We went to the library yesterday, and Willow rode her bike, using her new bike lock to lock her little, purple bike next to all the big bikes. We checked out a pile of books and movies, and this turned out to be a good thing, because today she has a fever. We're inside today with our pile of library materials.

Movies, books, and computers turn studio apartments into mansions. Even better, because one doesn't have to hire a staff to maintain things.

Still, I wish we were going out today. I am not by nature an inside person. I can do it for awhile, but I go stir crazy if I have walls around me for too long. For now, we will huddle inside, with Willow watching a dvd and me continuing my ongoing letter to the world here.

I've been keeping this blog for over six years now - almost six and a half. This represents a lot of time spent writing. I still do it mostly for myself, and for the few people who I know read regularly. In some ways, I think things were stagnant for a number of years in the middle. This may have something to do with the effect of unspoken marital problems - I was stuck without knowing I was stuck. My method of dealing with the problem was to not deal with it, which of course put all the responsibility of dealing with it on Jen, and she sure did that, didn't she? I just didn't want to admit that there was a problem, and by the time I fully committed to trying to work things out, it was too late. Chalk it up to fear of failure. Ironic, huh?

Things are what they are now. In some ways I've moved on, but in other ways I haven't. I'm still full of conflicting emotions, and I'm still trying to maintain as much healing distance from Jen as I can under the circumstances. I need this space to heal, but hope that someday I'll be able to relax around her again. She is truly a caring person - flawed, like we all are, of course, but with many good qualities. In the end though, our flaws weren't compatible. We were too much alike in the wrong ways, and not similar enough in other, equally important ways. Sorry if this sounds vague, but I'm not going to drag the details out here.

It's funny to note that once again I ended up writing about this when I didn't start this post with any intention of doing so. Writing is therapy. At work, when helping homesick kids, I often suggest that they write letters to the people (usually parents) they miss. Some kids do this, and it helps.

As for me, I feel that I need to forgive, but can't quite bring myself to do it yet. Underneath the anger lies sadness, and for some reason I'm still more comfortable with the anger. It feels strange to admit this in writing in such a public forum, but I'm doing it anyway. These posts create a reality all of their own, and allow me to revisit my thoughts when needed. Of course, I could be writing this down in a private journal, but I feel the need to put this out there. Maybe it will help somebody else someday. Maybe a new connection will be started somewhere. I don't know. I still have more questions than answers, and often find myself afraid to ask the questions.

Mistakes were made. Brand new mistakes await. Life goes on.

This might leave one with the impression that I'm miserable. I'm not. I actually feel more alive than I have in quite awhile. I also feel a bit of anxiety. I'm working hard at finishing my teaching credential program, and I'll be doing a couple of solo weeks in a sixth grade classroom in March. I've also got to complete an integrated unit, where I draw together History, Language Arts, and Art. This isn't second nature to me yet. I'm still more used to teaching outside, and my style lends itself more towards "teachable moments" and teaching on the fly. Extensive planning is still hard for me (perhaps that's another reason why our marriage failed, in which case this teacher training stuff will help me in a number of ways), and I'm still weak in certain subjects (I'm going to start teaching the math lessons next week, and I approach this with some trepidation). In short, I'm still learning, and I know that my first year as a teacher is going to be a lot of work, just like my last few months as a student (do we ever really stop being students?) will be.

Life is beautiful, and messy. Sometimes it's even a beautiful mess. Sometimes things just take time, and more importantly, work.