I hate you blogger.

I just accidentally wrote a huge post on the wrong blog. And for some reason, blogger doesn't let me copy and paste.

Fuck that.

Anyway. It was all about how I hate Hutchinson, but I'm worried that the 60 degree, sunny weather is going to trick me into liking it here.

I don't want that to happen.

But it's so much work to not stay. I'll have to put my things in a truck, again. I'll have to design new classes when the ones here would be already-taught and ready to go, I'll have to learn a new school, new people, new rules and new curriculum. I'll have to reorganize my school files. Maybe I won't have my own classroom, new place, or maybe I'll hate you, new place.

And the draw here, how much easier my life would be--how I'd teach the classes I've planned, the allure of a new classroom that isn't filled with science-things, the people I already know--and I already know who I like and who I don't, the students I'd recognize in the hallway. The graduate thesis that I'll be working on, how that'd be easier when I know my curriculum already.

Ugh. I feel gross. Life feels gross to me at this point. The drive back from spring break was so hard for me. It was painful to keep driving once I went through the cities, to pass highway 52 and not turn on it for a drive down to Rochester. Once I get here, I'm sort of fine, but I don't feel at home. I don't feel like I want to clean or do things or be myself. When I'm at school--like today--I feel good, because I'm working. But that's what scares me. I only find that little happiness in Hutchinson when the good things happen at school. This means that I'll spend more time at school, and that means I'll become obsessed with my job. And I don't want that, no sir.

It's like a bubble, Hutchinson. When I'm in the bubble, I'm like: I can tolerate this bubble. But when I leave, when I'm gone for a weekend or a small spring break--and someone says: get back in your bubble! I scream and resist as much as I can. Because I've seen the outside of the bubble. I know the outside. Put me back in, and I'll just spend the rest of my life trying to claw my way out of it.

...am I doing the right thing, wanting to leave? Or should I take the easier approach and suck it up and stay? If only I could just know if I'm doing the right thing. If I'll work myself to death. If I'm right that I need a bigger city, or if I'm wrong and this excruciating loneliness will follow me everywhere I go.