Promises are not always kept and goals are not always met. Although I am disappointed I did not keep up my blog during the month of March, I am proud that I accomplished a challenging and intensive teaching course. I guess I will cut myself some slack then, if you will too? Thanks.
My journal entries over the last four weeks look something like this:
"March 18th 2019 - Haven't written in a while! My brain is fried and anxiety high! Dreamed I got on the wrong bus and it was taking me far from where I had to go. I keep grinding me teeth!"
"March 22nd, 2019 - Jeepers! Busy days. Highlights: Support from the other trainees, a supportive husband, and loving family. Nearly done with CELTA! Then...$$ and America!"
That is just a sampling as to the types of scattered scratchings I put into my journal before bed during the last month. But now that I am home and my head is clear again, the gas has been put into the creative engine once more.
My journal entries look something like this now:
"April 7th, 2019 - Where am I? The hood of papa's truck. Or the bed, as the hood is actually on the ground. I am soaking up the warmth that the black bed absorbed all day, and feeling the electricity of home snap and sizzle and sprint through my veins. My legs are stretched out and pleased by the bike ride that tested their strength. I have missed the campfire smells, manure breezes and motorcycle rumblings. I have visited the lake at two of its angles in two days, and today's view was as calm as yesterday's."
"April 10th, 2019 - Harkness - 12:30pm. Light breeze with a spaceman kite fluttering over the bare trees. The trees curve like spilled ink snaking its way across wet paper. Ferries chug along from New London to New York, New York to New London. I smell spring grass, but the buds are still in Winter."
That's all you get. The cobwebs are slowly clearing and soon I'll be back to writing with full force. This is just a teaser to tide you over until I reveal a new poem this week. But I will leave you with this: I am back on the ground after watching pools of gold sprinkle the Atlantic shelf. From the plane, I could see the water smudged by puffs of black islands. The clouds made temporary continents and countries - nothing lasts forever. This is how far I have traveled.
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