a rough week

Monday. October 5th. Here we go again.

On Thursday when I went to withdraw from my classes I ran into Aart Lovenstein, a Shir Tikvah parent and someone I clashed with while I was there. "We miss you," he told me, "all is well, but we miss you." This from someone who never seemed a fan. On the way home I ran into someone else from Shir Tikvah. Someone who always liked me, someone who wasn't even there my first year. "We miss you," she said, "nothings been the same since you left."

On Tuesday I'm having coffee with Ariel because its silly to ignore the universe when it screams at you.

If I'd found a parking spot on Wednesday would I be study Neurology right now?
Where does Shelly Chabon fit into all of this big picture stuff?
I guess it doesn't matter, does it? I'm officially withdrawn.

Just as an aside it makes me crazy how much people from Shir Tikvah tell me that they miss me, and how I worked my damnest to create meaningful educational opportunities for the members of that congregation and how much they appreciated it and I did it because it was my job and it wasn't hard and that's why its such a damn shame that the educational programming at Neveh Shalom is such a joke. Mel and I could fix it, I know we could, the question is do I want to? and what a damn headache.

Everyone has their idea of what I should do next.
Levia: Special Ed because its a lot like speech pathology but the classes are easier and getting the degree is a lot less rigorous.
Mel: Take over Neveh Shalom with her.
Jenn: Get an MFA.

All fabulous ideas and directions I could see myself moving in.
Here's what I know:
Somehow, somewhere along the line I turned into a real mother. It goes beyond what the kids need, by now its clear that they are flexible beyond belief, but I am not. I need to be their mother first and foremost. Without that I'm nothing. I crumple into nothingness without that role.
I'm a writer. I hate it, but I am. I must write. My soul professional ambition in life is to write a book and have it published. The end.
I'm a teacher. Again, for better or for worse, its who I am. When I teach I perform, and I give, and I write, and I connect and I create and I live. I don't always like it. In fact I may mostly hate all of those things, except that they are who I am and they are why I get out of bed each day.
Its really quite simple. A mother. A writer. A teacher.
Also a wife, a friend, a sister, a lover, a laugher, a reader, and a Jew. But the top three keep my head above water.
And they create a kind of center within me that without I cease to exist.
So that's it.
Onward.

my brief career as an slp student

The telling goes something like this: I'm dropping out.

The Showing:
First day of classes were on Yom Kippur. For the first time in my life, I set out to have a regular day on Yom Kippur. Except that I was fasting, and that I'd been to services in the morning, the night before, and that I was dressed up, and no matter what you can't escape from Yom Kippur. It will reach out and grab you in the end and pull you back.

Anyway, even though I arrived at PSU at 11:30, by the time I'd parked it was 12:15 when I arrived in Neurology. Yup neurology. Yup, 15 minutes late. Followed by some other hard science class.

Okay, maybe I'm not ready for the showing. Suffice it to say I'm pulling out based on an unfound parking spot, and maybe lots of other signs and reasons as well. I don't know.

Don't fuck with Yom Kippur.