When I want to blog, I can't

The past couple weeks have been hectic. And I got a gazillion ideas for new posts during that time. I never was able to blog about what I wanted to blog about. Instead, I'm blogging about this:

The fact that when my life starts getting interesting, I don't have time to blog about it. When my life was boring, I had all the time in the world to blog, but I didn't know what to blog about. I don't even know why people blog, or why I started blogging in the first place.

Right now I want to blog but I'm just to tired to arrange my thoughts in meaningful sentences. I'm just going to type randomly. Unorganized and messy.

I like my new friends at work. They make me laugh. I am not on good terms with my mother and that is making me sad. I am going on a very interesting trip. The trip is about self discovery. I didn't come back yet but I'm enjoying every minute. I am listening to the song "You fill up my senses" as I type this. A fly flew into my shay belaban cup and died in there just now and I'm so glad it died because it was buzzing around me for the past half our. Flies make me angry. I am proud of myself because I had a problem and I was freaking out about it, but then I got my act together and actually got it solved (for the time being). I've been neglecting a few of my friends and I need to make it up for them. My best friend is seeing a guy that she calls "el taweel" because he's very tall... obviously...I think that's funny. I love my new crazy busy life but I'm missing myself when I had time to chill. I have a bunch of books that I wanna read and a bunch of movies that I wanna watch and a bunch of things that I wanna buy.

I actually took the car out alone a couple days ago.

I had to write that in a sentence on it's own because I'm so proud of me doing that. You know what, that fly that just died in my cup just got up again and started buzzing. Man, I hate flies. I'm very scared of failing. I'm also very scared of losing it. But I have an amazing person to back me up and I love what's going on with my life just now. I'm loving the roller coasters and the fatigue and the laughter and the tears and the entertainment and the midnight snacks. I think I'm sixteen again. The year 2009 was different. The year 2008 was sad. The year 2007 was lonely. The year 2006 was not me. They year 2005 was all about fear. The year 2004 was when I graduated, and the year 1982 was when I was born. The year 2010 is coming soon and I'm not going to worry about it. Because all the previous years happened and I'm still here. I'm still alive and I still know that I'm going to be okay.

Don't ask for explanations because I won't be providing them. Just read this and feel what your heart wants you to feel.

I wish I had my Sketchpad

People never cease to fascinate me. Observing them has always been a hobby of mine. I remember, I'd sit on the college stairs with my friend, and just observe every person that goes by. We'd check out the way they talk, walk, dress and act. We'd do that for hours.

We were sometimes assigned certain projects at college. One of them would be to go sit at a local crowded cafe, and take a hundred sketches of different people. Of course a sketch should take no longer than a minute, because if you take longer than that to draw an unsuspecting person, your subject tends to change position before you have a chance to finish your sketch. The result would be a series of incomplete scribbles in the shapes of random human figures. But the good side of it is this: it teaches you to be more observant. It teaches you how to grasp the one thing that makes a person special. The sketches would be very brief, yes. But they would also be very striking. The personality of the subject would just jump out of the page at you. It could be the way they tied their scarf around their neck. Or the way the stood for less than a minute, you catching that moment so quickly on paper. It could be a sketch of a person bending over to tie their shoes, or that of a mother holding a little kid's hand while they wait to cross the street. Sometimes what makes a person special is the shape of their glasses. Sometimes its the enormously high pony tail swinging behind a girl's head.

If you're lucky however, you would manage to find a subject that rarely moved. It could be that of a person reading a book, or an old man that would just be sitting on a bus stop for hours, or a tired little girl who fell asleep in her chair at a restaurant. When you get lucky, your sketches are no longer just a moment caught on paper. You have more time to fill in more details. It turns into a painting. However, If you get that chance, you should always be prepared. An artist should always be ready, because these moments happen once in a lifetime.

I've been sitting at a coffee place for hours now. There were a lot of moments to catch, but I didn't have my sketchpad.

Teachers are mean.

Today was my first "official" school day. I had different plans for that day, but apparently, with these things, you can never be sure. My day started out bad when the bus driver forgot to pick me up and I had to show up forty-five minutes late for class. I texted my supervisor to find me a substitute because I couldn't make it.

My problem did not end here, in fact, this was the beginning of a very eventful day. I tried to brush the bus incident off and forced my face to smile. Eventually, I got sucked into work and forgot about it all.

Break duty was assigned to me on Sundays. "Beside the Glass Door" was the location. I asked my teacher friends what I was supposed to do, and they told me not to let anyone come back in, once they go out, until the bell rings. So, thinking that this would be easy. I headed for the glass door.

Standing guard, no one was allowed to pass by me. I kept a straight face. Tried to look scary.

Random children started running up to me.

"Miss, I forgot my sandwich, can I go get it?"

"Nope, Sorry"

"Please, miss" (Puppy eyes)

"No."

That was the most heartbreaking thing I had to do today, imagine a cute six year old girl in pigtails and huge brown eyes. Yes, torture.

Other kids came over:

"Miss, can I go put this in my bag?"

"Miss, I forgot my money, can I go get it?"

"Miss, can I go to the nurse, my tummy hurts"

It was becoming more and more difficult not letting the kids through, I looked at the watch, ten more minutes of torture to go.

"Miss, can you please open this for me" (Fruit juice can)

"Yes"

(Thank god, something I actually was allowed to do).

Once tiny girl actually managed to quickly maneuver her way back inside. I ran after her, grabbed her by the arm and got her back outside. As much as I feel sorry for them, I hate it when they think they can make a fool out of me.

I was beginning to consider letting some of the younger kids through. They looked like they desperately needed to use the rest room. I questioned the school rules. What's the point of break time if you can't use the rest room? One girl came to me with her legs tightly squeezed together and asked to go to the restroom. The bell that announces the end of break time rang, and I was spared the answer.

A few minutes later I had a class to go to, I grabbed my things and entered the class. It was right after the German class.

"The German Teacher"

(I'll blog about her someday, when I gather more information).

The German teacher yells, keeps a stern look on her face, is always prepared, but her class is still never in order. The last time the kids had German, there were tissues all over the floor, the trays were knocked over, and the colors were scattered everywhere.

So this was the condition my class was in. I decided to go back to the "Classroom Rules Chart" and explained it again. This time, however, I didn't do it in a fun, sweet, manner. No. I did metamorphosis, and changed into a troll. The children stared back at me in horror. But my point was through. I gave them sixty seconds to clean up the mess. The class was clean in forty. They were back at their desks, and I changed back into me again.

I began Math class, and I wanted to make learning fun for them. I explained the lesson, split them into teams, and then introduced a game. I spent so much time focused with them on playing the game, I forgot to give out classwork. There lies my first mistake.

When I left the class, I remembered I forgot to assign the homework. There lies my second mistake.

A couple hours later, I managed to mess up several other things. The bus incident started to look amusing. I started to panic. School was out and I forgot to do a lot of stuff. Sheets were missing, Copybooks, Parents started sending notes before the kids even got home. I stopped counting the mistakes.

Conclusion is this: I had a crappy day at work. But I had a fun time with the kids.

This is Going to be a Special Post.

Doesn't expect to read anything out of the ordinary. I don't have to explain why this is going to be a special post. Because feeling special differs from one person to the next. What you might see as ordinary, I could see as special.

I'm having one of the greatest weeks in a very long time. I can't remember when was the last time I felt so happy. My life has finally taken a different turn. My Ramadan prayers have been answered.

I will now just thoroughly enjoy the blessing that Allah has given me. I will savor every moment. I'm going to let my emotions flood over my soul, washing it. I am the curly headed sixteen year old again.

This last week, my cheeks have become more flushed and my smiles were seen more often. I discovered a new thing about myself. The pieces of the puzzle fit together perfectly. My life made sense. I combined all the horrible experiences of my life. The result was not one giant pile of shit. No, it was a meadow with flowers, birds and lots of laughing children running around.

Conclusion is this: Bad experiences could turn you into a horrible bitter person, or turn you into a happier being. I'm glad Allah did what He did. I'm glad I'm what I am now. I'm glad that when I feel the sunshine on my skin, I actually feel ticklish. I've turned into the happier being.