Two simple letters...

At school today, I was reading a story a 6th grader had typed during study hall. It was about a zombie elf taking over Santa's Workshop in the North Pole. There was a sentence about how the search party went into the Wrapping Room (where one presumably goes to wrap presents) looking for the zombie elf. However, the author misspelled the word "wrapping." He had omitted the "w" and one of the "p"s. It totally changed the direction of the story for me.

Dishrag Drama

Amy and I went grocery shopping. Looking for a parking spot, we turned our signal on first when we saw a car pull out. The other car coming from the other direction felt that we cut him off and stole the spot. After shopping, we came out to see a wet, dirty dishrag resting peacefully on the rear window of our car. How much did that guy feel that he deserved that spot? Well, enough to go out of his way to find a wet dirty dishrag on the ground, pick it up with his bare hands (probably) and place it neatly on our rear window. After that, I imagine he stepped back, dusted his hands off, and nodded his head in such a fashion to suggest that he was adequately pleased with his actions.

A weird adaptation of "The Sixth Sense"

There is a man at the gym who is rather old and rather rotund. I never see him on the gym floor, working out, though. Anytime I see this man, he is invariably wandering around the locker room completely stark naked, with a towel draped over his shoulder. Just walking around. Or there's also this little lounge area inside the locker room with a television and some nice furniture. Sometimes I'll see him, again entirely unclothed, sitting on his towel, which he has laid on top of the nice leather chair. Just, you know, hangin' out. I am beginning to think this man is imaginary, that he does not actually exist on our physical plane. He may be a man who died on the grounds somewhere, and his disconnected spirit looms around the locker room, carrying on his life as he did before he died. Does he know he's dead? And for that matter, why doesn't he put on some damn pants, already?

Why is it this way?

I only seem to post occasionally anymore, but I've been busy. Now, I know I said that last time...and it's no excuse...but, well, I'm sorry, alright? That's really all I've got to say. I'm sorry. I can change. I know I can. Just give me a chance.

ahem.

That was weird.

On a night like tonight, I get wistful. I'm in the apartment alone, I'm reminiscing. Why? Well, the high school I graduated from posted a position for which I am qualified. And I happen to be looking for a teaching position. So now it all comes flooding back, many of the memories from that time in my life. I hate being cliche like this, but it's hard not to be. It's a formative few years for everyone.

I'm torn about this. I certainly have a better chance of this position than at a school with which I have absolutely no connection, which, of course, includes the entirety of the Columbus area, where I live. However, that position would mean moving, taking my wife away from a job she loves. We've talked about it, and I would be the one to have the benefits and the (not much) higher salary, so if I found a position that meant moving out of the area, she would willingly move and find a job wherever we moved to. But I don't want to make her do that. She loves what she does too much. She's formed many more connections here than I have, and it would be a much bigger burden on her than on me. It's tough.

Hence, why I'm wistful and anxious. I hate not knowing what's going to happen.