Forgive me blog readers, for I have si-. . .not written. It's been 83 days since my last post. And, oh, what changes those 83 days have brought. Let me tell you a neat little story. (I'm lying. It's probably going to be long. And rambly.)
I love my parents. They are among my closest friends as well as being awesome parents. We were roommates for a long time. Actually, I moved into their basement once they became empty-nesters and they never figured out how to get rid of me. . .until my dad had the brilliant idea to "retire early" and buy an 80-acre farm in Kentucky. . .thousands of miles away. Expensive, time-consuming, but effective. It all happened very quickly. Dad found a farm on the internet around Thanksgiving, they flew out a week or two after that to check it out, bought it, put the house up for sale, and had it sold by mid-January.
Not quite sure where I was going to go with my giant Golden Retriever, I moved into my sister's basement. I loved being her roommate, too. So many adventures. I was looking to change schools at the end of the school year, and until I knew where I would be teaching, I didn't know where I would be living. Utah apartment-living is NOT pet-friendly. You have the choices of slum living and all the drug/crime-ridden shenanigans that go with it, or pay ridiculously high rent. That summer, I found a new teaching position, put down a hefty security deposit on an apartment. . .and then, suddenly, I bought a house instead. After all, I wasn't going anywhere for awhile. I had most of my siblings nearby, job security, good friends. I loved my house. And I filled it with cats. I didn't mean to. Most of them were accidents. Or fate. Or someone trying to kill me by anonymously sending me cute little assassins. . .but I digress. The point is, I planned on staying put for at least 5 years.
That was just last fall. Fast forward to the time of my last post, early October. 83 days ago. It was a happy time. My parents were staying with me because my brother was getting married to a seriously awesome girl. We had so much fun. I missed being around them. My mom gives me treats and stuff when I'm good. My dad kept hinting that I should move out there because I am his favorite. (I'm lying again. He's been telling all of us kids we should move out there. I'm pretty sure he wants to have a commune. . .not a crazy, fundamentalist kind. . .just a we all like to be together as a family kind. But I'm not lying about being the favorite. Shut it, siblings who are reading this. My blog, my reality.)
After they left, I did some serious thinking. Looking back now, I think, subconsciously, I had already made up my mind about a few things. If you've followed this blog since the beginning or follow me on Facebook, you know it's been a freakishly wild ride the past two years. Lots of fun, wonderful, awesome things going on, but also health problems, homeowner disasters, and job stress. I've mentioned in other posts that this school year has been a difficult one. I've had difficult years before, but still managed to love my job and take pride in what I do. Well, after 13 years of teaching, I've decided I'm done.
I will miss the children (most of them) and my colleagues (most of them) and the paper work (I'm lying). I won't miss the germs or the ridiculous demands or not ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever being able to leave my job behind when it's time to go home. Any real teacher knows that teaching is not just a job, it's a way of life. When you go home at the end of the day you're still thinking about what went right, what went wrong, that one kid that you're heart breaks because you know what he's going home to, planning the next day, figuring out how you're going to teach a math lesson to a class where the concept will be over the heads of at least 5 kids and bore the minds out of another 5 because they're ready to move on, trying to find the right words to respond to an angry parent so you won't get fired. . .oh, and the whole teaching a brand new set of core standards and finding the best materials to do so. . .none of that really fits into my contract time. And this year. . .is just. . .so ridiculously and unbelievably hard. The stories I could tell. . .
My body just can't handle the stress like it could 10 years ago. My heart- the metaphorical emotional center of my being, as well as my actual ticker- isn't up to it anymore. My resistance to germs has never been great, but lately, I just can't stay well. And being the logical person I am, I can see that germy children + megastress = unhealthy me. And if you've read this blog in its entirety you know my #1 goal. I don't want to die. It says it right there in the title's sub-heading. Look for yourself, Blindy McBlinderson.
So, as long as I'm making that tiny little change in my life, why don't I go ahead and sell my house and move to Kentucky?
That's the logical next step. . .right???
Apparently it was, because you won't believe what happened next.
So, here's the timeline of events:
October 15th: I e-mailed my parents and let them know I was coming to be with them forever and ever or whatever.
October 19th: Met with my realtor and got the ball rolling, posted the For Sale sign in the yard but didn't list the house yet.
For the next 10 days I feverishly cleaned and staged.
October 31st: I moved the animals and myself into my brother's basement (it's what I do).
November 1st: Officially listed the house.
November 2nd: 1st showing and offer on the house.
November 4th: House under contract.
The next 30 days I packed and packed and packed and packed and packed and fractured my coccyx and packed and packed and cleaned and cleaned and cleaned.
December 5th: Closed on the house and said goodbye.
So. . .here I am sitting in my brother's basement, biding my time until the school year ends. Not really biding. I've got a million things to do. I got rid of half my stuff in part one of the move and I'm determined to get rid of at least half again by part two in June. Cross-country moves are expensive. And I'm still teaching, of course. As hard as this year has been, I must say that it has made leaving teaching more sweet than bittersweet. I foresee a major case of senioritis hitting me about March.
Some people think I'm absolutely nuts to give up my house, my job security, and move to the middle-of-nowhere Kentucky. But this is my philosophy: Life is what you make it. If you don't like it, change what you can and move on.
Sometimes little changes are enough. Sometimes they're not.
Besides, if I'm going to do something, I like to do it thoroughly and throw in a little extra for good measure.
Hi, I'm Amanda. I'm 35, soon-to-be unemployed and living in my parents' basement (again with the basements!)in the Middle-of-Nowhere, KY. No fear, no regrets.
This is going to be freakin' awesome.
P.S. I've gained 7 pounds back, but now that moving Part I is done and my coccyx is healing, I'll work some more of my arse off.
