Whether vain

Despite my dislike of yard work, spring is good for my soul. I spent my last day of break outside. I finished removing last summer's rust from my daughter's little wagon, leaving a coat of red Rustoleum gleaming in the sun.

I found the local hippie hangout, The Bourgeois Pig, ordered a Boulevard Stout, and set about organizing my lesson objectives for my last two months of teaching.

I can't help but be a bit melancholy about that. I feel I am leaving a job unfinished. But that's the nature of it. Teaching is static. A new class, the same topics. Rinse. Repeat. I see the upcoming months full of work and chaos and am finding comfort i the little task of chemistry teaching.

I had placed a lot of hope in physical therapy and epidurals. I feel cheated that I have to endure another surgery just to walk right. I want to lift bags of mulch to the garden. I want to carry my daughter into her bed when she falls asleep watching the heffalump movie. I've spent my life hating my body. And, despite how shallow it is, I'd like to be strong and handsome. I would like it if I didn't have to resent my body.

The young and good looking stroll by arm in arm, or eying an arm to arm. It's nice to watch and admire. The wind is threatening skirts and ball caps cocked crooked. It is time for a stroll to see if I can regain some feeling of foot or hope. I'd take either.