The thing I have always wanted to do seems so far from my capability now and even farther from ever becoming a reality. I wrote a thing, a little thing, an introduction to a book that will never be written. I wrote it in five minutes (give or take) for the purpose of having a snippet to display my talent to potential employers—publishers that need people to churn out 20,000 words to sell. The gig seems like a great opportunity. The idea of ghostwriting is pretty cool. But the commitment…

I take pride in my job. Teaching is a calling that brings meaning to my life beyond being a mom and wife. I worked in the corporate world for a while, and the time and energy it stole from me, from my ability to give everything of myself to my family, made me angry. What good was I to this life if nearly all of my waking hours went to writing textbooks that nobody would ever use? What good was I to my kids if they were left to be raised by a daycare? I swore when I moved away from that place that if I had to work then I would make that time stolen from me be for something noble. So when teaching fell into my lap, I gave in to my fate. At least I would be on my children’s schedules, I thought. And I was. And life was mostly okay.

I exist for other people. That’s my calling. My job. My life. But I want to do other things. I want to write. All of that effort I would put in, though, would feel as though I am throwing away precious time. I’d be a ghostwriter of cheap novels. It sounds fun, but the time required…where would I steal it from? What sacrifice would I have to make to do something I want to do? I can answer that, but I don’t want to hear myself say that I’d be robbing my servitude.

I read a few things to my dad tonight that I have written over the years. I warned him they were bad, but I wanted to share them in the hopes that I would in some small way get an encouraging nudge. A sign, even. I now know that I should stick to cheap novels for cash if anything. That is me feeling sorry for myself.

I have bigger fish to fry. I will save my sadness for when I have time to lament any failed attempts at real writing.

Living without the comforts that electricity affords has its benefits. The only good that came of having no air conditioning was that I didn’t have to go outside to experience summer. What I mean is that when I spend all my time in the cool indoors during summer vacation, which lately I have tended to do, I forget that the season I love the most is passing me by. Summer is my favorite season and not because I get a bit of a vacation. I love the heat, the blue sky, the dark greens, and the vivid crepe myrtle blooms. I love walking in sunshine and feeling a thousand miles away from everything in this world. But lately I’ve stayed indoors. Lately, I’ve been watching tv. That’s not a terrible thing in small doses, but I have let the indoors replace my outdoor, summer sanctuary. Last week, though, a hurricane swept through and took away my air conditioning and tv. I stayed indoors still, but I spent my time reading. The heat was unrelenting, and I felt consumed by summer. Hidden by it. I was forced to go without contact with the outside world, and I hadn’t felt so at ease since I don’t remember when.

The air is back on, and now I have important work-related things to do. But I can still go for a walk if I want to. I should. I will.

I am also now knee-deep in Game of Thrones. I will make time for that, too. But I am aching to write.

Oh, how I yearn for last week when I had so few choices.

I could start by telling how little sleep I’ve been getting and how high my anxiety has been, but that would be old news. More interesting is the hurricane that’s about to hit —literally, though the metaphor fits.

Beryl is the perfect name for a hurricane, don’t you think?

Beryl barreled through my neighborhood and took with it my air conditioning and refrigeration.

We will find out in 24 to 48 hours whether that statement is true.

. . .

I’m moving to East Texas. My husband got a new job there…a three-day turn-around from idea to reality. He starts tomorrow and will be all the way over there while I’m all the way over here finishing the new school year and getting the house ready to sell. This all came about shortly after breaking my toe. The change is a good one, though sudden. So sudden, in fact, that I’m kinda freaking out about it. I’ve been at a cabin for the last four days, and every night I have lain awake staring at the ceiling, mind racing, heart pounding.

Among the unknowns, such as where I’m going to live, is what I’m going to do for income once I move. Getting a teaching job is easy enough. Getting one I’d like is not. I consider these last couple of years to be the pinnacle of my career. I am grateful for being able to work where I do, and though I don’t want to give the job up, I hold onto the comfort that I got to do what I never thought I would have the opportunity to. I have learned more at this school about the content and how to teach in general than I have anywhere else. It’s amazing what I can do when nobody tells me what to do and how to do it. My students have been the cream of the crop, and I’ve pushed them to the breaking point, which has required me to do the same to myself. I am 100% a better person after only two years of an 18-year teaching career. I can take that with me anywhere I go, and maybe that will be enough to make me happy in my next job. But I’m thinking I might take a new route. Maybe. After all, I reached the top. Time for a new mountain to climb, I think. Maybe.

…

About a year ago I learned about a company that connects writers and editors to people who need them. The job doesn’t pay much, but I’ve been told that there are many companies out there just like it, and if I use all of them and get my name thrown around then I can make a decent living. I imagine it takes awhile to get noticed, but maybe I have time. If nothing else, being a ghostwriter will give me experience. I’ll learn a few things. Maybe publish something of my own one day. Who knows. The world seems like an empty canvas these days, and I never thought I’d feel that way again. On the one hand, an empty canvas is exciting. On the other, I’m not sleeping.

And my scores come out tomorrow. At the very worst, they will be lower than last year’s. No. The worst would be having lower scores AND being surpassed by another school. I know these scores are not about me. But, well, they are.

On the upside, my broken toe isn’t as broken as it was three weeks ago. And like a freak, I’m excited about the hurricane. I will miss those.