I’m going to make it through this year if it kills me.

Take a line from a song that you love or connect with. Now forget the song, and turn that line into the title or inspiration for your post.

Pulling my feet through the sludge, I don’t know that it is possible for my boots to get any heavier.  My bag follow behind them through the muck and my hair has a ten foot radius of frizz around it as the rain blinds most of my vision.  Why no one decided to make windshield wipers for glasses, I’ll never understand.    I see a near by ledge and run under it.  I pull out my notebook from my bag and write, “# 75 Wipers for glasses.”  

Don’t ask me why I write down my ideas when I don’t act on them. Maybe I just want to have proof that I had the idea first so when someone makes it and becomes a billionaire, I can cry about how it should have been me.  

I flip to the back of the book where a flyer is taped.  “December 3rd! Meet the Author!” A glimmer of hope rises in my chest.

A car speeds past me, splashing the muck and slime from the puddle all over me and my notebook and I’m immediately reminded that it is only March.  I don’t care if I get to the meet and greet to simply breathe my last breath, but I swear, I will make it there.

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How do you slow down your life? Is the great struggle really that we’re all losing time or are we just doing it wrong? Maybe it’s the way my mind works, but I think we’re doing a lot wrong. 

The negativity swirls around my head like a toxin, sucking life out of my chest with each breath.  People are always unhappy.  We’re sick, tired, there’s simply too much going on. We are never satisfied.  Rather than appreciating that sky, we say ugh I’m here so I can’t appreciate it.  

I’m transitioning from a world of imagination to a world of facts.  Facts seem ruthless and cold. Imagination offers endless possibilities as you float through the beauty of the world.  

Looking at the students in my classroom, it seems inevitable that we will be the same tomorrow and the idea of it weakens my soul.  Until we change, you can find me clinging to books and films where imagination reigns.  I will hide in my possibilities and smile through the cold, gray faces surrounding me. Go ahead and tell me that my dreams are impossible, how I should be a teacher instead. Ask me what the point of my degree is.

The point in my degree is this: happiness. I don’t want to wait for a mid-life crisis to go after my dreams. If I fail, at least I can say I tried.