The reality of it.

I had anticipated the end of my first school year feeling like sweet, giddy relief. 

Instead it is more stressful and jaw-clenching than the beginning of the year was.

Teaching has not gotten easier.  Classroom management has gotten harder. 

And I feel as though I'm back at the drawing board--life wise.

I'm sorry to post in such a blue mood.  I have honestly been more upbeat on a more regular basis than I have been in years (YEARS, folks.), but I guess there are still bound to be off days.

Good news items:  I have a baby nephew scheduled to be delivered THIS WEEK!  We're bummed that it has to be c-section, but the tubby little guy is growing very big and being stubborn about getting into position, so I guess they're going in after him!  Oh my goodness, a whole new person to meet and love!

And a mystery baby is also due any time now.  My sister-in-law told me to 'pack a bag', because she went four weeks early with her first child.  So I could be getting that middle-of the night phone call any night, telling me to get my sleepy ass over to their apartment to watch their sleeping babes.

And I do suppose, at the end of the day, that I will be enormously relieved when this school year is through.  When I can stop pretending.  When I can move on to summer.

And who knows where else from there?

I wish I had the courage to make some huge leap of faith.  To radically change who I am, what I do, and where I'm headed.

But if you've met me you'll know I'm a soul wrought with anxieties.  A spirit fettered in the relentless shackles of doubt and misgivings.  Afraid.  Lacking the confidence to even form a dream, let alone follow one.

Everything I can think of that I'd like/love/want to do for a living?  I end up convincing myself that I am unqualified/too inexperienced/don't stand a chance/could never break into the industry now.

So the end of this year is looking bleaker than I'd imagined.

I'm counting my blessings.  I'm awash with silver linings.  I'm seeing bright sides.  I'm looking for those open windows as the door slams hard on my ass.

But I'm tired.  My determination is a grim, uninspired, resigned sort of thing.

I'm here but I'm not.  And I'm so very painfully here.

I imagined it differently.

Isn't that always the case?