That's because in the last month, I have:
- moved back into my grandma's house from my parents'
- turned thirty
- received a visit from the Hubs
- finally won a callback for a job interview
- been called and interviewed for then offered another job the day before that interview
- accepted the job and started the next day as Kramer Middle School's new seventh grade social studies teacher
- given up on my PhD(?)
- struggled with my husband's decision not to evacuate for Hurricane Isaac
- watched a relative take most of the furniture from my grandmother's living room, where I grew up
- staged a counter-attack my body's fight against its new sleep and work schedule
- been signed in to the DAR
- fought with my husband incessantly about him returning to D.C.
- received a salary offer that's $10,000 too low
- ignored a thirteen year old's question "Why are you dressed like a fucking whore?"
- pre-qualified for a mortgage loan
- realized that my hair is falling out - literally in handfuls
So I've been busy. I promise to do a better job of writing, and going places/doing things to write about. Because I can't be captive to the classroom. Or my soulless, empty living room. Or my husband's phone calls.
I can't be.