Turning point

I think I had a turning point at work last week. I was booked pretty much fully all week, which was busy and meant I had to start scheduling breaks and paperwork catch-up times. (Up until now I've had some days with no students booked in at all.) It's good, though, because it means the students need/want my services and it shows the school they are right to employ me for as many hours as they do. Also, three students, through no prompting of my own, shared life issues that they're dealing with, with me. Two just wanted to get it off their chest and one asked advice. ('I see that you're married. How do you know someone is the right person? Is he still the right person?' – Tough, poignant questions.) This was important because, without realising it, I had been feeling like I had a superficial relationship with my students. I don't teach the same class all the time anymore; they're not children, who need me and share everything unguardedly; and I was feeling like it could be anyone in there doing my job and it would make no difference. Then when these three students, all of whom I worked with last semester quite a bit, opened up to me spontaneously about some pretty heavy problems, I felt privileged and knew that I have now been there long enough to earn their trust. Also, this job can be as rewarding and meaningful as classroom teaching, in a different way.

Saying 'yes'

My husband and I got a gift card for a photo shoot at an artsy studio. They create interesting arrangements of photos on canvas and other media for your wall. My initial reaction was to say, 'no, thanks' and let the gift card quietly expire. My husband thought it could be fun, plus it was free. Then I remembered advise from the Improv book I'm reading, which advises saying yes to suggestions and not 'blocking' your partner (not only does it make for better Improv shows, but it makes for a more interesting life, Keith Johnstone says). So, this weekend we went to take the photos; next weekend we go back to look at the results. Despite my misgivings about my un-photogenic-ness and what the photographer or camera may pick up in terms of lingering tension or awkwardness in our relationship, it was actually fun. I found I was very attracted to my husband watching him in shirt and coat (and pants, obviously) with his glass of scotch, being posed in 'Mad Men-style' lighting. He made flattering comments about my body, which leads me to think he was having a similar experience, when it was my turn. Then we did some sweet and silly couples shots. If these pictures turn out, and if we continue to work things out (as we seem to be doing at the moment), then they could be a really good memento our survival as a couple.

Gardening in the rain

I did something this morning that I haven't done before: gardening in the rain. It has its pros and cons. I got something done off my weekend to do list and it was easier to pull weeds because the ground was soft. However, it was lonelier than usual because there were neighbourly sounds around, no birds chirping and my cat didn't join like she normally does. Also, I may have learned something valuable about myself: I'm a tad eccentric. I bundled up and went out when it wasn't really raining and figuring it would ease. It didn't. It got harder and harder. Rather than going in, I stayed out there until my fingers were numb. Not to get the job done (it's never done in the garden – not because mine's huge and cultivated, far from it), just because I like the rain and was optimistic that at any minute it might stop raining. It didn't. I perhaps had hints before that I was eccentric, now that I think about it. I hold conversations with my cat out loud, in public (through my front door as I unlock it); I can't shake the belief that emails with attachments only work if there's text in the body of the email (my students laugh at me); I often don't remember my age because I don't feel any particular number. There, that's some of my weirdness in all its glory.

The difference a year makes

This time last year I would have been feeling stress and anxiety as I started a new school term. I would have been happy to see my students again, but dreading another term with my teaching partner, who was hard to work with. The workload and extra responsibilities placed on me by the school administrators would have been weighing on my mind. In contrast, today I wrote for two hours. Then after breakfast I volunteered at the Botanical Gardens, helping edit their quarterly newsletter. Next I went into the city for the first session of a new class, which meant discussing books, workshopping and more writing. Finally, I went to work for about three hours where I marked quizzes, texted students who have appointments tomorrow and checked out books for people who came into the library. There was no anxiety; I didn't feel stressed; I exercised my creativity; and I put my time and energy into pursuits that feed my soul and will hopefully soon be out in the world for others to enjoy too. As interminable as last year felt, I've come out the other side stronger, and with a clearer sense of purpose and gratitude.

'A very stubborn person'

I like Keith Johnstone observation in Impro: Improvisation and Theatre that to be very stubborn to be an artist. I think this idea will give me a reason to keep trying to publish rather than giving in to despair and frustration after my next rejection. Who are they to tell me I can't be a writer? I know I'm doing what I'm meant to be doing; I can feel it.
Another thing I've learned about writing from Johnstone's book is about status. He talks about how pretty much all interactions between people (and often between people and objects) is about status. There are behavioural and vocal indicators of high or low status, and often people are jockeying for their preferred position. This will help me to write scenes between characters in my stories. It's something I knew, but hadn't put consciously into words before.
Johnstone's book is making me think about how similar writing fiction is to doing improv (something I've done in the past). The context/back-story of the characters is like the setting or other suggestions given by the audience to the improv actor. From that, the writer creates the interaction and moves the plot along with similar freedom and constraints as actors on stage builds the scene.

Strange Brain

Recently I've had two examples of the strangeness of the brain (I'm going to assume they're general quirks of all brains, not just mine). First, my warning signs for an oncoming migraine have changed over the past few months. They are now quite fascinating, not to mention handy. Whereas before I would get drowsy and dizzy only an hour before the migraine struck (often to the point where I shouldn't safely drive myself home), now I get a tingling in my hand or whole arm the day before. Then a few hours before the migraine I see spots. Because I'm not mentally impaired yet at the time these flags wave, I can admire their usefulness and bizarreness. The second strangeness has kept me awake the last two nights. My brain has been firing interesting, creative ideas around for my current novel as well as other stories. The night before last, I lay in bed typing half a chapter on my tiny phone screen so I could stay warm but not wake up my husband. Last night I got an idea for possibly my next novel. I noticed myself get really interested and fired up about it. Two problems, though: it was the middle of the night, and I'm not really all that close to finishing the current one. All I could do was get my ideas down and then lie there trying to tell my brain to calm down. I'm going to bed now to see what strangeness, if any, my brain offers tonight - hopefully it's in the form of dreams while I'm sound asleep.

When I take my head out

Usually I keep my head in the sand, when it comes to the news. I keep a small hole to the surface so I know if something major happens, but I try not to watch or read the news too much. I find it very overwhelming and depressing, in general. I am a worrier by nature, as you may have noticed. However, watching the news last night left me with a feeling of gratitude. I (we, depending on who's reading this) live in a country that doesn't really have to worry about earthquakes. And even if we have the odd rumble, it's nothing like what's happened in Indonesia. Despite recent political 'turmoil' and an impending election here, it will be nothing like Egypt: leaders will lose their life; people will not have to fear for their lives, loved ones, livelihoods or property. Finally, I learnt that you can survive falling into a sink hole in your car. That's one less thing I need to worry about, whew!

Much ado about...

A cat bully: big, fluffy, half-siamese, half-persian. S/he moved in next door a few weeks ago and began climbing onto the fence between the yards. This used to be solely my cat's domain - she's bigger than the other neighbourhood cats and has made it known, with hisses and yowls, that our front and backyard is hers. This new interloper shows up, takes a liking to our yard and now my cat's afraid to go outside. I've never actually seen them fight, but I came home from work last week and my cat was very spooked. She was sitting in the middle of the living room, staring at the back door. Her tail was all puffed up and she kept looking around with wide eyes. I checked all the windows and doors to make sure that no one had tried to get in. Then, after coming home a few more nights to find the neighbour's cat hanging out in our yard, I had conclude that s/he had tried to get in our cat door. My response to this is twofold. Partly I want to go over to my new neighbour and politely introduce myself, genuinely welcome her to the neighbourhood, then dob on her cat and insist she teach it manners. The other part of me knows this is completely ridiculous since they're cats. You can't train cats, neither of them are actually fighting each other and mine's not that stressed about staying inside all day, especially given it's winter. So like my cat, I'm going to do... nothing.