flightless hag

A chronicle of the adventures of birdwoman: a lonely, talentless freak who wanders the internet in search of entertainment.

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Location: Philly

I'm a 40-something married white female, survivor of weight watchers, avid reader of pulp. Dogs (not cats), extreme right (handed, not politics), ENTJ, alto, wanna-be knitter.

August 23, 2007

For F’s Sake, Will You Die Already?

One of my favorite lines from one of my favorite movies.


How is it that Elliot Smith, indie god that he was, is still releasing new tunes 4 years post mortem? This is getting as ridiculous as Tupac and Big E back in the day.


I’m quite stunned at how different my boys are sometimes. Digging through my hard drive, I came across a bunch of songs that I recorded when Stinky was little. It’s funny as a crutch to hear him singing “prince awi” from Aladdin.

Moth, though a much more gregarious kid (and a better singer), has never done that. He sings when he’s playing with his trains (“accidents happen” usually, though “ymca” and the “brady bunch” themesong are recent contenders) and when he’s pooping (don’t ask. I don’t know.), but not when he’s just hanging out. And he won’t sing for me to record. Stinker.


School starts for me next week. My last course before student teaching. I’m feeling myself pull away from Spaceley’s, and it will be a pull. As much as the company feeling has stunk in the past 18 months, I love the people I work with. It’s been a good 10 years.

I also have started having nightmares. This always happens to me when I have a big change coming. I have to ground myself – what’s the worst that can happen? I don’t get a job in January, just student teach, and that will be stressful financially. No doubt. But we can make it through. But in the dark of the night, I’m terrified. What if I’m making a mistake?

Somehow, writing it here has exposed this fear for what it is: nonsensical. It’ll all be fine. I’m so excited to go teach kids. It’s going to be so much different than what I’m doing now. And it will be fine.

Sometimes, I’m too much like my mother. (Most times, though, I’m not enough like her. Now, isn’t that a strange dichotomy?)


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