Still in exile...

School is closed through Friday, so I'm an evacuee until next week, at least. I talked to my uncle, and he said that if it is meat, cheese, milk, or bread, you can't get it in our area. People have either gone berzerk and bought everything, or the stores can't get supplies. I didn't ask which it was, but I'm certain it is one of the two. In the mean time, I'm still in Dallas, and frankly, I'm feeling a little lost. I don't live here anymore, but I still feel tied to the city--its sights, its ways, and its people. I don't love Houston. It is messy, crowded, confusing, massy, and ridiculous. But, it is where I live now. It is where my job is, and like it or not, I'm stuck in that job until I can figure out what I'm supposed to be doing. I'm not ready to fully commit to the idea that teaching isn't for me. I am a first year teacher, yet to hit my stride, and it is supposed to be difficult. At least, it isn't supposed to be easy.

And "easy" it isn't.

I want to get back to my apartment, where I am organized, where everything is familiar inside, even if the surrounding city is chaos (not just because of the hurricane, but because that is how Houston is). I want my bed, my room, my posters, my dishes, my couches...I want to check my mail. I feel like I'm living in a hotel on a business trip. I'm living out of my bag. I'm expected to perform certain tasks I'm not used to performing, such as being available to others for "hang out" time in the evenings. I'm used to running my own life, and not having anyone attempting to dictate where I should be, what I should be doing, and to whom I should be speaking at any given time. I don't have very many friends in Houston, and the ones I do have either live too far away to demand my time (another drawback of Houston--it takes a year to get anywhere), or are my co-workers, and are too tired to ask anything of me.

Don't get me wrong, I love being home. I love my parents, and my friends, and everyone I know who lives in Dallas. All I'm saying is, I feel like something of an alien, or a piece of furniture out of place. I find that I can't come here and continue to live seamlessly the type of life I live in Houston, whatever that is. I'm expected to perform. I'm expected to be whatever it was I was before I left. It is trying, not just for me, but for my parents as well. Hopefully by the time I get back to Houston, the city will have returned to some kind of normalcy.

Valete,
Magistra