We made it, reader. It’s the last day of my favorite month, and the last day of my NaBloPoMo odyssey. Looking back over my posts from the month, I’m so glad I did this. Not because I’m such an awesome blogger, but because it helped me remember when I first started blogging and had something to say every day–sometimes several times a day–and also why sometimes you need a day off. Those are the days you post YouTube videos or cat pictures.

Though November is usually my favorite month, this one kind of sucked for me in a few ways. Lots of school stress, a heartbreaking realization, money woes, etc. Somehow, though, the times in which I feel like I’m the most worried or stressed or just plain miserable end up being the times I look back on as having been the most alive. I’m getting a handle on things now, and I’m hopeful about much, and I’m thinking…these past few weeks, months even, may just be one of those times I look back on in such a way.

I’m glad NaBloPoMo was here for that. I’m glad you were here for that. Thanks.

P.S. Congrats to the amazing LeBlanc, the fantastic Ashley, and the unparalleled Ron for finishing the journey with me and their readers. (Well, that last one at least made it to yesterday, and I am confident he’ll fly over the finish line later today.) Honorable mentions to Jenna and Adrienne, who lamed out but are anything but lame .

We’re almost there! Tomorrow will be my last NaBloPoMo post, and I think I’m gonna miss it. However, I’ll be catching up on all the work I refused to do this Thanksgiving break, so hopefully I’ll use the daily blogging time for productivity.

Speaking of which…I’m not doing much productive today thus far. Every time I think of school starting back the day after tomorrow, I get the urge to pop a powerful prescription drug. Or just nap. I have this weird dichotomy of a work ethic–I don’t do well when I’m not working. I need to have a job and a routine for my sanity. But, I yearn for time off–for mornings like this, when I’m playing on my laptop in my PJs while a favorite movie plays in the background.

I guess that’s normal. I’m far from being a workaholic, I guess is what I’m saying, but at the same time, days off are often toxic to my productivity instead of providing the rest needed to soldier on. Relatedly, I’m also an horrific procrastinator. Once upon a time, I had a mentor/adviser at my undergraduate educational institution who provided me with a counterintuitive insight about myself:

Said he, “you’re a perfectionist, aren’t you?”

Said I, “nuh-uh, no way!”

“…because if you were a perfectionist, you’d do more things right, right?”

“…EXACTLY!…oh…”

“Uh-huh.”

He got me with that one. Before that, when I thought about perfectionists, I thought about people like my mom and my friends Valerie and Erin–the type As of the world who get everything done, and done extremely well, in whatever sphere they resided. For my mom, it was keeping an impeccable house AND a full-time job AND managing to be the best wife and mom ever. For Val, it was being president of every school club AND on the tennis team AND the Valedictorian AND awarded the best scholarship UT had to offer AND the best best friend I could ever have asked for in high school. For Erin, it was being an unparalleled creative soul AND an academic AND the chair of the Honors Association AND always chosen to speak at…you know, smart-people conventions and to travel and study in places like New York City AND my best friend ever.

Me? I rarely sort laundry; it was a big deal my senior year of high school when I actually joined a few clubs as a member, much less the president; in college, I quickly figured out that multitasking (i.e., having friends AND studying AND holding a work-study job) did not work for me–and I ended up tired and fat when I insisted upon trying to make it work.

Not much has changed, sadly, but also unfortunately, I did inherit that perfectionist tendency to need everything to be “just so” or “right.” I have a (sometimes literally) paralyzing fear of not doing a great job…but, instead of whipping myself into a work frenzy like my mom or my friends, I just do nothing. Or nap.

It’s gotten worse in my years of teaching, and even worse since I started teaching high school. Teaching requires a LOT of work, in case you weren’t sure. You work all day actually doing the teaching; you take your planning time during said day to plan said teaching or grade work brought forth by your teaching; then, during evenings or “off” times, you continue the planning and the grading and other supports for the teaching you do during the day. This is just the baseline–on top of all that, you then have required extracurricular duties, not to mention the ones you actually want to go to to support a certain student, as well as paperwork and professional development and observations and standardized test requirements and fixing your room from where the cleaning lady “rearranged” it and surprise IEP meetings you are “invited” to sit in on and…yeah.

I know a (very) few teachers who gracefully glide through all of the above and continue to smile and look fabulous and have students hug them on a regular basis. I know a few (more) teachers who manage all of the above and make a point to let you know how tired it makes them and how many hours they spend in their classroom after school every day. Most teachers stay a bit behind, but keep trucking and hit a decent balance.

As for me, I stay pretty overwhelmed. I’m always either going completely gangbusters or completely ignoring the fact that I have work to do. I’m straying towards the latter these days. I get overwhelmed by all the work, then I decide to suck it up and come up with some system of how to get it all done. Then, though, I get overwhelmed by the thought of plotting out that system and maybe not having that system be the most efficient and organized, so I don’t even get as far as the system, much less the work the system was supposed to help with.

So, I blog. And hope for a job change that will allow me to do work that I can do well…and leave at work.

Well, I can’t top this. Or this. Or this, or this, or any of the other beautiful posts I’m reading this Thanksgiving day. But, I am thankful indeed, and I’m going to tell you about it anyway.

I’m thankful that, though my extended family is sometimes stressful to be around, my grandmother is doing so well and was able to eat with us today.

I’m thankful for the time I was able to spend with old friends and the niece I love more than anything in the whole world in Alabama Monday and Tuesday.

I’m thankful for the friends I have “in real life,” who have stuck around through the drama and the weirdness and even the mundanity that have marked my life and our relationships.

I’m thankful for the friends I may never have met, but whose online writings (and tweetings!) have inspired and comforted me, whether they know it or not.

I’m thankful for those who may have hurt me or whom I may have hurt but who have allowed that to strengthen our determination to do right by each other. I’m thankful for the hope of better to come.

I’m thankful for hope, period.

I’m thankful for growth and change.

I’m thankful for my job, even if I’m not ever usually always that thrilled with it. I’m thankful to have a job, because not everyone does, and I’ve been in that number before.

I’m thankful for the 14-year-olds that force me to learn things about myself every day.

I’m thankful, as many I’ve read today have also said, for you and that you’re reading this right now. That you bother to come back and read, sometimes on a regular basis. It means the world.

I pray you’re surrounded by love, wherever you may be on this holiday.

I act stupid when it comes to boys. Well, I used to. I guess I still do a little–dunno, you’d have to ask a boy.

Anyway, I have never believed online dating was the right thing for me or that I was really the type to make long-distance work, but I happened upon the eHarmony personality test.

Let me tell you, in case I haven’t before–I LOVE me a personality test. I’m obsessed with my Meyers-Briggs type, and there was once this great quiz site whose name escapes me that I used to spend hours on so I could know what car I would be and what my theme song was–over and over.

So, the eHarmony test was purported to be very thorough and accurate, and I couldn’t resist. Obviously, though, there was a greater purpose to it, and once registered, I started getting these emails that boys had “initiated conversation” with me. They were fun to look at–you know, just to see who would be interested in the Holly–but after doing so, I would quickly chuck them into the trash folder.

One young fellow caught my eye, though. I don’t even remember why. He had a couple of answers on his profile I liked. AND, his profile mentioned where he worked. On a whim, I went to his employer’s website and typed in his first name in the search box. Bingo! I had his work address and I dropped him a line.

Honestly? I think part of it was the thrill of subverting the system.

Long story short, we emailed back and forth for several weeks. We shared a religion, and he seemed nice enough and articulate enough. The pictures he sent were fine–I could see how he could be a cute guy, but I figured these just weren’t his best pictures. (Unfortunately, they were, but that’s beside the point.)

I get really attached via the written word. You can see where this is going. After a month and a half or so, he suggested we meet. So we did. Again, it was fine.

It was also the only thing either of us had going.

Then, he got weird.

All of a sudden, a couple of weeks later, when I wasn’t ready to talk about marriage, he got really sulky. Not just sulky. He decided to punish me. I wasn’t allowed to talk to him for three days. If I called, it meant I didn’t respect the fact that I had “crushed” him and that he needed time to think and decide if he was going to break up with me or not.

See, this is when I should have run. But, I’d spent all these hours crafting emails to him, and I’d even changed my phone plan to accommodate our marathon calls, and I had all these friends and family members telling me he was a nice guy, don’t wig out like you always do, HOLLY. We had nothing in common and I wasn’t attracted to him, but boys I did have stuff in common with and was attracted to had always been mean to me. I thought I was being shown another way.

(Turns out he was just unattractive and completely wrong for me. But that’s harsh. Back to the story…)

So, I waited out the three days. Then I called. Like a three-year-old who falls off a rocking horse and blames the nearest adult and then forgets about it four minutes later, he was chipper and happy to hear from me. So we were back on.

Then…you know what? I don’t even remember what happened, it was so pathetic. I just know that the day before Thanksgiving, 2004, I drove through the night to patch up some argument–something I’d said that did not meet with his approval again. I packed up–I was in Alabama at the time–dropped off my cats at my folks’ place, then headed on to Murfreesboro.

Once there, I got a motel room. He arrived and explained to me everything I’d done wrong. I cried and agreed it was probably for the best that we break up. We hugged and talked about our favorite memories from our (3-month-long) relationship–you know, reliving the good times–then he left.

A few minutes later, he showed back up at my door. “I can’t do this,” he said. I think he mainly just wanted to make out, but it made for a nice movie moment.

I think we lasted about two weeks or so after that. The next Sunday he insisted we meet each others’ parents. At some point I think I ticked him off again and he “needed some time” again. I started to give him the time, but then, while driving somewhere with my friend Katie, I remember saying, “you know…I’m beginning to get sick of this.” She sighed with relief and said, “well, I wasn’t going to say anything, but…” The next day I called and said, “yeah, I think this is over.” He hung up on me, sent me a REALLY nasty email the next day, I boxed up the crap he’d given me and put it in the mail, and that was the end. Like, the real end. I guess he could do that.

So, tonight, even with a migraine and some other sadness looming, I’m so very glad I’m spending the night at my parents’ house, and not some cheap motel off of 840 trying to salvage something I didn’t even really want in the first place.

Turns out it’s a lot more painful to have your heart broken when you’re being true to it. It’s a lot harder to let go of something real and beautiful, though undeclared and unofficial, than it is to perform a mercy killing on something forced and artificial. I knew that back then, of course, but I really learned it that year. Something inside me changed, and whether I consciously decided it or not, I determined that I would not hurt that way again unless it was a true pain for someone who was worth it. I’ve made good on that promise to myself.

I spent today in a town I consider one of my homes…basically, one of my two homes on the planet. I don’t have much time to get this post in before midnight, but it was quite the day. I always think too much when I’m here, but this time, with long-time friends around me, I had sounding boards and laughter and food and memories to accompany me. I got to see the niece and my wonderful sister, who cooked for us, again, and she and I ended up having a sisterly heart-to-heart in the bathroom. I had to tell her some things I don’t think she wanted to know, but I can never keep things from her. She inspires me.

Anyway, I’m going to post this before I start telling you things you don’t want to know. Today was a beautiful and strange colliding of worlds. I’m going to bed now.

…so here’s a nice black and white of a girl and her black and white cat. He’s thrilled, you can tell.

We’re a week away from the finish, people. Thanks for hanging in this long.

This will be sort of an odds-n-ends-type post, as I’ve spent most of the day wiped out with non-sickness. I say “non” because it seems unable to organize itself into a full-fledged sickness. For the past week or so, it’s either been a sick headache, body aches, sneezing, sniffles, a sore throat, or some combination of two or so of the above.

I cleaned house while Moulin Rouge! played in the background today. I’d forgotten the whole line about “thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love.” Oh, heart! Glad I didn’t watch it a few weeks ago. It made me remember my undergrad self and how, though that movie hadn’t come out yet, that very concept was something my friends associated with me–a fierce, uncompromising romanticism. That’s what I’ve always loved about that movie since–how over-the-top and un-ironic it is about freedom, beauty, truth, and love. Maybe I’ll rediscover the 19-year-old in me who was, too.

Not anytime soon. Sigh.

Well, anyway.

Tomorrow, we have a planning day at school, then I’m OFF for the rest of the week. I need this SO much. I left my chi’ren on a good note Thursday, but I definitely needed not to see them for a while. Still planning and hoping and dreaming on that front…

I got to spend Friday evening and most of Saturday with the fam. I know I talk about the bug WAY too much, but I cannot overemphasize how absurdly cute she is. I’ve always loved babies, even if they have scared me at times. I’ve always adored my friends’ children and declared them my own “nieces” and “nephews.” This little one, though–I never knew what it would be like to absolutely fall in love with the child of my sister. I could kiss her for hours. Very few things inspire me to put down my MacBook, but Marley is one of them .

I’m thinking lots of things, actually. Nothing I can adequately express here. I’m finding myself empathizing with people I never thought I could, and entertaining thoughts I never knew I would. I don’t know if it’s my stretching and growing, or if I’m on my way to derailing, honestly. Maybe something in-between? Let’s hope.

Have a good week. My best.

Since I’m full of carbohydrates and I have the time this afternoon, I decided to do this groovy meme JQP shared today. The directions are as follows:

Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr’s search. Using only the images that appear on the first page, choose your favorite and copy and paste each of the URLs into the Mosaic Maker (3 columns, 4 rows)… Enjoy!

1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food?
3. What high school did you attend?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. Favorite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favorite dessert?
9. What do you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. One word to describe you?
12. Your Flickr name?

Edit: It was too huge to embed. Click here.

Unlike Jane, though, I’m not going to provide you with the answers to my questions. You can guess if you want. Oh, except for the last one–I cheated it a bit and used my old handle instead of the standard “hollywynne” I’ve been switching to on various sites of late.

Note: Unfortunately, I somehow clicked out of the mosaic maker before copying and pasting the photo credits. I’m so not going to have a conscience after doing all that copying and pasting to create the thing, though. Sorry.

In November of my fourth grade year, there was a major to-do surrounding the 25th anniversary of the assassination of John F. Kennedy. As I recall, there were documentaries and TV specials and all kinds of recreations of the event.

This, of course, was the first my nine-year-old self had heard of it. This, of course, is to what I attribute my subsequent fascination with conspiracy, the darker aspects of society, and the macabre.

I had a friend–Niki, who moved away that year and was never heard from again (hmmm…)–who became just as obsessed as I was. During library time, we’d look at all the JFK books we could find. We’d scour the pictures to see if we could discover any overlooked “evidence.”

I would eventually move on to the Lincoln assassination, the RFK assassination, the Martin Luther King assassination, and then Jack the Ripper, Lizzie Borden, the Black Dahlia, and so on. I don’t know why. It’s not pleasant–there’s just something about the lingering mystery surrounding such horrifying acts…it genuinely intrigues me.

Anyway, now that you know I’m a sicko, I’ll move on to what I’d originally intended to say: I’m sitting here, in my PJs, surrounded by family (we’re celebrating Thanksgiving with my sister, her husband, and Marley early) on the 45th anniversary of the JFK assassination…where’s my documentary?

I don’t have cable at my apartment, but my parents’ gazillion channels are pretty much useless under such circumstances. I made my dad flip through the channel guide, but it was for naught. Does no one care anymore? Is there no obscure Oswald ex-girlfriend to interview? No leaks from the Warren Commission? No new digital recreation from the perspective of the side-of-the-road sewer grate?

The humanity.

I’m not trying to make light, I’m really not. I respect the Kennedys and my heart has always gone out to them–they’ve been through the unspeakable so many times. In fact, my own obsession aside, that’s kind of part of my indignation–seriously, does no one care? I know it’s not the most pressing issue at hand, and it’s not like much new light could really be shed on it, but…I don’t know. Maybe I just want to see the Zapruder film for the 12,956th time.

Oh, here we go: AMC is playing JFK tonight. Of course, I’ll be back in my apartment with nothing but rabbit ears by then. At least someone has their priorities straight.