Immo: What does 'piano' mean?
Justin: It means soft and naiive....what does naiive mean?
Immo: It means...hm...it means you don't know what you're talking about, and that applies right now.

True experiences at a sauna, also known as a NYC public school graduation:

"Miss...Miss Amorino? What's your name again?"

"Miss Immordino."

"Miss Immordino, I need to wipe my nose. Do you have a tissue?"

"No. Unfortunately you're going to have to use your sleeve."

***
"OW! That hurts!" (in response to being poked with the pin originally holding a flower to a certain little girl's shirt)

"It doesn't hurt, it just stings." (antagonist)

"Hey, don't poke her with the pin. That's not what it's for." (moi)

"It just stings!" (antagonist)

"Well, stinging happens to be a level of pain. If you must poke someone, poke yourself." (on second thought, maybe I should've rephrased...)

It occurred to me that I probably ought to take the opportunity to thank my Heavenly Father. I've been thinking over my journey these last three years, and He has brought me through much. To consider only last year about this time--I was broken up over the loss of my dearly loved pet-friend in addition to my uncle, employment hardships, and the list just kept piling up. My church family would sigh when I would mention new prayer requests. What a year. And the year before that, I was trying to figure out where I belonged post-college degree, and here I am two years later, totally in love with the kids with whom I work (I teach them that Leotard Mozart doesn't exist). And then if I go three years back, my heart was stomped on by a boy, and I thought I'd experienced irreparable damage. Dear Father, you have brought be through so much, and I know so much joy in my life right now. Lots of fatigue also, but hey, whaddya gonna do? Things worthwhile tend to drain the energy pool.

Thank You Father for not walking out on me when I regress back into five-year-old whining sessions (which I am trying to work on), or can't seem to get past life disturbances. You stick it out, and for what? You don't get anything outrageously worthwhile from it. But somehow you love this 24-year-old, going-on-six.

It is interesting how being way too busy is affecting me. I am more irritable when I drive (oh wait, maybe that's because I haven't left enough time and then want everyone ELSE to hurry up), I am becoming people-starved (imagine that when my profession revolves around teaching what? Humans.), and most of all, I've noticed that my mind is lacking purity. To be more specific, I curse at people in my head while driving (again with the road rage), curse at myself for making stupid mistakes...Yuck. I don't like it.

I'm anxious for this to stop. Fortunately, the ample commuting out-of-state will cease at the end of June. Meanwhile if you happen to read this, please pray that I do a better job of making it through.

I got out of my car in Brooklyn just as a group of teen guys were passing by. As I was walking toward the school where I teach, I heard them taunting me behind my back saying, "Hey saggy, saggy dumplins!" As I held in my laughter, I wracked my brain at what they could possibly be referring to. I knew my butt wasn't hanging out, and my pants weren't THAT loose...perhaps they're looser than the ones they are accustomed to seeing on females, but not enough to declare them saggy...AH! The shirt. Yes, they are used to seeing skin tight ones on their peers, and mine was...well, not skin tight. Feel free to examine exhibit A below:

Thus the origination of my new street name, Saggy Dumplins. Word to yo mothah.

On a more serious note, I am consistently baffled by this culture which seems to thrive on cutting each other down. Walking up to the school door, I heard a variety of taunts, people saying, "Where'd you get your hair done, on the street?!" Ironic statement, considering these kids pride themselves on being ghetto. It's a never-ending cyle of If I'm miserable, I want to make you the same way. Even the human struggle for equality is twisted.

God blessed me with a superb immune system (perhaps to compliment to faulty digestive tract?), but it so happens that it met its match over the weekend. I think I'm usually a good sport of being sick, but sheesh, after church on Sunday I was transformed into a whimpering child. Pretty pathetic.

The worst part of it is when one has to keep themselves entertained during the time they must take to recooperate. At first I thought it might be a nice to relax, but by the end of yeterday I was about to jump out of my skin from boredom. Fortunately my epidermis remains entact, and I am feeling better as well.