God, that's an ugly photo of me, isn't it?
I woke up extra early this morning and lay in my bed reading emails while simultaneously telling myself that I shouldn't lie in bed and read emails but rather go outside, exercise, meditate, bask in gratitude, do a devotional. I read the emails, finding a perverse pleasure in deleting, deleting, deleting, even the news, the expected news that the government was shut down. I heard through the grapevine that a beloved teacher at our school was fired, and I quelled the rising nervousness in my stomach, the uncertainty of the future -- the closed government, the powers that be in every institution, even our little charter school, mistrust -- the growing sense of futility I feel despite a bit of age and experience and, dare I say it -- intelligence? Delete, delete, delete. I texted a friend that I am particularly uninspired of late, and not even blogging, the daily practice of it that so inspired my off-line writing, is working for me. The old gray mare just ain't what she used to be. Ain't what she used to be, ain't what she used to be. Then I read this, by one of my favorite bloggers, and I'm up out of bed and onward.
Thank you, Pauline.
