Talk soon

 A year ago I had a plan. Around this time, I would be packing up my apartment, getting travel paperwork for Lucy organized, and finishing up a school year. In a few weeks from now, I was going to be moving back to the United States, buying a house with my sisters, and once again teaching in a public school.

 Last summer, when I was in Virginia visiting my mother, I realized that Virginia was no longer my home. Guatemala was. I still wanted to go back, but it was only a weak longing.

In September I was applying to schools in Virginia. In October I told my school here I would leave. In November, I told them I would stay. By the end of the month, things felt wrong.

Everything in my being was telling me to stay in Guatemala. The economy was telling me never to go back to the United States. The principal of my division led me to think that maybe I should leave this school. I didn't have the words for it, but I was unhappy. I was so happy living here. In fact, nothing could have made me happier than living in Guatemala. The idea of going back to work was like a rock in my stomach.

In January a child shot a teacher. I worked in that city for five years. When I was the teacher's age, I had a student who was violent like that. The teacher and I share a name. I was broken about it. Again, I knew I was unhappy at my school, but this incident made it even more clear that I could not teach in a public school again.

Here's where I was. I needed to get out of the school, but I was heartbroken at the prospect of leaving my new home. I couldn't teach in the United States, and I was nervous to try moving again so soon. I had found my place and lost it all at the same time.

In early February I was feeling so unsettled I began to look at schools again. I found one in Guatemala. Not only in Guatemala but in my favorite place in Guatemala. I applied. Within two weeks I was hired. I finally felt like things were falling into place. They were prepared to offer me a grade I was new to, but in the end I was offered my dream job: Kindergarten, art, and drama.

Work had reached a critical moment, and whereas before I felt I could possibly hold on one more year, I now knew that if I stayed it would be a black mark on my career. It felt good to know I was leaving, and agonizing to know I had several months left to go.

Then, just a month later, my apartment flooded. A pipe exploded in the wall. Many of my things were damaged or destroyed. I was displaced for five weeks. I was barely holding on. In fact, I wasn't even sure I would make it. I was in a class, and I had to drop it because I felt like I was in a crisis.

I couldn't care about much. I still don't, really. About two weeks ago I was able to move back home, just in time to pack everything up. People ask me how I feel about it, and I only say that I'm indifferent, because I am.

The past several months, I have felt like I was in a pit and shrouded in darkness. In recent weeks it has felt like I am still in the hole, but I can see out the top. Perhaps soon I will be able to get out of it completely.

I suppose I'm in a brief period of optimism, but I have plan to blog again. I have a planner, actually. Who knows what the posts will be. A knitting pattern? A story of an adventure? A recipe? Whatever it is, I hope to share something regularly.

And so I say goodbye, in temporary sense. Talk soon