Me, Undone

I saw a documentary yesterday about the place you told me of. Your hand in the shower with its glow-- the universe flowering, infinite connectivity. I want to go there, perhaps with you. My left-brain has been threatening to take over my right brain. It has made me a whore to endless lists. I carry fears and anxieties never once materialized. Reservations clip my tongue when I go to speak. Chatter in my frontal lobe wakes me in the middle of the night. I am OCD and schizophrenic 15 minutes past every hour. I must write fast and quick, for the hand is surfacing around the clock again. Hurry.

I tried to quit my job last week. I fired off an email at 12 o’clock in the morning rambling about my needs, my wants, my needs, my wants—oh, how terribly constricted I felt. And then I waited for a response. The next morning my principal came in to the office, sat down in front of me and said, “What do you want?” What do I want? What do you mean, what do I want? I thought. You are my principal—for goodness sake, tell me what I need. Tell me what I can’t have because of blue tape school district bureaucracy. Give me a reason to yell, “ I quit” and storm out of the building in a blaze of glory. This was not the way this was supposed to go. Get it together—quick, think… but I was caught off guard. How was I to articulate an appropriate professional response? Like, oh, I want more professional development or more support as a new teacher. How was I to tell him the truth--that I wanted to leave not because I don’t like teaching—but because I want to check out of life. I had it all