August

So, time for a little truth.  I've been avoiding writing this month.  It's not that I don't like writing, or that I don't want to write.  I just...haven't really felt like it.  (Which is also why I've had clean laundry lying wrinkled in a basket for the last week and a half.  I don't feel like much of anything.)  I keep telling myself that I'll get to it when I get to it, or that I'll make a writing schedule when my routine finally takes on a normal rhythm, but let's be real.  I'm just making excuses.  Pure and simple procrastination.  With a healthy dose of tired and apathetic thrown in.

I'm determined to hop back on the bandwagon, though, starting today, and to stay committed, I'll share my plan with you: Mondays and Thursdays.  My goal is to write on Mondays and Thursdays.  Hopefully that includes revising my novel, but...well...baby steps.



Today was a rough day.  The kids were wonderful, my coworkers were delightful, classes ran smoothly, and I got a few things done faster than expected.  And yet, a select few things didn't go so well, and it's all I can really think about.

This afternoon, as my phone alarm went off and I heard people moving in the hallway, I said to myself, "Everyone else is early. Why is everyone else so early?"  And then I taught for five more minutes.

And if it wasn't bad enough that I'd made 30+ students late to their exploratory classes and deprived fellow teachers of precious planning time,  I then managed to DO IT AGAIN less than two hours later.  This time, sitting in a stiff wooden chair in the library, watching 5-10 indecisive children scan bookshelves for something to read this week.  I looked at my watch and said "We've got time. Let them scan."  We left the library at 3:15.  3:15 is, of course, also the time students are supposed to head to carpool.  We hadn't even packed up yet.

60 children were late for dismissal as a result.  I was late to dismissal as a result.  Other teachers were late to dismissal as a result.

And the only thing I hate more than lateness is inconveniencing other people.

(Which is saying a lot because I really hate lateness. Ask the guy who had me sitting at a bar by myself for thirty minutes a week and a half ago.)

To compound the issue, I ended the day with a migraine, which--for those who have never experienced one--feels like your brain is swelling up against your skull and causes all light, sound, and pretty much everything to be painful while you wander the poorly-labeled aisles of a run down Rite Aid on Canal Street desperately searching for Excedrin and hoping not to throw up on the sort-of clean floor glaring back up at you.

I am now home and medicated and reading a funny chain of email responses from my immediate family that involves uniforms, cucumbers, and a photo of my youngest niece with a very confused expression on her face.  Things are already looking up.


August tends to be a pretty tough month in general.  My body has a hard time readjusting to early wake-ups and the physical wear and tear associated with standing and talking all day, while my bank account has a hard time reconciling back-to-school purchases and car insurance payments with the fact that I haven't been paid in two months.

Which is why I'm downing "flavor blasted" goldfish my mom gave me (gross) and paying my volleyball coach with whatever dollar bills I can find around the house.

It's been a tough month for the state, too.  Heat is high, crime is high, tensions are high, and last week, unprecedented rainfall devastated the homes of hundreds of thousands of people in parishes along the southern section of our state.  To give you a sense of how bad the latter is, consider these numbers:

Average rainfall in Louisiana in August: 6.1 inches
Average yearly rainfall in Louisiana: 62.45 inches
Rainfall in select parishes last week: 20-30 inches

Some parishes got half a year's rainfall in 72 hours.

On top of that, many of these parishes also flooded in the spring, thanks to double-digit rainfall in March.

Here in New Orleans, it rains every day, but fractions of an inch at a time.  Honestly, it feels weird to be spared.  It feels weird not to be the ones in need, but instead to be the ones gutting other people's houses and sending supplies to other people's homes.  It's humbling, really.

And it makes complaining about a few mistimed transitions feel hollow.  Who am I to fret about late carpool, when there are people who lost everything just an hour away?  When there are people crossing oceans and rivers and seas and continents to avoid war?  When there are people enduring traumas every day in the places that they live.

A little self-compassion is in order.  A little thoughtfulness about how to help.  And a whole lot of prayers.


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If you're interested in helping out families in our state, here's a great resource to find the best way to donate your time, money, or talents:

Help Louisiana Flood Victims