Yes please

My first thought was to say, "Please, can I be?" Some days all I really want is a padded room where I am left alone with my thoughts and a choice of only doing basics required for survival. Then I get out of bed, head out the door and drive to an institution where I have no control but a responsibility that scares me.

An institution can be many things to people. It is like asking who you are. In my short years to this point I have, and continue to be, many people. Diana the daughter, wife, daughter in law, mother, aunt, niece, cousin, sister, sister in lkaw, mother in law, and soon to be a grandmother. So am I just one person? Perhaps I have multiple personalities for which there is no treatment. There also the student, friend, confidante, teacher, nurse, cook, and chief bottlewasher. With all these alter egos residing within, I am entitled to believe that I require a situation where I have control over myself and nothing is required of me except that I continue to exist.

Make a corner in my mind where I can go to hide.

Maybe that is what my reading was all about for so long. A way to escape from the outside. No meanness, no requirements except to read and relax. Introduced to writing, although I can not spend as long as I would like to on it, it is yet anothedr form of institution. A place within myself that is secret and no one can get in or know what happens here unless I put words out there to be read by all. So what will those few think now? A goofball, or normal? Nah, never normal. OOPS! ShHH! The sirens approach. Men in white coats stand at the ready. Red brake lights flash, and wheels spin slower, a driver peers around looking for a place to stop. Hide. The doors at the back open and a light from within shines out. Shrink into myself.

The cashier talks about somthing that happens every night. An institution of their own that I am a witness too but little to go on that permits me to be a part of it.

Across the road stands an institution as old as man. A place where the accused go to prove their worth before having a decision on the next institution to which they may remain as unknowns and forgotten. Or infamy may give them yet more forms of institution.

OK, I have said that word one too many times. What are synonyms, without being detrimental and punishing? None come to mind. I think school, jail, hospital, house, mind. Mind might be the only one that has no negative connotation.

Who else will write tonight? Donna and Vicki are here. I miss the rest of the group. I will meet a new group in January when I take another class. ALong with teaching I must be mad.

There is a chill in here. Air is on overtime. Must be hot in the kitchen. At least there is plenty of fresh, hot coffee.

I started a series of short notes to my son and his new wife. I want to creat a diary type thing that will continue during a pregnancy for which he will be in Iraq, and give it as a gift. Is this possible? How should I go abolut creating such a thing? I started jotting notes, thoughts really and reactions to being a new mother in law and a welcome to the baby growing. Private thoughts that I do not want to keep hidden. A year of being in the family, not meeting us till after the wedding and pregnancy begins, Teagan (daughter in law) is afraid of what awaits her. I want her to get to know us and then be able to read how we welcomed her from the start.

Maybe this is a lofty dream. One I want to attempt.

Way institutionalized

The longer I live in Valdosta the more I am convinced that I have been institutionalized, except no one has told me yet. Picture in your mind the looniest looney bin ever in existence and top it with unbelievably hot and humid summers and you have Valdosta.

I don't know exactly when the feeling came over me but I've come to realize that I don't like living here; Valdosta and just about everything about it drives me crazy. My first inkling that I wasn't going to like this place was when I was five years old, living in Illinois, and my father announced that we were moving to Valdosta. My response was to get sick to my stomach. Sure we were an Air Force family but this had been my home all my life! Where the hell is Valdosta anyway and why should I be excited about the change? With a shaky beginning like that, this town has had an uphill battle trying to win me over. And it never succeeded.

Elementary school was no improvement. There I was a "yankee," dismissed to the sidelines, hopelessly condemned to a life of looking in from the outside. That is not anyway to endear a newcomer. Not that it ever seemed to bother the spawn of the local aristocracy—throwbacks to the pre-Civil War era (or the war of northern aggression as the natives like to refer to that nasty business). Don't for a second think that mentality had fallen by the wayside either. But honestly folks, get a life; the South isn't going to rise again and all that confederate currency is never going to be worth more than the paper it was printed on...except possibly to a collector. This is where I say, "Bang head here."

Yes, this place has driven me to the point of madness. The trouble is some people would say that it was a short trip. I have a gun and I'm looking for a tower. There's one across the street in the courthouse. I think they used to use it to hang people, but I could be mistaken. Of course the building I'm in is one of the taller one's in town and the old hotel is just a block away. Not to worry though, this is south Georgia—everybody's got a gun or knows someone who does. That reminds me of the saying on the back of our t-shirts, "I want to dance in the streets with a gun." Yeah that's the ticket.

Donna just got a yummy looking slice of Misssissippi mud pie. It looks delish! I had mango cheesecake, but I need to feed my choco addiction. I just took a long, leisurely sip of a freshly brewed cup of coffee and it made my senses come alive. I guess it's the little pleasures like fresh coffee, chocolate desserts and good friends that keeps me on this side of insanity and makes life a little bit better.

Institutionalize Me!

Institutionalize me now! It's been a crazy semester, not so much from teaching but from all the committee work, conferences, writing retreats, and yes, the grading and responding. The responding and grading are the only parts of teaching that overwhelm me. As my husband reminds me on a regular basis, I wouldn't have as much responding to do if I didn't assign so much writing. My students agree with him.

I long for a straightjacket, one that holds my arms still and prevents me from writing and responding. I desire institutionalization right now, a place free of distractions, a place free from choices, a place free of demands on my time.

Actually, institutionalization would drive me crazy as would the other inmates/residents/ whatever the right word is. I need space, lots of space and time alone, free from other people. I border on antisocial, sometimes seeing people as obstacles to my quiet time, to my alone time. Great, now people who read this post will think I resent talking to them. That's not it. I like my friends, my colleagues, my acquaintances, my students. I just need to balance that time with alone time, with solitude.

I like quiet. That makes me somewhat of an anamoly (is that spelled right?) nowadays. A friend of mine grades with the television on. I can't do that. I need quiet to focus on the words on the page. I can't respond to papers with music on, with the television on, with any distractions.

Here's the weird part, though. I need distractions to sleep. I don't like it perfectly quiet for sleeping. I need white noise--a fan, a noisemaker, something to drown out creaks and house-settling noises.

Institutionalization sounded like a cooler topic than it has actually turned out to be. It functions more as a punchline than a writing prompt. Oh well, live and learn. I'll enjoy reading what others write; plus, this post will count as one of my four entries for the week.

What else, then, do I want to write? I don't know. I could make a list of people I think need to be institutionalized, starting with the guy burping at the counter. He walks toward his girlfriend; she's looking back at him, and he's burping. Hmmm.

My fingers slow as I glance around Hildegard's, wondering what to write. Diana still wears her teacher clothes as do I and perhaps Vicki as well. Another couple enters, and I look up, watching them as they approach the counter. I hope they're not ordering any dessert. I need to ensure that the dessert I want will still be there when I finish typing. Chocolate is a priority for me.

Earlier, I was sitting on the couch when Vicki went to the counter to order. I overheard "chocolate" and "mousse" and darted toward her, needing to participate in that conversation. Even though I had already ordered a sandwich, there were clearly better food options that I hadn't considered. I decided to consider them after my sandwich, holding them out as the carrot to encourage myself to write. Speaking of carrots, isn't that a stupid idea for an incentive? A carrot would make me run the opposite way. Chocolate, please, and I'll follow you anywhere.

A Hildegard's employee mops between us and the coffee containers. Oh no, I thought I needed more coffee, but I don't want to mess up her clean floor. I wish my floor were clean. I wish my house were clean. I want a maid, someone who comes in, cleans my house daily, cooks meals, does laundry, irons clothes (ooh, irons clothes--wouldn't that be nice?). Instead, I have me, the person who hates to clean, likes cooking if someone else will go to the grocery store and if I have a good, easy recipe to follow. I need a better me, but I don't see that happening either.

I can write. I can teach. I can love my friends and family. That will have to be enough for now. The only institution I'll join for now is my university.

Topic: Institutionalized

Okay, here's the topic for tonight: Institutionalized. Write away. If you handwrite in response, please post your best lines, and we'll include a few in the next newsletter.