The Drama of it all!

I seem to constantly attract drama. Or do I look for it and make it come to me?

It's just that there seems to always be a huge hurdle that I must jump over. This time, it's a boyfriend in the hospital who broke 2 arms and 1 leg in a motorcycle accident, at the same time that I am moving into the first home I've ever bought, at the same time that report cards are due and I have to clean out my classroom, end of June stuff.

Last time, it was a family crisis at the same time as a crisis at work. That was last fall. And in between then and now, a little bit of heartbreak.

I go to work and I do my best to be professional. I'm so thankful that the students in my class are funny and sweet and good-natured...because then I get to leave the drama outside the portable classroom door.

Tonight I've been trying to pack up the kitchen, with the Police boxed set keeping me very good company. And suddenly there it was, the song that brought me back to my very first crush, my first love, in 1983, when I was 13. I still am the same person, with the same naive trust in all people, still a great believer in true love.

So I guess I'll embrace the drama, it will never go away, and at the very least it entertains my friends who, if they don't talk to me for a month, get a string of the latest stories. This is the way I am, and I suppose I like it this way. The only thing is, being me can become quickly exhausting!

We are all made of stars

Sometimes I feel as if there is no one who truly understands me. I suppose that is one reason why I have this blog.

Today I was at a track meet with some kids from my school. I was standing in the rain, traveling from the shot-put to the track and back again. At one point I was able to take a break from measuring shot-put throws, and I caught a relay running race that had 3 girls from my class in it.

I watched Zoe start the race, her running gait familiar to me from seeing her put on the turbo speed on the soccer field in P.E. She had these streaming braids in her hair at the back, seemingly out of place compared to her usual quick ponytail. I could tell how badly she wanted to win by the urgency stressed into every muscle as she ran.

She passed the baton to Helen, who ran in a long-legged flash, and she passed it to a girl not in my class, who passed it to Melissa. I watched Melissa, usually so quiet and reserved, sprint like a young hellian to the finish line. Her long dark hair was crazy flying behind her and the look on her face was a mixture of pain and elation. She came in first at the finish line, half a stride ahead of the girl behind her.

Unexpectedly, I realized I was crying. I just loved watching them run. I was so proud of these girls, and I didn't want them to see my tears, so I swiped at my face impatiently. Then I cheered for them and high-fived them as they entered the bleachers.

I felt as if I was the only one crying. And tonight, as I mark a Social Studies assignment and listen to Moby, I feel very alone. "We are all made of stars," he's singing.