becoming infinite

always learning. always growing. always lifting heavy things.

it’s okay.

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i teach in a classroom whose clock has been broken for about six months. because of this, i keep my cell out (since i don’t wear a watch) so that i can keep track of time.

at about 5:30 this afternoon – smack in the middle of the 5pm written theory class i teach – i saw my phone light up on the desk. missed call and voicemail. from my uncle.

immediate panic set in. “it’s grandma, it’s grandma, something happened to grandma and i didn’t write to her yet this week something happened i know it.”

finding out about my mom’s death via phone call has scarred me indefinitely. every time a family member calls me – with the exception of my dad, since he calls pretty regularly – i immediate assumption is that something has gone horribly wrong.

after the classroom cleared out, i checked my voicemail. my battery was about to die so i punched in my security code as quickly as i could, praying the phone would stay on long enough for me to hear the message.

“hey jenn! i was on my way home and was thinking about ya. just thought i’d call and see how your semester’s going so far. talk to you soon.”

i hung up the phone and stood, doubled over and eyes closed. “it’s okay,” i whispered to myself. “it’s okay.” i start to pack up my things, erase the whiteboard. “it’s okay. it’s okay.” put on my scarf, my coat, my gloves. “it’s okay.” as i walk out of the room, i hit the lights and lock the door behind me. “it’s okay.”

“it’s okay.”


Author: jenn

impossible to define; indefinitely impossible. maybe i'll add more here later.

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