Surviving last week.

Wasn't easy.

There were subtle clashes with the department chair, kids acting like kids--putting magnetic poetry on my podium that suggested I was a "manly and smelly teacher," sobbing in front of a new therapist, worries about money, nights at school until 7:00.

But much of the apartment is now unpacked, and I have heat. I baked pumpkin bread yesterday, brought it to a co-worker's house for game night with the two of us and three of her engineering friends, recently laid off from the Hutch Technologies. And she had amazing hot cider and pumpkin cookies with brown sugar buttercream frosting. It was wonderful, but it's hard to play games with people that aren't you, where I can't answer NJ to the questions I don't know. Where certain friends talk themselves through a string of thoughts to get to the obscure right answer. Today I'm attempting to make chicken breasts with mushrooms and pecan sauce over whole wheat pasta, grading 30 horrible papers, and writing lesson plans for both of my classes.

Tomorrow: parent teacher conferences from 3:00 until 8:00; and the school doesn't feed us; and the last thing I want to do is stay at school for that long, so long. Talking to parents.

This town has two vacuum repair shops across from the street on Main Street, and it drives me crazy. It drives me crazy that at the grocery store yesterday and at Target that I encountered two co-workers, that I can't go out without seeing everyone from school.

I'm trying to make tradition here--went for a run yesterday as tiny snowflakes found their way to the grass, avoided the ice on the sidewalk. Bought the Tribune this morning and even a scratch off lottery ticket to somehow feel like my dad (and won $3). But every now and again, I just think of home, Mankato, or Rochester, the places where tradition didn't have to be forced--where it just happened and felt easier, felt comfortable. Where I didn't get the strong pinch in my gut like something was missing.