It's time to write. I've been working for just over three weeks in the classroom and am happy to report nothing bad has happened. Kicked out a couple of kids, given a few detentions, and faithfully covered some curriculum too.
I wonder if teaching high school freshman will make me stupid. I was fascinated by the Mother Theresa article in Time recently where her letters to her confessor were published. She admits to more than 50 years wondering if God was distant from her. It got me really excited about reading and writing about religion and I wonder how long it will take that spark to grow into a fire. Oh wait, every spark of friendship and love will die without a home. Meh.
I don't have much else going on in my life. I still find the idea of God interesting but have also felt a certain emptiness that is interesting as well. Death no longer scares me. Maybe it's a phase, but lying in bed listening to my heartbeat wondering if it will stop is now a game, not a fear.
I want to write something substantial. I have no idea what that would be. I want to submit my words to a process that might end up with their destruction although at this point I'm not sure if I want to put the work into it. That's what an underachiever gets: nothing.
Who here among us still believes in choice? Not I.
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