All the floating through life here in Albuquerque without a single hitch suddenly went the way of the dodo bird. I don't even want to write about how seriously fucked things are. So I won't. Please God get my level 2 teachers liscence here on time. please. please. please. Honda's run forever. Please make it so.

My creativity has stalled. I've lost direction on my alter paintings. I'm lost AND they are coming out exactly as I had invisioned. Does that even make the least bit of since? I'm too lazy at the moment to figure out if I'm using the correct since or even if I'm spelling it right. I felt imediate guilt at that last statement. I'm usually oblivious to my errors, but the least I can do is actually make an effort to rectify the ones I become aware of. Evidently I actually meant 'sense' not 'since' . . . I think.

Have I even mentioned in here that my cousin lived with me for eight weeks? Well she did, while she was completing here first of many physical therapy internships. Now I have my place back to myself and I'm not sure that I like that. Sure I like the fact that I now have my living room space back and can make it an actual living room instead of her bedroom, but really and trully I miss having a roommate. I mean we weren't all buddy buddy, but she's a great person, and we get along really well, and I just mis having her around, really. A lot. I've lived alone for so very long and all of the sudden I had someone to cook dinner for, and someone who jumped right in and did the supper dishes cause I had cooked, and someone to warm up the bathroom for me in the morning cause she had to leave before I did, and someone to just say goodnight to when our evening was done. I didn't realize it, but I mis her presence in the house a GREAT deal. If my place was a bit bigger, or if truth be told I wasn't completely HOGGING the actual living room for an art studio and occassional dining room I would so advertise for a roommate in a heartbeat. My secret wish upon wishes is that some of her other internships end up being here in Albuquerque again rather then the other cooler possibilities of Hawaii, LA, or New York and what not. Anyway, I'm Alone in the house, and for the first time in years I'm not comfortable with that. I'm sure I'll have a different outlook soon enough. Please let me have a different outlook. I'm not willing to not have a studio space and I don't think a roomate would want to live in a day bed in a room where I would expect to be able to watch tv every Wednesday and Thursday night. (America's Next Top Model, and Alias) I'm so not willing to move the tv to my bedroom either. Bedrooms are sacred spaces for sleeping and well you know, but not for tv watching. bleh.

I've downloaded the lords prayer in aramaic, again. I plan on playing it on loop, squirting paint from their bottles, thrusting brushes and bottles into my hands and see what happens. Sometimes I feel as though I'm going a teensy bit insane. Did I say that outloud? My therapist in Houston guaranteed me I'm not.

My sister-in-law says I need to quit my day job and paint full time. Oh my gosh the idea is sooo incredably tempting. What the fuck would I do then. It's not like art materials are available to those on a paupers budget. Visions of one-hundred eighty million dollar powerballs dance through my head. You must buy to win though and I don't. So how's them apples.

My ESL gifted students are absolutely fascinating. I adore them. We had the most fascinating conversation about there, their, and they're today, and by, bye, and buy; and the fact that Madeliene L'Engle spelled Goodbye, as Good-by in the next to the last paragraph of A Wrinkle In Time. LOVE my students and LOVE teaching them. Honestly. I've never said I LOVE teaching. Even when I was teaching gardening I had my reservations about the profession. I honestly LOVE my job now though. I've never been a teacher that really gave a flip about if my students like me or think my lessons are 'fun' but my students do. Students hunt me down in the halls, "What are we doing in Science today?" a gleam of sheer delight in their eye and heard in their voice. And woe be the teacher who has to deal with a class that has just been informed thier science classes are canceled for tomorrow. I mean really, these kids are reallllllly connecting with the opportunity to be real little scientist with the opportunity to collect real data, and developing their own tests and hypotheses (yes that really is the plural form) I love teaching them and I love that I have a wealth of resources dripping from my finger tips at the moment to do it with. I wrote a very flattering testimonial for a particular publisher of science curriculums, and sincerely meant every single last word of it, and as a result have been stocked beyond all dreams with materials and curriculum for teaching a few weeks of elementary scienc. Their is talk of possibly providing with more. I'll keep my fingers and toes and balls croosed. Please let the resources last all year and let my present level of involvement as far as the quality of their lessons is concerned be sustained, otherwise I might have a revolt on my hands. The bar has been set, woe be the educator that starts slacking in his students eyes.

I feel the need to crochet. Crocheting is very repetitive. Crocheting locks other nasty thoughts away, out or reach of your conscious mind. My therapist said I need to stop crocheting, or atleast stop crocheting for the reasons that I crochet. So when the fan is having dump trump sized loads of shit lobbed in it's general direction and I feel the need to lock my mind safely in the repetition of crochet I now start to worry. Even now the crochet thread, a lovely cotton, ecru in color, and the tiny needle for making lace sized stitches is tucked next to my bed, but I havn't touched it. But it is there. Waiting. The safety of it's repetition nested close to me and my bed.

Hitting play on my aramaic lords prayer wave file.

putting paint close at hand, and the tools of my trade, which aren't necessarily brushes between my fingers.

hugs, please send psychic hugs back at me. Am I crazy? Sometimes when a friend is having a rough patch I'll literally stop, close my eyes, and visualize a healing white light beaming energy from me to them. Yeah, where does that come from? When I was little I would visualize a protective field of light around me and my bed to keep the boogey man away. When I was three I have distinct memories of Marissa Valenzuela and I sitting lotus style and flying through the cosmos together, like literally through the air, and into the far flung reaches of time and space. I also have the distinct memory of telling myself that when I was older I wouldn't believe it and I must keep the memory alive and remember it as truth for the rest of my days. I do remember it. I don't have the passion of youth anylonger to vow to myself that it was truth. But their is a large part of me that thinks it was. That knows it was. Then their is my imediate doubting Thomas voice that brands it as some sort of group hallucination. Thing is, Marissa and I talked about it as late as age 8. We even tried to do it again. But the ability was not within us anylonger. Sad, by age 8 to have such barracades already in place in our minds.

I should delete that last section. This is me not hitting the delete key. We'll see if I don't wake in the middle of the night to do the deed.

Again. Hugs.