Friday, April 13, 2007

Pick me a Winner

I look to the future like a confused toddler. I have no definite plans for the summer or the fall or the rest of my life.
I have no idea what street corner my cardboard box will reside.
I have no idea whose couch I will crash on once the box gets moldy.

I just know that there are a few sheets of shiny white paper that state my dreams of sun and warmth and pavement, with the word “Resignation” in bold letters at the top.

Yes, I resigned today. It’s official with signatures and seals.

Now I am scared. In a few short weeks I will once again pack up all my belongings and return to the world of homelessness.
On the upside, there is the joy of knowing that I just turned down an offer of nearly $50,000 a year plus benefits to, instead, wallow in uncertainty.

What is wrong with me?

Ok, enough of that. There is no need to spend more time than necessary contemplating how well duct tape can be used as cardboard box waterproofing.

I have a story to tell.

One of my favorite nostril obsessed students sat in the back of my classroom with a pencil up his nose.
He was twitching his face in such a way that the pencil bounced to the beat of his own very private drum.

Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.

I had a hard time not losing my place in the lecture and just staring at this most interesting sight. But history has shown that if you try to get one thing extricated from his naval cavity he just gets annoyed and adds more.
And more. And more.

So I tried to ignore.
I avoided looking in that direction when he pulled the pencil from his nose, wiped the wipe-ables off and then jammed it back there.
I averted my eyes as he learned to move it from side to side without using his hands.
I even turned my back as he made attempts to write math problems with the pencil that was sticking out of face.

After a several minutes it became clear that I was not the only one that had noticed the nostril circus. However, the rest of the class was not nearly as adept at avoiding distractions as I have grown to be.
They began staring.
The kind of staring that comes with a pointing and a growing side of snickers.

Pencil boy looked up and saw that all eyes were on him.
Suddenly he was enraged.

“Stop it! Stare-ers! Why are you looking?”

Then the giggling started.
More anger and more yelling.

“Why you staring!”

The pencil jiggled in its’ nose-like residence.

“Oh, student of mine, did you forget you had a pencil half way to your brain?” I asked in a very joking manner.

His face turned red, he uttered an embarrassed low chuckle, and he pulled the pencil from his nostril, hiding it under the desk. “I forgot it was there…”

My students are the brightest little knives in the shed.

Re: Your resignation.

Surely you have a short list of places you'd like to move, right?

For example, somewhere warmer. Somewhere with men.

I have just finished your entire blog, from 'o5 until present. Amazing,witnessing the birth of a writer before my eyes! You have improved your style, story telling and imagery ten times over, not to mention your spelling!

Write something for publication.

aww and here i was just thinking of bookmarking you under the guise of Eskimo!
so you don't have a damn plan at all? i don't really know what i'm doing either.. we could be clueless together in boston ;)
Isn't the phrase something like, "sharpest little knife"... and not "brightest little knives in the shed"?

In regards to your resignation... you wouldn't be you if you didn't think about moving. But I'm sure that something will work itself out for you, even if it is a pain.
I know that knifes cannot be bright. and are rarely kept in sheds.
I don't even have a shed.

I was combining cliches' into something more fun and less cliche-like.

"sharpest little cookie in the drawer."
or "smartest little bulb on the christmas tree."
or "most cumbersome and confusing use of words in the blog post."
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