There are times when my brain is swirling with so much activity that I have a difficult time picking out the right thoughts and focusing. I have so much left to do before my trip ... I have someone who didn't feel "magic" when we kissed coming over for dinner tonight ... I have to go to the store ... I have to go to the bank ... I have to figure out what to pack, what to wear, what to take, what to do, who to do ... I have conflicted feelings about all sorts of crap ...
In an attempt to bring order to the chaos, sometimes, I randomly select a memory and focus on it. It's funny how, even though the memory is usually unpleasant, or uncomfortable, or awkward, it helps. Somehow ...
My family moved to Rural Hall, NC, the summer before I started 7th grade. Most of the friends I made that summer attended a different school. I was shy and gangly and physically immature. I had a hard time making friends.
Seventh graders were required to take Life Sciences. My teacher was Mrs. Efird, a close-to-retirement-aged woman with big glasses and badly colored hair. The classroom was small and dark with walls painted a color one could only refer to as "Institution Green." The students sat at ancient black-topped lab tables, crammed in tight rows.
For one class, early in the term, Mrs. Efird passed out a list of occupations.
"I'm going to go around the class. Choose one occupation you'd like to have from the list."
The list was far from comprehensive. There wasn't a single job on it I wanted. I started to panic. Other students were telling her their choices. Maybe I could be a teacher, but that's not on the list.
She was only two students away from calling on me.
"Um ... preschool teacher?"
The entire class burst into laughter.
I flushed a bright red.
I'm still not sure what the point of that lesson was, and my thoughts are still swirling.