"A Lotta Livin' to Do"

If one are a hardcore chocolate addict, which I am, one is tempted when baking chocolate chip cookies to not limit the number of chips in the batter to the stingy amount suggested by the hard-fisted recipe.  Grasping the cheefully colored bag of chips, one blithely adds just a few more, and then a few more.  If one is possessed by an adventuresome kitchen spirit, which I am, one may even blithely pour in the whole bag.  No handful of dough could taste better.  Unless of course one were to add the white chocolate chips and the mint chips, too.  Then maybe a few kinds of nuts and some sort of dried fruit like cranberries should be added.  (Not raisins--raisins kill your soul.  That little girl on the raisin box is a witch collecting the souls of raisin eaters to maintain her eternal youth.)  

The problem is that when one tries to roll out the dough it won't stick together.  There just enough of the sticky matrix of paste to hold onto that much excitement.  Like a molecule with too many electrons, the ball of dough will slough off its extra parts until it reaches a comfortable equilibrium, littering the cookie tray and the counter with nuts, berries, and chips.  

This past week has been such a cookie.  There just hasn't been enough paste of normal life functions (sleeping and eating included) to hold together the mixture of experiences.  Massive, 80+ page final projects, plays, concerts, times with friends, school dances and spelling bees, the never ending train of lessons to prepare and teach, and the quicksand of grading.  I haven't slept in the same place two nights in a row the whole week.  

But, with the exception of one last quick assignment to turn in, the university has no hold over me anymore.  I turned in my last project.  I'm not sure I can fully grasp the reality of that statement.  My last project, at least for a few years.  No more marking of time by the number of finals weeks I've survived (12).  I'm going to go home, drink a clear class of water with no additives and see if I can find a plain shortbread cookie.  Although I will still technically remain enrolled until I graduate in April, I am no longer a student.  After about 18 years of school, of marking age by year in school, of setting goals based on school, of being partially defined by school and my performance in it, I am finally free.  I'm creating a new identify.  I'm not a student, defined by my experiences as one, though they have molded my past.  I am a teacher.  I've gained a new level, reached a new stage in life, become an adult, become the enemy, whatever you would like to call it.  

I am no longer a practicing student, the religion I've espoused my entire life.  Am I lost or am I found?  I don't really know.  But from here on I will be making up my own recipes, taking my own lumps, whether they be chocolate or raisins, and washing my own dishes afterward.  

Hello world.  It's nice to finally meet you.  Let's get to know each other better, ok?