I Am Reading a Book

I am reading a book. Well, I suppose it would be more accurate to say I'm listening to a book. I have a 45 minute commute to and from work, so I like to listen to books on tape (or iPod) to pass the time in what I consider to be a productive way.

This is at least the fourth time I have tried to read this book, and this is the first time I have gotten past chapter one. Although it seems that as an English major/teacher I should be an avid reader, I very rarely read for pleasure. I'm almost always reading something for a class I'm either teaching or taking, and if I'm not doing that I'm grading papers. Therefore, when I read a book, I like what I call "one-nighters." Those books that I can read in one sitting.

This is not one of those books.

I have been listening to this book for a couple of weeks now, and I feel like it is making me impatient. Maybe impatient isn't the right word. Antsy. This book is making me antsy. There is a character, who at times I would call the main character, though at other times I would say there isn't a main character, who is so frustrating. In a way I idolize him. His brilliance astounds me. I want to be like him. When I am reading and I get to a chapter that isn't about him, I do get impatient. I start thinking, "I don't care about this. What is Howard doing? What does Howard think about this?"

I was in a meeting when it was time for me to get off work today. The meeting was running over, and all I could think about was getting in the car and going home. This may seem like a normal phenomenon, but I didn't want to get home, I just wanted to get in the car. I drove the speed limit all the way home so I could listen a little longer, but then something happened.

Howard disappointed me. Not just a little bit. I was in shock. Surely he wouldn't do such a thing. How could he? I paused it. I didn't want to hear anymore. I had to go back and listen again and make sure I understood what I heard.

How could you Howard?

But then I started listening again, and once I got home, I ran to my office because I was sure that I had a copy of the book somewhere. No more would I be relegated to using gas to immerse myself in this story. (I suppose I forgot that I have the entire thing on my computer.) I grabbed my copy of the book, headed to the bathtub, and began to read.

I've always heard about people getting lost in books, but this is very strange for me. I keep having to fight the urge to turn to the end and see why these things are happening. Why did he do it? I have that vague feeling of being caught between two worlds, but even though Howard seems very real to me (I have been tempted to google him), I can't quite get there. The time period is wrong. No one is really that . . . Howard.

I should probably clarify that the feelings I have for Howard are not feelings of love. Just a senseless admiration. I feel as though I'm going to spend the rest of my life looking for someone like Howard, just so I can know that this type of person exists. If I did meet this person, he or she probably wouldn't like me. I'm too soft. But I don't care. I feel like I need to meet him.

I am reading a book.

Wednesday on Thursday

It's only the second entry and I'm already late! I really did mean to write it last night, I just fell asleep on the couch unexpectedly and when I woke up I was so confused that I just stumbled off to bed. Enough with excuses, on to the blogging!

So I've been thinking about what I want to write all week. What do I really want this blog to be?

If I were a writer, I would want to be a fiction writer, so should I just tell stories? I don't know if I'm quite ready for that challenge.

I don't have kids, so I don't have any cute stories to tell about my kids and what they're up to. Unless of course you want to hear about what Daniel (my husband) and Penelope (my dog) have been up to? No? Well, that's out then.

There's always stories about my students, but I don't know if that's really appropriate. FERPA and whatnot. I really can't afford to lose my job.

Unfortunately, all of this wondering about what to write about leaves me with a rather uninteresting blog for the moment.

Therefore, I have decided to include a little bit of youtube hilarity to make up for my lack of interesting things to say this week:

I feel like I need to come up with a sign off. I think I'm going to go with Godspeed. It comes from "God spede you" which is basically something that was said to someone about to go on a trip wishing them luck in the Middle Ages.

Godspeed.

Here Goes Nothing

You know how when you're a kid you have that dream job and you tell everyone you know that's what you want to be when you grow up? I don't know what my dream job was. I don't remember ever wanting to be a doctor, teacher, firefighter, etc.

I have thought about this a lot. It doesn't seem possible that I didn't have that dream job. Since that time, I've narrowed it down to astronaut. I would love to be an astronaut. Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to be in the cards.

So I came up with a brilliant plan. Even though I don't remember what I wanted to be when I grew up, surely someone does. That's when I asked my grandma.

"Grandma, did I ever tell you what I wanted to be when I grew up?"
"Yes. You said you wanted to be a writer."

Huh? Really? Me? I don't remember saying that. Ever. In fact, I remember saying things to the contrary. When I was getting that degree in English people would ask, "So, what are you going to do with that degree? Be a writer?" No sir. Not me. I'm not a writer. While most of my teachers tell me I'm a good writer, I just don't have original ideas. Then I would start to wonder what it must have been like inside Shakespeare or (yikes) Poe's minds.

Since that time, I have become a teacher. An English teacher at that. (So what, I like a healthy mix of fragments, run-ons, and comma splices--don't judge.) I absolutely love being a teacher. I know without a doubt that this is the career path for me. Obviously I am not in it for the money. I just love to teach. When I get in front of a classroom of students I feel like I can really be me.

Having said this, that conversation with my grandma still bothers me. Me? A writer? Have I not somehow inadvertently chosen a career that keeps me close to writing by choosing to be an English teacher?

When I was a child, I occasionally tried to keep a diary. I probably still have three or four diaries from my childhood and adolescence. However, all of those diaries have one or two entries, and then nothing. Many years ago I started a blog. I blogged fairly regularly for a few years, but then (wonder of all wonders) people stopped using xanga, and I found that writing a blog isn't much fun when no one is reading it. So then I started another blog. And another. And another.

Now I have started this blog. Apparently I am supposed to be a writer, so I am going to write. On Wednesdays. Hence the name, "Wednesday Is for Writing."

Wish me luck.