Finding Me Out: An Essay

Because you don't get Britney Spears and Courtney Love posting comments on your blog everyday, I thought I might celebrate by letting the cattage out of the baggage on why I am leaving my job.
Reason: Because I was told, in no uncertain terms, by a firm response to an answer, in the form of a prayer, that went like this, "So. . . how am I doin'?"
Remember that prayer where you are just checking in to see how your faring on the whole diligence scale?
To better illustrate, here is an ditty that doesn't involve any American kids doing the best that they can name Jack, nor Diane.
I ran into (literally) one my very favorite people on this terra planeta, namely Reece, a brilliant teacher at our school yesterday. We like to talk about the workings of the Spirit and the sometimes seemingly insane things we've been asked to do. He sold his multi-million dollar cabin at Sundance for the same reason.
"You're leaving." He said gloomily. (Ok, maybe not "gloomily" but I'd like to think that some people care. You know cause. . .)
"I am following orders." I say with that all-knowing look of love.
"Oh! I hate that!" He exclaims, then turns to lead his little pack of students down the hall in double lines.
And now you are wondering why Reece is teaching in a public elementary school if his story includes the selling of a multi-million dollar estate. That, my younglings, is why Reece is so high on my list. He teaches school because it's fun! And because it's something to do!
Anyway, back to my thesis. When these thoughts come everything changes. I hate it. But I love it. It scares me. It excites me. But most of all I can't just sit around and ignore it.
So we'll just have to sit back and see where this mysterious adventure takes me (and Chup, and Ralphy and Duchess and any unborn children or pets, or future wooden shoes.)

The question is, if I have to put advertisements on my blog to pay for our heating bill this winter (burrr burrrr burruuuruurur) will I be selling out?

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