old (2008), Uncategorized

completely different notes

I’ve been struggling with teaching for some time — it’s a hard thing to phone in, and I can’t say it’s gotten any easier since I’ve gotten sober. The student evaluations are in for this semester… and all I can really say is that I’m confident I made the right decision in having this be my last semester until further notice. In my full-time job, it’s remarkably easy to take things day-by-day and not plan too far ahead. I know there are things I must do on a weekly basis, and a certain degree of keeping-up to be done, but for the most part if I’m tired and need an extra meeting, I can put things off for a bit and take care of myself. Not so much with teaching, where no one cares if I had a rough day and don’t particularly feel like handing papers back on time or presenting a brilliant lesson.

I do have a lead on a part-time administrative job for an after-school program (starting this fall), and I think that would be a much better fit for me. But we’ll see. All I know is that I’m grateful the semester is over on Thursday, grades are due Friday, and I never have to teach ever again — it’s okay if this was something that didn’t work out for me, or something I have to be more sober to handle. The only down side is that I’m meeting with my supervisor this week to explain why this semester was a disaster, and that’s going to include coming clean about my alcoholism. I trust her, though.


I am meeting with an attorney on Thursday to discuss filing for bankruptcy. I am way into debt and drowning. I need a reprieve. I might have to give up my car, but I don’t even care anymore.


I’m wavering on whether to go to Pitchfork tonight. While it would be nice to hang out with friends, I have lots of work to catch up on, The Sassy Blonde is giving her first lead tonight, I really did want to start going to the 6pm meeting at LPAC again, and if I don’t start paying attention to my housekeeping, I think I’m going to turn myself in to the authorities. And while Spiritualized is rather appealing, the other bands I’d catch — Dinosaur Jr. and Spoon — are ones I’ve seen within the past year already. And, really, I am done showing up places out of guilt and responsibility and the sense that I might miss out on something. Why show up if I’m going to be discontent and uncomfortable? The fact that Pitchfork last year was smack dab in the middle of the escalation of my drinking — and seeing The Tobacconist there last night — also complicates the experience. Maybe this is another thing I’m not ready for until I have more sobriety.


I’ll be thirty-five in sixteen days, and I still don’t quite understand how I can look back at the past eighteen years and feel as though everything I’ve experienced has (a) happened to someone else (b) in a dream. I moved back to Chicagoland in June 1990, and since then I’ve had three serious relationships end in divorce or breakups; borne two children; lived in twenty-three different places; owned sixteen different vehicles; completed three college degrees; worked at more than forty different places; been arrested twice; taken countless lovers; bought and sold more “stuff” than I ever dreamed I’d own; and generally accumulated all of the trappings (and baggage) of an adult life.

I remember being a teen-ager and fantasizing about what sort of life I’d have when I were a grown woman, and — seriously — it sounded a lot more romantic and fabulous 20 years ago. There were a lot of dreams that never were realized, and they won’t ever be — I can’t go back in time and go backpacking through Europe instead of getting married and having Renegade — but on a more fundamental level, I think my life today would have been equally acceptable for the teen-age me. Or, at the very least, I wouldn’t have been upset at what I’ve become, and that’s saying a lot.