So many choices.

What to do today?
Play my mandolin?
Read Harry Potter?
Watch a movie on one of the 100 movie channels we have?
Dance around the house in my bra and shorts to the Dixie Chicks or maybe the Rolling Stones?
Wash my dogs?
Hit some notes on the piano?
Eat lunch?
I've cleaned the kitchen up from last night and this morning's egg-salad bagelwich I made for breakfast. I've swept the porch, which reminded to water those plants. Which now hosts the nests of two different bird families I believe. I went to the garden and picked approximately 15 red ripe tomatoes and made a bouquet of those funky zenias. That's really all I have done today. I guess I will now wash up those stinky pups. I could definitely benefit from that.

I just feel like writing

I am just going to write like my drama teacher taught us how. If you are stuck you just write nonsense or whatever pops into your mind. You never let the pencil leave the paper, or in this case I guess you never let your fingers rest from typing. Sometimes crazy ideas come out of nonsensical things and ideas spring forth that turn out to be masterpieces, or that is the idea of it anyway. I always really enjoyed my drama class. We would start out by sitting on the ground, because there were only ever a few chairs spread out in the room and on days I wore a short skirt I would always grab one up before another classmate got it. So we would all sit around, usually chatting with someone or reading or maybe sitting on your boyfriends lap and talking to him in sweet little wispers. Of course I never really did much of those things. I was the one who would get prepared for class, taking out my notebook, a sharpened pencil or favorite thin point pen and would wait until Trish would start the class. Trish was my teacher. She has long black hair with a few gray streaks set in to get lost in. She would smile at me every time she looked at me and this made me feel loved. Sometimes I would talk to her as kids would stream in, always after the tardy bell had rung, and we would just chat about yoga or a new play we were working on or the school's bluegrass band that I had the pleasure of being in. Trish was, and I'm sure still is, one of the coolest teachers a kid can have. I only ever saw her lose this cool on the rare occasion when a student would get really disrespectful, which wasn't often because Trish's coolness demanded respect and we all could sense that.

Trish wasn't the only cool thing about my high school. My whole school was like her. Calm, respectful, creative, loving, beautiful, and usually very joyous. It was my perfect home away from home. I have plenty of friends who couldn't wait to get out of high school, but the whole time I was there I knew that I would miss it. I don't long for it, I don't believe I'm the type of person to wail over the past for long, but I look back on those days with such appreciation and love. I miss the little things. Like sitting under the two trees all year round, with all my friends jammed together on one picnic table. I loved the different times of the year on that campus. During the fall, the pecan trees would drop their fruit and I would eat them with pride. Then when winter came, usually lasting only a few weeks if we were lucky, I would wear my denim jacket lined with the most comfy faux wool and I felt so chic and cool. When spring came, the flowers in the cemetery neighboring my school would bloom and we photography students would spend most of our class period outside experimenting with the new light. Summer was the fun time, with school almost out and adventures awaiting. I will never forget my ninth grade year when just about everyday around one o'clock it would start pouring. I loved the rain then and I love it now. It was magical how it rained at almost the exact same time everyday, and then a few hours later it would be bright and sunny again.
So I do miss my school. They say I can go and visit, and I have, but really it's not the same. For one thing my school moved to a different campus. It's nice, but so much of why I loved my school was because of the old campus. Sure it wasn't at all adequate for what we had grown into, but it was damn special. Also when I go to visit, I feel just like that, a visitor. It's no longer mine. Which is good. I had it once, and now it is there for the others. Other kids will get to have Trish's love smiles, and the experience of walking down the hall and greeting teachers and other students as family.
Oh me oh my. It is nice to let words flow, even if they are sometimes jumbled and would never do for an official essay. I think Trish was right. Maybe I haven't discovered a masterpiece but I did get to thinking about some joys in my life that I haven't thought about in a while. Good times, good times.