Let's get our "reflection" on, yo.

One year ago.

I'm in Minneapolis, sitting at Caribou on 46th street and Nicollet. The same Caribou I was at, probably, a year ago. Definitely the same coffee shop I spent most of October 2007 in, after losing the job. The same coffee shop where someone drove too close to the Intrepid and ripped the side mirror off.

It's weird to be here. It feels kind of good, because of some of those goals I've reached since last year and three days.

I love you, my blog. How else would I remind myself of that initial excitement I had when I started this program, when I saw little logos for the school district on papers and felt like I was doing the right thing. How else would I remind myself that I forget about the good times. That when I wasn't teaching, all I wanted was to be teaching. How else would I remember? Oh, blog. Let's have a hug, eh?

I went to Roadrunner records right as I got into town, drove 'round the old hood for awhile. Roadrunner has made clearance browsing difficult; the store is now half the size and the 50-centers are on the floor. You have to get down on your knees and dig for the records. Not easy. I wasn't patient enough. But I paid $4 for some Sonny and Cher and $2 for some Buddy Holly & the Crickets and $5 for some Beach Boys live, including "Sloop John B." It might be 30 degrees outside in late March, for my spring break, but I just need a record store and a coffee shop and an agenda--an agenda, remember when you didn't have one, Jeano? Remember when you lived in the cube and became so bored with yourself that sometimes you burped out loud and didn't even realize it?--and I am okay. I am okay. I have to read two novels in two days and then plan 9 weeks of school for two classes, but I'm challenged and creative and learning. I'm not putting numbers into Peoplesoft. I might be worried about a job next year, but it's a job I want. Not some random posting. I might have 60 freshman persuasive papers to grade this week, but Mr. O said to do 10 a day, and I'll listen to him. I'll do 10 a day and then I'll never have to sit down and do 30 at once.

Jeano, you asshole. Your life could be so much worse. What the fuck is wrong with you.

I talked to the Good Doctor today, heard his voice for the first time in months. He said, who is this? I said, what? He said, Who is this, my caller ID doesn't work. I said, Jean. I said, what are you doing Tuesday? And he said, what time? And I said, because I don't know, at all, Do you have a job? And the question, out loud, the thought of me asking him, this person who I used to know so well. Now I don't know where he lives. I don't know where he works. I said, do you have a job? And he and I laughed into the phone, on both of our ends for a good two minutes and then arranged some plans, somehow, although I don't remember or know what they are.

Oh, man. What is this weird day. I went to school with a hangover, with a packed suitcase in my car, with grades to finish, with distractions all over the place--t-shirts to order online, calanders to review or make, papers to pack into a bag, Mr. O printing off documents and giving them to me, witty retorts back and forth, repression of emotions about next year--but I don't want to leave Century! I want to have a job here. I want to stay in this English department--listening to the teachers plan the fall semester I won't be here for, hallways without students on their first day of spring break, job searches to perform, gifts to get out of my car, grade reports to print, questions that I don't even have about these units I'm planning.

And suddenly I'm in Minneapolis and I don't remember the drive up here. Suddenly I'm in the old neighborhood and smelling familiar air and I can't tell if it's spring or fall or if I'm beginning something or ending something.