Per the advice of Michele, I’ve been trying to unpack more tonight so that I don’t have so much to do this weekend (I start school Tuesday, again). Here’s the thing about going through my own stuff. I’m sentimental and almost everything has special meaning attached to it. College text books remind me of my beloved professors (some still alive and some, unfortunately, no longer alive in the physical sense), yearbooks from sixth grade all the way through college (and, very soon, my first teacher yearbook), pictures (they always have sentimental value), and even bags from proms and other events.
Most of all, right now, I’m thinking about Dr. Brady. I feel as if most of the rest of my world has moved on. I know Megan and I will likely never fully move on and that’s okay. We are not supposed to.
But it makes me think about how much we, as Americans, try to shirk (is that a word?) doing all the work we can so that we can get the most out of life. College students are, in fact, notorious for being the biggest consumer group desiring the least amount of product for their money. Still, I continue in this trend. I don’t get the most out of my educational opportunities or, even, out of life. I reserve. I push back the plate. I withdraw, claiming to be humble– mostly scared to fail.
So, while this entry started out to vent about how I can’t unpack due to the memories I keep reliving as I pull out these beloved treasures, I have instead begun thinking about those memories– joyful and sad, sentimental and anger-inspiring.
I miss Dr. Brady.
Heck, I miss Dr. Burch; both women did amazing things in my life. Teachers do more for us than we realize until after we’re able to gain any more from them.
Time doesn’t have a rewind button.
Unfortunate, because I think that I would like to read Brighton Rock for the first time and Faustus again. Why not do it on my own? Maybe one day, but, for now, I’d like to read what I want to read. And, while I get puffed up knowing that I know stuff that people with Bachelor of Arts in English should know, I’m not self-motivated enough to go about it myself– nor do I have the self-confidence, in reality. No, I’ll stick with my flowery narratives written by people whith whom I remotely identify and those books that challenge our traditional views of the church and Christianity. Afterall, literature is supposed to speak to us, and these books are what speak to me at this place in life.
…Well, those and any books that would help me cook for one, own my first home, and/or become a better high school English teacher.
…back to packing…