…and again.

The little yellow box appeared on my diary again. I guess that means I only have 22 days left. Big deal, right? I don’t write in here anymore anyway. What should it matter…

I found an old entry actually. I was looking for a disk to save one of my school things to and came upon it. Really old entry. About buying my first car. I seem so young then. The entry is rambling, without a main point overall. Maybe unfocused. But me.

I’m coming to the end of a great school year at a wonderful school full of wonderful students. Well…sometimes. Today we were doing poetry. I had an example of a free-writing type of poem I wanted them to create. One student had a difficult time with it. He kept asking questions that made me want to crawl under my desk and reconsider my career.

“Why are we writing this?? What should I write??? I don’t understand! I can’t do it! I don’t want to do it. What should I write???”

He complains about everything.

He’s also the only one to thank me for making him do an outline because it actually helped. Go figure.

He wrote his poem.

E.V.E.N.T.U.A.L.L.Y.

Tomorrow my other class does their final project *make note to fix tape*. They have to write and produce their own play. *Hopefully* we can get a recorder tomorrow so I can capture their efforts on tape.

What else.

Oh. Trying to move out of this godforsaken town. It’s really not so bad.

It’s just too removed from everything. I could honestly live here for the rest of my life. The problem is…the rest of my life would pass by and I wouldn’t even realize it if I stayed here. This place is so totally removed from everything.

It’s weird though. I’ve come so far. I’ve needed this year to come to love teaching again. In all my classes, I appreciate the students *though I certainly may complain about some of them*. I’ve come so far with the school newspaper, learning how to structure it, finally getting out a near perfect issue. One of the assignments is to design the paper for next year. I’ve promised them a website too. I might not be here next year though.

And I don’t want to tell them.

I’m tired of figuring out where I’ll be. Maybe here, maybe somewhere in PA. Maybe somewhere in Florida or North Carolina.

I’m torn.

I want to go different places.

I want to be near my family.

I want to ride again daily.

I want to live my life beside Rich.

I want to escape everything for awhile.

Maybe I just need to write more.

I had a student ask me to tutor him in writing. It consisted of one day. Advice? Write and write and write and write. The more you write, the better you will get.

And with that. The end.