Intrepid Girl Reporter

I am alive. Really.

I had this plan in which I would descend upon DC, perfectly organized, and begin living my life in a more efficient way than ever before. I am not even joking when I say that I sincerely believed this would happen.

Here is a more accurate summation of what my life has been like: I am in House #2, with boxes strewn across my room, a room that is in no way in the original place I was planning to live. I can’t find my keys, which I threw down last night as I stumbled home from an outing with the teachers in which I am pretty sure I talked way too much. I acquired furniture about a week ago; before that, I was rifling through my suitcase at 6 AM every morning.

Are you ready for a shocker? Life in the real world is unexpected. It’s hard. I feel like kind of an idiot a lot of the time. Teaching special ed is also hard, a statement that is approximately akin to saying that the sky is often blue.

But I’m still happy here on my own. I have a room in NW that will be lovely when I get it finally, finally, cleaned up. I am writing more, mostly here, which is the latest iteration of what I was doing before. I’m learning more about how to be a teacher and a decent human being than I even thought I didn’t know. Mostly, I’ve managed to keep it together a little more than before, the keep-it-together-meter inching ever upward, which seems like what happens when you do finally grow up.

I’ve been listening to a lot of Bonnie Prince Billy and Beirut lately, but I’m looking forward to music for the spring, whenever it comes.