Extroverted Hermit

Writing. Lately my life has felt split into two dynamically different halves. Almost like morning and night are oxymoron's .. lining them up and getting one jumbo shrimp. A teacher by day, 25 kids with 25 needs multiplying each minute, with 25 sets of parents, most of whom are skilled with emailing. By day, all talk, all personality, managing behaviors and continually taking the pulse of my room, and adjusting with whatever is made available. A dance party here, a stretch break, a million jokes, voices, you name it. I'm getting pretty good at it... but it's SO different from the rest of my day. Jumbo Shrimp. They file out at 2:30, and it's time to hit the plans, grades, emails, plans, plans, emails, plans, slowing, more plans. I work, mostly independently until hunger and exhaustion drives me home, to make/heat dinner, and either continue to work or watch something mindless on my tiny school-issues laptop. Maybe I'll read a book, strum my guitar, flip through the 100 Times I have gathered, wonder if I"ll ever go to the gym. Either way, it's always independent, and the 25 vocal voices are only in my head. Post 2:30 my sounds are music and birds and again, my gregarious brain.

Lately this chatty brain, who, somehow despite the 6 solid hours of talking, seeks companionship in the afternoon--- this chatty brain has been writing lately. Something I used to do a lot, I went through phases of intense life scripting. My thoughts unraveled and then reraveled into novels, short stories, plays, blogs, articles, editorials... all silently to the outside world. All of which I see and hear in my mind, but goes no where. It's stored in files that seem to keep the filing cabinet open, preventing me from just chilllllling out.

 Where can I write? Where can I stick these thoughts that long to be typed. I feel them daily, like the dishes, waiting to be placed where they'll stop nagging me. But where to go? Where to lay all these scattered things? My laptop is gone, my school issues micro computer doesn't have WORD, and I can't stand, I mean, can't stand, my own handwriting. Must type. Must type. Ah yes, perfect-- my blog. My blog-thing I started years ago for this EXACT purpose.

I shall calm the tides of metaphors here, sooth the similes that itch like the poison oak. I will channel them here. Here I can make my comments about the woman with the wolf bag, the coffee baristas who do not know my name although I"m there almost daily, the overwhelming desire to make sweeping landscapes of words about education. Here. Finally. Who needs real friends? Who needs phone friends? I'm mastering the art of hermitism. It'll be a thing. Like the next DIY Pinterest activity.

I'll be a fabulous teacher hermit. Thats the oxymoron I need. No wait, Extroverted Hermit. Perfect.