draft date 03/10/2015
I'll look at the people in the new clothes and the shiny cars, and I wonder what did they do to deserve that. I look at the people standing on the side of the road asking for a handout, and I wonder what did they do do to deserve that.
I feel less that our lives are earned and more that our lives are just a strange twist of fate.
I'll look at the people in the new clothes and the shiny cars, and I wonder what did they do to deserve that. I look at the people standing on the side of the road asking for a handout, and I wonder what did they do do to deserve that.
I feel less that our lives are earned and more that our lives are just a strange twist of fate.
My life feels like a complete failure. Truly, I feel completely incompetent.
I wish I could say I have never been here before; but I can't, because sadly, I've been here all too often.
And that voice that whispers, "Let it go; give it to me," tries desperately to comfort me; sadly I can get so little comfort from that lately.
I feel worthless, helpless and lost.
There was a time when I had a vision, a direction, a purpose.
There was a time when I had a vision, a direction, a purpose.
As I edit this piece now almost a month later, I find it difficult to recreate the voice and tone of my original intent. Writing is like that. In my very tattered journal from the late 80s, I lamented this fact. Those rare occasions when I could write with abandon haunted me, and I would console myself with the idea that "later" I would have time to write with abandon. Almost 30 years later, this is not the case. Writing happens at odd times - mostly these times are inconvenient to my career and to my family. I still write on slips of paper that I tuck into a journal. Maybe my feeble voice is why I feel like a failure. Ah, the pains of artistry.
My reading life improved greatly since I returned to a classroom last August. My re-connection to my literate self comforts me like the sight of daisies rustling in the breeze. I find myself writing "daisy petal whispers" on many things lately.
With Spring comes green.....................the envy I feel for everyone I see because I feel as though everyone in the world except me has a focus and a purpose. When these fits of jealousy appear randomly at my door, I too often welcome them in unconditionally like an old friend. What I must remember is that not all old friends should be invited in. What I must remember is to take a long walk and drink more water...............maybe what I should remember next time is to put on a happy Doris Day song and leave jealousy outside.
Having survived my annual teacher evaluation recently, many nice compliments have come my way, and I know that I am successful in ways I rarely acknowledge. Often impatient, I want things to happen more quickly and more thoroughly. Like Doris, I am a bit bewitched, bewildered and bothered.
My reading life improved greatly since I returned to a classroom last August. My re-connection to my literate self comforts me like the sight of daisies rustling in the breeze. I find myself writing "daisy petal whispers" on many things lately.
With Spring comes green.....................the envy I feel for everyone I see because I feel as though everyone in the world except me has a focus and a purpose. When these fits of jealousy appear randomly at my door, I too often welcome them in unconditionally like an old friend. What I must remember is that not all old friends should be invited in. What I must remember is to take a long walk and drink more water...............maybe what I should remember next time is to put on a happy Doris Day song and leave jealousy outside.
Having survived my annual teacher evaluation recently, many nice compliments have come my way, and I know that I am successful in ways I rarely acknowledge. Often impatient, I want things to happen more quickly and more thoroughly. Like Doris, I am a bit bewitched, bewildered and bothered.
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