my eyes to so much, some times whether I wanted to or not. But one thing I'm thinking al0t about is what is really important to me. This baby, my family, my work. But yet I have so much fear, and it feels like so little faith at times.

I'm too tired to think anymore right now and Cucumber has settled to kick me on just one side, which means I need to go to bed.

Maybe not thinking is the key to this one.

away.

Christmas has come and gone. The days after always seemed kinda sad to me as a kid, all that excitement and then poof, its gone. My family was never really big with doing anything for New Year's. We'd stay up until midnight watching TV, but that was about it. A few times I'd stay with my cousin at my grandma's house. She'd let us buy all the junk food we wanted and stay up and watch cable. That was a big deal coming from a house where junk food equaled stale twinkies and we had no cable until 1999.

This year, we really didn't do any gift exchanges, all the money is being saved for the baby now. We did go to church with my dad and H's mom, which was nice. The past couple of days its also been nice just to operate on my own schedule. Eat when I want, sleep when I want, move when I want. Everyone keeps reminding us to enjoy this now, because once she gets here, its all over.

Tonight I've decided to start clearing out our extra bedroom. We don't really plan to have a true nursery for her, she'll stay in our room for quite some time. But this spare room is used as a junky office right now, and I want to try to utilize all the space we have in the apartment. I cleared out a file drawer and started looking through old papers from classes I taught during the Spring.

Spring 05 I was teaching composition and literature courses and eagerly awaiting to here about my PhD application at the place I applied. I was very different then, for lots of reasons. Some good, some bad. In just a matter of months, I'm in awe at how quickly things can change. And, at how I have so little control over any of it. Six months ago, I was looking for a full time job so that my husband could finish his Masters full time, work part time, and save up enough for our move because of my acceptance into a PhD program. I felt like I could do anything, and that I had it all worked out.

I got a full time job, and within in a month of that, found out I was pregnant. I still felt like I was on course, could finish working the job, husband could finish degree, hey the baby would even be at his graduation. About two months after that, my husband's mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. We started to think about whether or not we really could move so far with this diagnosis. Granted, the move was still 6-8 months away, but I had to let the school know for sure whether or not I was coming. The doctors couldn't tell us anything other than that she would need chemo after the surgery, and with the surgery not happening until late December, the chemo would not start until the end/beginning of February and we didn't know how long it would last. With the baby due in April and the move scheduled for June, I knew it couldn't be done. I told them I wasn't coming.

So much of the angst and anger I felt initially came from selfishness, I wanted my plan to work because I had created it and I liked it. Nuff said. Then I became angry because I started to feel stuck. Stuck in this city where I've been all my life. Stuck in a job I dread going to every day. Stuck with so few opportunities to actually do what I love, teach and write and research. I just got angry. And then I got sad. So sad, there would be days when I'd have tears in my eyes as I worked. Days when I would cry and half the time not even really understand why. Looking back on it, I know that some of the time this was probably my hormones, but it also comes from this disorder I have. The constant need to be in control and the feeling that I can think myself out or into anything. H says its comes from school, the idea that I can read a book and think or mull over something and come up with an answer in no time flat. I agree, I am so addicted to school and reading that in some ways it probably does affect me socially, but for so long, its just been all that I know.

And now, I know that I don't know. I'm not sure that I'm okie with that, but I've come to that realization. There are just some things I don't know the answer to, and no amount of reading or thinking on my part is gonna give me an answer. If you had told me a year ago, that I'd be pregnant, a full-time secretary, not going back to school anytime soon, and going through the illness of a family member all at the same time, I' d have frozen. And in some ways I have frozen. I have days where I don't quite know what to do, what move to make, and its like I just find myself going through the motions. But I have to believe. I have to believe that all of this is happening at this very moment for a reason.
And I can't ask why, or I can ask but it might not be revealed.

Tonite there are so many different parts of me that feel so far away; my writing self, my teaching self, my worry self, my planning self, my just-make-do or half-ass self. Some of those selves I miss, some of them I don't. This pregnancy has taught me to honor myself and not be half-ass with anything. I want to do my best because I want to set a good example for my daughter. But I miss the teaching and writing selves. I'm not able to dedicate myself to those things right now, there are too many other things I have to tend to. I don't miss the worry self, not at all. As weird as it may seem, this pregnancy has provided me with a calmness I never felt before. It gives me reason to stop and feel. Not only to feel what's going on inside of me, but what's going on around me as well.

That other person I was months ago, just feels so far away from me right now. I want part of her to come back, but I don't know if she will, or if she should.

Due Dates don't mean Much

I forgot to mention in the past post about the ultrasound, apparently there is more confusion on my due date. Now I've heard the following:

April 16
April 26
April 29
May 2

Anybody got any ideas?

...and the Saga shall begin... (Week 20/21?)

So, last Friday (12/16/05) was the big day, we had our 5 month/ 20 week prenatal visit with complete ultrasound. Amazing. (I've got to find another word to use, but I'm finding that there are very few words that can really describe this process.)

The doctor did the ultrasound with H standing just behind him, the room was dark and there is a small monitor that shows the pictures, everything is in black in white. The first thing we saw was the head, the doctor measured and we are happy to report that all is normal, then the spine, a long white snake-looking thing, with tiny vertebrae, gorgeous. Then the abdomen, where we saw a tiny beautiful heart, beating away. We saw the chest cavity, stomach, liver, and all of the other organs that the doctor looks for. Then, baby began to get antsy and wanted to show us what the purpose of this visit was really all about, cartwheels! As soon as the doctor would press down with the wand to get a good close look, flip, and we'd see the butt. Legs stretched, arms moved, hands pushed, lets hope baby is this eager when its time for delivery.

The doctor asked us if we wanted to know if we were having a boy or girl, we'd agreed before that we wanted to know, but we just didn't want to share the name with anyone. So, doc zoomed in to focus between the legs, and what did we find? An umbilical cord! The cord was planted nicely were genitals should be! He waited and looked a bit more, and sure enough, it looks like a girl. A gorgeous, sassy, smart, girl. We are thrilled!

After we left the hospital we started to discuss all the cool things we want her to do: soccer, yoga, tai ji, kung fu, Yale, Oxford, Rhodes Scholar, guitar player, and of course, just be happy. Then we started to think about when she'd break curfew, want to date, tell us that she wanted to wear tight clothes and not want to go to school, I nearly balled.

How is it possible to love such a little person who kicks me in my gutt every hour, nestles her head in my rib cage (or feet, I can't tell), gives me the worse gas I've ever had in my life, keeps me awake at night with horrible leg cramps, and makes me cry for no apparent reason? I don't know, but this is all so amazing.

I'm a hatah baby, I just want ya to know...

I am learning so much about myself, but its a son-of-a-gun that it takes hard/difficult/challenging times in order for me to do this learning. I always want to do it the easy way, like, can't I read a book or take a class on it, or something?

I've had a most difficult time readjusting myself to the fact that everything and everybody does not work on my schedule. I know, I know, this lesson will be best learned when the baby gets here and begins to rule the roost with an Iron fist. I don't know where this need to control and plan comes from in me, but its something that I battle constantly.

I think that is one of the reasons I'm afraid of labor, because I know that I won't be in control- not the I that I'm so accustomed to. The I that will be in control will be a primordial I, my body, that will instinctively know what to do (or so I've been told). But how do I know that I can trust that I? A few weeks ago, I wrote about how my dad said that I lack grounding, or how the only things I've ever really been grounded in are my husband and my education. That is so true. How do I ground myself in both I and I?

Rumble in Me Tummy-Week 20

The sweetest bestest thing about this week is that Cucumber moves enough now so that I can feel it. I can't really describe the feeling, but its so sweet. It's like a miniture rumble or temble in my tummy ever so often.

Certain foods and drinks seem to cause the rumble even more: orange juice, pasta w/ veggies, and pancakes. This kid likes to eat already.

The pinched nerve doesn't hurt quite as bad, but I've been tired lately and I think its because the baby is going through another growth spurt.

Next week is our 21 week visit and we shall determine if said Cuke is a boy or girl (and pray that all is growing according to plan), either way we have a majorly cool name....stay tuned!

GradeSchool Grammars...

I went to small Catholic schools all my life, until College. And I do mean small. The school I went to for grades K-3 actually closed down because of low enrollment, then I switched to another for 4-8, but that school had 0 funds. Most of the kids were there on some form of scholarship or the nuns and Church helped to pay their way. That school actually closed down a year ago because they were so in the hole, as far as funding goes. Then my first year of high school I went to a very small Catholic prep school. Total enrollment, grades 9-12:60. Yup. They closed down too. I finally finished up high school for grades 10-12 at a larger (156 grades 9-12) all girls school. Needles to say, I've had some pretty interesting experiences.

My elementary schools were both made up primarily of lower-middle class folks. The first one, was really diverse in terms of color, but the second was all black with the exception of 3-5 white kids who were there. Some of my fondest memories from both those schools had nothing to do with the kids, I really didn't have any friends. But the libraries were amazing for me.

At the first school, we'll call it Divine Mother K-8, there was a huge library that took up most of the second floor. In the early days of the school, there was money and funding, but as the neighborhood broke down and people starting moving to the suburbs and sending their kids to school out there, the school changed too. But this library was amazing. I remember the checker-boxed floor, it was always cold. There were radiators that heated the building, but anyone who has had the experience of a radiator heated building/house/apartment knows that you are only warm if you are within two feet of the thing. In the summer, the library was hot, with an old air conditioner trying its best to push cool air out into the large room. There were book shelves that lined all of the walls. In the center there was a large old colorful carpet and rocking chair. The chair was were the librarian would sit to read to us. She was the stereotypical librarian, short, chunky, thick hair cut short but still out of control, and glasses so thick you could barely see her eyes.
We went to the library as a class once a week, but were able to go more often if we wanted. I adored reading. I mean adored. My grandmother taught me to read when I was about 3 years old and it was like starting a fire in a woods full of dry brush. The most exciting thing about trips to the library was the independence you felt. As a kid there are very few choices you get to make for yourself, but in this place, this space, I was allowed to choose any book I wanted. I read everything from astronomy to mysteries to history. I loved learning about space and I really enjoyed Hellen Keller's biography and the Nancy Drew series. When that school closed down at the end of my 3rd grade year, the librarian told me that I'd read the equivalent to all the books on two of the largest walls.

At my next school the library was much smaller. About the size of a large master bedroom, the walls were full of books and in the center of the room there were about 2 or 3 computers. That school, we'll call St. Augustine's sufferred greatly when it came to finding ways to gain money. There were rarely new books, and many of the ones we had were so old. By the time I graduated, four years, I'd read every book in that library, including the ones for the younger kids because I would read to them in their classrooms. By this time I'd also discovered book stores and the thrift store. My mom and I would go to the Goodwill on the weekends and for five bucks I could load up. Thats where I discovered Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird and S.E. Hinton's That was Then, This is Now. I also read your typical pre-teen girly books, the Sweet Valley Twins series and the Babysitter Club books, but I always came back to the more serious ones, the ones that would make me cry or shiver because I could feel what the characters were going through.

In high school I was fortunate to have great English teachers, so while we read the traditional Chaucer, Shakespeare, Hemingway, we were also introduced to really good contemporary writers as well (Sherri Reynolds and Jane Smiley to name a few). My favorite book from high school would have to be Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. I think it was the layers, the way Conrad was able to have his character move deep into the Congo and not only change the scenery, but the way the character was seeing and how we as readers saw him. It was also my first introduction to African history. Or I guess, questioning the history I was being taught and read about.

In college I of course became an English major, but my reading was actually stifled during that time period. There were more choices, a larger library, the ability to check out as many books as I wanted, but there wasn't that same sense of freedom that I felt back in 3rd grade. I no longer felt like I could wander into the science section, or history. I stayed in the literature section and read only what my teachers told me, or what I thought I was supposed to read.

Here lately though, I've been reading like a 3rd grader again. When I wonder around in the book store I try to hit all the sections, not just fiction or Oprah's choices. We should all read like 3rd graders.