ramblings
I turned in my first ever unit plan today. For once I feel like maybe being a teacher could be the right path after all. The unit plan is for my Curriculum and Instruction class, one of several where I'm the oldest student. The rest of the students are sophomores and a couple juniors. It's kind of odd, because in that class, I feel slightly ahead of the rest of the students. Which is a nice feeling, because when I come home at night to my roommates (2 of which are in their last semesters of the education program and know everything a student can know about teaching), I feel inadequate and behind. For example, last night, as I was preparing the final pieces of my unit plan, I wanted Sarah and Kara to look over some of it and let me know if I was doing it right. And neither of them had time, neither of them were interested, and they just smiled patronizingly when I finally finished and was rejoicing. Kind of blew the wind out of my sails. I had worked over ten hours on that project, and I wanted someone to rejoice and be glad with me. It felt like such an accomplishment. And suddenly it was nothing, reduced to just another assignment. I felt like it was one of those "I just kicked this in the butt" moments, and they just looked at me like I had no right to be excited about a job well done. Maybe I came off a little prideful or something. Either way, I turned it in today, and felt like I had given my professor some of my best work. And it was satisfying, despite the frustration of feeling defeated in my room.

Isn't a room supposed to be a safe place? The place you feel comfortable and yourself? Aren't your roommates supposed to be your best friends? College is the place where you make life-long friendships, have the best time of your life, and feel the freest. You can sail around in sweatsuits and never do your hair and still be taken seriously. And even though I've felt this way about a lot of my college experiences, there are still so many days when I wonder if I'm just the person that people put up with. I feel as if I am an annoyance to my friends sometimes, and that there isn't one person I know who seeks me out and loves to be with me. Over spring break, our choir toured the Northwest states. It was so much fun, but half the time, I felt that Kara only enjoyed being with me when I made a fool out of myself. Is that an issue with my self-perspective or is it really happening? I never know. Does everyone have these days? Do even the most beautiful and outgoing people wonder if everyone else is just "putting up with them"? I hope so. It would make me feel better.

You're The Inspiration It has been almost a full year since I last wrote here. A lot has happened-- I got back to the U.S. after my semester in England, had a wonderful summer, and came back to Sioux Center, Iowa. I won't bore you with all the details, though. (Who is "you" anyway? No one really reads this but me.) I'm coming close to the end of my fourth year at Dordt College, and while all my friends and roommates are preparing to graduate, I'm looking forward to a whole 'nother semester of classes in the fall, followed by a semester of student teaching. Just a word of advice-- don't change your major a month before Christmas your senior year. It throws a wrench in everything. Anyway, I got inspired to start writing again when I saw that Becca had been writing in her blog; I also just miss writing-- writing descriptively, writing casually, writing artistically-- I'm so overwhelmed with education classes that I barely have time to study what I love. (That would be literature) I feel like I'm losing touch with myself and with my voice. I was reading some other blogs this past week, and I felt so inadequate. I'm not thinking gradiose thoughts or spilling forth fresh images. My life is barren. I'm beginning to realize that maybe this barrenness is the source of my frustration lately. I feel burned out and ugly, like everything I say is base and uncomplicated. I don't have anything worthwhile to contribute to the world's discussion. To me, that is incredibly sad. See, even now I can't think of a better word than "sad" to describe how I feel about that. Pathetic. My sister is much more creative than I am. I wish I had that piece of her in me too.