Today's weather is frigid and I am looking at leaving for school in the next 15 minutes. Problem is my stomach is acting up. I can't figure it out. Maybe it's from yesterday's full day of classes. The students were finishing up their last essays and the day turned into a scattered array of motion from me allowing them to go to the computer and writing areas to print the last draft to many of us chatting inbetween edits and writing. My students live in dangerous neighborhoods; not because of them but because of a stilted and racist society. Their stories made me ill as well as equally lifting me up to see their resilience. Then I found a memo scolding me unnamed for letting so many traipse into the Writing Center without me. It all made me feel useless and discouraged. I came home last night worn. I tried to write it all out. I did and it gave me a moment to realize I am growing stronger and stronger as a writer. I went to bed and had vivid dreams, all meaning something, but I'm too weary to note it.
Today I must be strong and get dressed and go out. I need the money. There is nothing I would rather do than lie down and sleep. But, like them, I will get up and go out. My stomach, I pray will calm down. It is cold outside. Neighborhoods are unsafe. Conditions neglected. People disrespected. The last thing I heard last night was an Army official on Charlie Rose who said halfway is failure, or something like that.
I look forward to six o'clock when I can clock out and go home knowing my work has been done.
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