I stumbled across this quote on Facebook and fell in love with it. I think it's vital to remember you, just as you naturally are, deserve happiness—despite any imperfections or flaws. Of course it’s important to focus on self-improvement, but I find that any attempts at self-improvement coming from a place of hatred is damaging and ephemeral.  I think I’ll use this as a mantra when I am feeling blue and down on myself.  

Complain Complain Complain

Today has been a little bit rough so far. My insomnia has been acting up lately (is that insane to say? That my insomnia has bad flare ups?), so I didn't get more than 45 minutes of sleep this morning before I had to go to work for the 12 day in a row, and still I was late. I'm having a near impossible time keeping my cool today; I find myself getting irrationally angry at every little thing. And while I recognize that I am being irrational, I somehow can hardly help but to lose my temper. I suspect that the main reason for my lack of sleep is the fact that school starts on August 29th. I haven't been to school in a year, and I am unbelievably nervous for it to begin again. I am afraid that I won't be able to jump back in; that I won't be able to pay for it (tution is significantly higher than I was expecting); that I won't be successful and still be able to work my two jobs (both of which I feel are necessary, largely in order to pay for school in the first place). I watch my peers entering their senior year of college (I'm almost a Junior) and getting real jobs and apartments and husbands and kids and I feel completely and utterly left in the dust. I am struggling to grasp how I can work so hard and still be (or feel?) so hard behind. I feel as though I am waiting for my life to begin, but not actually living it. It's disconcerting to say the least.
I don't really know why I would post this sort of thing on this blog, but its a pervasive feeling, and I had yet to make a post today, so I figured "why not?".
I think that once school has started and I'm a little more in the swing of things, I will feel better, but for now I guess I'll deep clean my bedroom and wait for sleepiness to take over. So far, I have slept about 8 hours this week. We'll see how tonight goes.

From the Perspective of a Painting (better title to come?)

Today, I set up the typewriter and gave students a prompt for the day. "Tell a story from the perspective of a painting in a museum." A couple students gave it a whirl, and I later found myself typing something up between classes. This is what I came up with:

Lines of people, young old and everywhere in between, file past me in a never ending sequence. My master and creator put me here for a reason he failed to tell me, nor any of my friends or siblings. All we know is that we are to sent here to lean against a plain, white wall in absolute silence and observe those who pass us by. I have learned a lot.
Some people stand in front of me for hours, staring at me with loving adoration. Some pass me by, barely even glancing at me. Once, someone tried to touch me. She had been one of the few who stands in front of me for a long while, eyes full of wonder and mystery. Just as her fingers began to graze my skin, blaring alarms filled the cold room where I spend my days, and men in uniforms dragged her away, tears rolling down her lovely face, and velvety fingers still outstretched to me. I haven't seen her since. Oh, how I long to be touched. Not one soul has touched me since my master brought me into existence. It is a tortured existence; a lonely existence. I pray daily that the daring girl with the velvet fingers and bluest eyes will come back to me, but I doubt my master's masters will let her. Still, I love her so.
Some people stand in front of me and cry. I do not know why they cry, but I like them best (other than my Velvet girl, of course). They stay for varying amounts of time, some sitting on the floor at my feet for a long time, others just passing through, but both always seeming to lov and appreciate me as I am. Some people talk about me very loudly, their voices echoing through the room. They use words to describe me I've never heard anyone else use before, not even the man who created me. I have learned that these people are called "Art Critics". They are usually not very nice at all, and I wish that they would not come to visit.
On some nights, my creator come to visit me again. He doesn't touch me, but he stands next to me and wears a black suit and a white shirt. On these special nights, he looks much nicer than he used to at the studio where I was born. I like to think he dresses up just for me, but I suspect he really dresses up for the people who file past me on these nights. They are a chatty bunch, and they carry tall glasses full of something sparkly. They wear nice clothes and laugh loudly, but graciously. They are alright, I guess, but the men in uniforms and my master's master seems to like these people best of all.
It's a strange life I lead, and I often wonder if this is how it is for some of the people who come to look at me. Apparently this existence of mine will last a long, long time. There are some living here who have not seen their creators in many years; some even live behind red ropes and glass cages. They are the oldest and wisest among us, though they do not talk much, not even when there are no people here to look at us. The people in the lines seem to like these paintings best of all, though I do not understand why. Many are cracked and tired, and some even cry at night. It's not any sort of crying as I've seen from the people, but a much quieter, much more lonesome cry.
I do not understand most of what I see throughout my days here, but I guess I have plenty of time to learn. The critics say that I will be here a long time. I have not told anyone this, but I hope that I am not. I hope that someday soon my Velvet girl will come back and take me away from here.

Retail Musings

I work at the GAP. Most of the time, it's a pretty easy job that primarily consists of folding things, putting things away, and fetching things for customers. By far the most challenging aspect of the job is the part I'm really there for-- customer service. To combat the rudeness, selfishness, and inconsideration I so often encounter while servicing our customers, I like to muse on FB about various disagreeable encounters. Here are a couple from this last weekend.

• One of the hardest parts of working retail is ringing up that last customer who came in 5 minutes before close and listening to them say "Oh I'm sorry we came in so close to 9:00 and have been such a nuisance. Boy I bet you just hate me." And having to say "oh no, not at all" when, in fact, they did come in too late, and they are a massive nuisance, and yes I do hate their guts.

• If, when you walk into a store, an associate smiles at you and says "Hello, how're you doing?", just smile back and answer them. Don't ignore them. It's not a hard thing to do and you'd be surprised at what a difference it can make in someone's day. Few things are so discouraging as greeting someone in a friendly manner and being completely and icily ignored.

Swivl: The Personal Cameraman

This morning, I got a shipment of almost 20 Swivl Robots into the library to catalog. It's a cool little piece of technology, and I couldn't help but play with it for about an hour. The idea is that you carry a little remote with a microphone and a tracking chip in it, and the robot follows the signal of the chip and "swivls" to follow your movements. It connects to any of your devices-- tablets, smart phones, etc. and records you as you move around the classroom to teach. This a a kind of cool way to integrate technology in the classroom and provides an option for students home sick to keep up with classes. I had fun playing around with it, so I though I may as well share this cool new piece of tech! I've attached a video of Swivl in action... Take a look!

Writing Conference

I want to organize a little writing conference in the library for students, teachers, and even members of the community. This morning, I set out an old Panasonic Electric Typewriter and typed up the date and a prompt, finishing with "Get Writing!" and I'm happy to say that one student, a senior, jumped on it. He sat at the typewriter for over an hour writing various limericks, haikus, and other poems about his classmates and teachers. This inspired me, and as I taped his poems to my counter, I devised a plan. I want to ask local authors and bloggers to come to the library and give some speeches about what it means to be a writer, how to motivate yourself to write, what to write about, that sort of thing and invite students to come hear them talk. Ideally, the talks would inspire students and there would be a little writing session afterwards. I want to hold these "writing parties" as often as students will come, and maybe at the end of the school year even publish a little booklet of their best and favorite pieces of work. Much like a Literary Magazine, but less competitive and organized.
I think this would be a superb way to inspire me to write more often, as I always struggle to find what to write about. It could be beneficial for all involved, and a fun way to get students more involved in the library.

These are not the most high-quality photos (taken with my cell phone) but the moon was absolutely stunning last night. I have recently become completely enchanted by the sky and can never resist to take a picture when I find something beautiful. This results in my phone holding some 700 photos, but I am always willing to delete however many apps I need to in order to keep these pictures.

First Day of School

Yesterday was the first day of school for the high school where I work as a library assistant (though I am typically the only faculty member in the library). I frankly expected the worst, as I suppose you really should for these sorts of things, but it turned out to be a stellar day. Students were much more cordial to me than they had been all last school year, I suspect because this is the start of my second year here, so they know me a little better than they had, and many smiled at me as they walked past the counter where I spend my days. But that's not what made it a great day. What was truly fantastic were a couple of the interactions I had with specific students.
One young student, maybe a 7th or 8th grader, shyly walked into the library during lunch. He seemed nervous to be here, and I got that vibe that he wasn't sure whether he was allowed to come in. So I waved at him and smiled and welcomed him in. I started a conversation about reading, asking whether he liked reading (he does) and what his favorite genre is (fantasy). His bashfulness dissipated almost immediately. He introduced himself as Jacob, and pulled out the book he's currently reading and launched into a fairly detailed evaluation of the book (which was surprisingly articulate and well constructed for his age) and then directly into a story he has been working on for, in his words "Like, my whole life". I casually asked if he wanted to be an author someday, and he turned to me and said very reverently, "It is my big dream". "That's my big dream, too." I told him. We talked all through lunch, sharing our favorite books and telling each other our ideas for future books. It was amazing to have such a real conversation with someone so much younger than I. I've always found it difficult to really connect to what a lot of 7th graders care about, but I feel like I've found a kindred spirit in Jacob. I invited to come back anytime and tell me more about his book and maybe even let me read some, and he promised that he would. I am excited to see Jacob grow up throughout the year, and hope that I get to see him reach 18 or 19. I am fascinated by the way people grow, change, and develop throughout high school  and feel fairly certain that he'll go far.
Before he left for class, I told him that I hoped to read his book someday. I really meant that.