1. One of my least ,motivated writers sat down two write a three sentence letter to his pen pal. It took his twenty minutes because he wanted to use his neatest handwriting.
2. All of my students are becoming master letter writers because of our Pen Pal letter exchange.
3. The students remembered that I will enforce rules despite the week off for Spring Break and finally quieted down during read-to-self time after approximately the fourteenth kind reminder.
4. All of the students remembered to thank one of our friends for bringing in birthday treats, and no one ate until everyone had one WITHOUT any reminders.
5. Despite it being the first day back from break, all of the students put forth maximum effort on their pre-assessment for the new math unit.
6. At least four of my students remember how to add fractions with unlike denominators from earlier in the year without explicit instruction.
7. We made it to lunch time!
8. My mentor was very impressed with my PECT scores, and I like knowing that he is proud of me.
9. My mentor approved of the framework I made independently to facilitate a new read aloud that connects to THREE of our core subjects. (Moon of Two Dark Horses by Sally M. Keehn
10. About half of the students were able to focus after our first recess back from break and insightfully contribute to our reading discussion.
11. We made it to the end of the day!
12. It was actually warm and sunny when I walked outside to leave.
13. My low-range for my singing voice is definitely improving making it much easier to sing Weezer songs.
14. My boyfriend was in a good mood and not emotionally smote from a long day of looking for more jobs.
15. I made it out of CVS in under $2.00.
16. My fish was awake when I came into my apartment.
17. I received a glowing review on one of my novels from a friend of my father’s.
18. I successfully wrote a cover letter and figured out what paperwork I need to do in order to substitute in my classroom after I graduate without becoming too stressed.
19. I just did the most relaxing yoga session.
20. I did not forget to write my slice until I was about to get into bed.

So, I was once blonde. I had long hair, still completely identified as a woman, and dropped a lot of money on a professional stylist. At least one of these was a good choice at the time (hint: it was having a professional stylist).

Now, I am at the point where I want blonde hair again. I went dark again in boxed dyes and then red for a while for my boyfriend, but after a month, I did not want to have red hair anymore.

The only thing I tend to be impulsive about is my hair, so I did not want to wait until my hair grew out and the red went away. Oh no, I am much too impatient for that.

So I tried to dye my hair red with Warm Golden Blonde.

The results: Still red.

Then, a month later, I tried to go for a brighter blonde.

The results: Still red.

So I laid off for a while. I got blonde shampoo, hoping to bring out any inkling of blonde that might have stuck to my hair. It worked sometimes, but mostly, it just made my hair brighter. When taking pictured the other day at the wolf reserve I realized something: my hair was not only red, but it was now Peter Pan-level red. Something was to be done.

SO I yet again got a blonde dye. THIS blonde dye from a box promised to dye hair blonde from a dark brown while keeping your hair damage free (how fancy). So, I went for it.

The results: Now my roots are bright blonde, and they fade into a beautiful(?) Peter Pan red.

What I have learned: At least I know the blonde works and I like the shade. Now, in about a month when my hair gets too long and I finally cut it again, I may finally actually be blonde. HOWEVER, buying three boxes of dye was still cheaper than going to the salon. Do I recommend doing this? Absolutely not. Will I probably buy another box of dye next month? Most likely.

So basically, I learned nothing.

Change is always something that confounds me. For some people, it seems so easy, yet for me, it is always so difficult.

Perhaps I acclimate to things too easily. When I left my boyfriend’s house earlier in the week, it was sad, despite the fact that we have been long distance for 4.5 out of the 5 years of our relationship, so we must constantly say goodbye to one another.

Now I am home at my mom’s house, and tomorrow I must return to my apartment as Spring Break ends, and I am dreading saying goodbye to my beloved Seamus and my mom. So often, I feel at home in my apartment at school, but now that I am truly home, I remember that the place I live is merely temporary, and I would not rather be there.

Perhaps what I really fear is not change but saying goodbye. Once I am away from someone, I no longer have control. I cannot protect them or ensure that they are smiling every day or exhibit my undying love as fully as I would like to. Things get lost over text message or even phone calls. My boyfriend and I discuss rote topics. My mother tries to think of every funny story she’s heard in the past month, just to keep me entertained. Seamus doesn’t understand why I am trapped in a box and he can only hear my voice.

I am afraid, I think, that these people’s live will deteriorate in my absence, not because I am gone, but because I cannot lend my support to help life to go right. I cannot control life. I understand that, but part of me wants to be the hero for everyone I love.

And when I am far away, I simply cannot do that.

I am afraid that lives will change, and I will not notice. I will miss important things when I desperately want to be caught in the middle of it all but cannot because of school or distance or lack of money.

Or maybe I am afraid that I will change too much. And I just won’t be recognized when I return to all the people I love. Because I always know me, but sometimes, when others see me, I’m suddenly a different person.

Now I am awake at the time I usually wake up for school, drinking coffee and watching the rainbow sunrise burst from the horizon.

Now I am at the testing center, being seated at station twelve – consequently, my favorite number.

Now I am one step closer to being a certified teacher, having passed well above the cut scores and even scoring highest on my weakest module in the practice exams.

Now I am going the wrong way down the highway but taking a surprise detour through one of the districts in which I will be applying for within the next several weeks.

Now I am home. I am celebrating with RuPaul and Seamus and my mom.

Now I am documenting Seamus playing in the snow on the deck. He has learned how to fill his ball up with snow so he can continually eat it. Smart boy.

Now I am at the theater, eagerly awaiting the conclusion of the How to Train Your Dragon trilogy, prepared for tears.

Now I am impressed that I only cried four times.

Now I am extremely full on Chili’s, and that was an excellent choice.

Now I am rereading the first half of my novel and realizing how many minuscule details I ignored the longer the book got and making mental notes on future edits.

Now I am sucked into Pose, because yay trans community.

Now I am in bed with Seamus being frustrated at me for having my computer light shining, as though it is not I who own this twin bed, but him.

Goodnight, all.

It is amazing to me how adults can still be so affected by their parents.

What their parents think of them.

Of their life choices.

I always think of myself as independent and in control.

Yet I get angry at times, and I cannot figure out why.

But the other night, I figured out why.

Because when you are an adult, sometimes trying your best is not enough for your parents.

Not like when you were four.

Or being yourself.

That is not always enough either.

So, I apologize that the painting I gave still had letters visible from my past that I have painted over

like I have on so many other occasions that I cannot even count,

because things just bleed through sometimes.

Memories.

Stories.

Even the present, and who you are in this exact moment

whether the other person likes it or not.

So, I am sorry about the painting. It has four layers of paint now

where the letters were bleeding through

and that is still not enough to cover it up.

Perhaps you can forgive me for not being able to hide the parts you do not seem to like.

This title in and of itself is amusing to me, because “down time” is not something that really exists in my life. I always need to be doing things. I am always either writing (or something related), thinking about my class, doing something crafty, researching people who are on the shows I’m watching… I can’t just relax, despite the fact that I am on Spring Break. While my kiddos are galavanting through warm-weathered locations, I am actively studying for my teacher certification test that I will take on Friday…

Today, I was watching Sex and the City after taking my practice test, and, as usual, I could not relegate myself to just sit there and enjoy whatever it was that the women got themselves into this time.

So in this so-called “down time,” I used my laptop to not look at apartments in my preferred county of employment (as I usually do), but I decided to decorate the apartment I do not have. I pretended I had an excess $5,000, as though I am not dipping into my emergency fund just to buy groceries as a student teacher.

That being said, my imaginary apartment will be beautiful and very cozy, as long as my boyfriend also likes one of the many options I have chosen for eight different categories of furniture and decorations.

I had the amazing experience today of visiting Howling Woods Farm, a wolf-dog reserve in New Jersey. As a writer, reader, and imaginer, I have always been fascinated about the wolves’ role in stories. It always seemed extreme or overrated. Even I, someone who started their first trilogy as a werewolf trilogy (it has changed over the years, luckily), thought of wolves as large, wild dogs who tended to be less predictable than our furry friends in our houses.

One of our very educated tour guides today made a statement:

“Wolves are far more predictable than dogs.”

This is actually incredibly true, though it seems like an overstatement at the first hearing. Wolves are portrayed as vicious, but, truly, they are non-confrontational. Our own dogs, who we come to love, accept into our families, and trust with our lives on so many occasions.

Now, I’m not trying to discredit dogs or say that you smoosh your face into a part or full-wolf like you would with your own pet, but it is interesting to think about, the fact that wild animals are more predictable and more regulated behavior than our most beloved friends.

Can this be true of people, too? Sometimes, our most trusted people may turn on us. Our students may do something unexpected. We may say something to our students that they never expected to hear, something that can either cause them to fly or fall.

But perhaps I am looking for too many metaphors in life.

It snowed last night, and, because I am visiting my boyfriend, I have been blessed with a rejection to offering to help shoveling (despite the fact that it is his birthday). Now, I sit, reveling in the way the sum washes in through the blinds that my boyfriend never seems to open except for today. His boxer has been in and out of the room for snuggles and to investigate what is happening with the ice maker downstairs.

So I am just taking these quiet morning moments for myself.

I have always adored the simple things in life, and a morning of sun after a snowstorm certainly falls into the category. Simple, yet beautiful, and it grows more beautiful the longer you look at it, as many things do.

Watching your dog sleep.

Watching the way your students’ eyes spark when they catch hold of a concept that had previously slipped by them.

Listening to the birds you thought had woken you up but now sound quite nice plastered against the early quiet of the day.

Soon, the shoveling will stop, and it will no longer be the dog and me alone in this house that is not mine, but still has a semblance of comfort. Life will pick back up, and I’ll get swept back up into the day.

But morning are for quiet and peace and just smiling at the sky, if that is what you like to do.

Traveling is rough. When i say traveling, I do not mean airports and plane rides. I mean simply driving myself back and forth across the state of Pennsylvania. The people on the other sides of these drives are incredibly worth the trip – my mother, my dog, my boyfriend. One thing that I really began to notice this year, however, was the affect that sitting can have on my joints.

Now, this is a pretty obvious statement, but I am twenty-two years old. Everything seems to make my joints hurt. The causes range from impending bad weather, to standing too long in my classroom, to sitting down for more than twenty minutes at a time. I work to live a healthy lifestyle by exercising, stretching, and maintaining a natural diet, but joint pain is something I just cannot seem to shake.

Needless to say, a snowstorm is raging outside, and my hips are on fire. Time for yoga!

Somehow,

your scent had all but slipped

my mind until the stretch

of your fur buried deep against

my nose. Your whines and soft

grins as my fingers leaf through

your undercoat, which, unfortunately,

you seem to be blowing shoot me

back to seventh grade when

you were new and I

was green.

Just nine years is all

that passed, yet everything is just

as familiar

and clear

as the day when I first

held you in my palms; when you first

caught holds of dreams in

my sister’s lap; and when my thigh

spooned your body the entire

ride home.

Just nine years, where

all is so different, yet all

is also just the same.