I'm sick of complaining about school.

I feel like there isn't a whole lot else going on right now, though.

I don't seem to have a witty remark about things in my day any more sometimes. I think maybe I've lost my edge, like there's no more edge left to be had.

What if that is true? What if there are no more witty and thoughtful remarks left in me? What if I am destined to be an old, boring woman for the rest of my life with no spunk left in me? What if that started at the ripe old age of 24 and eight months? How did I let myself get to this point?

Will this generalize to what I can respond to? Will I cease to find humor in classics such as A Modest Proposal and South Park? How will I spend the remainder of my days? Being a literature teacher will surely have its drawbacks on this one. I will no longer be able to recognize the sarcasm in a Brautigan poem or the poignancy in a Faulkner novel or the social commentary in a Doors album. My classes will be a drag for students. I will be the teacher they warn future generations about in yearbooks and on myspace. "Don't take that Mrs. H," they'll say. "She just doesn't get it any more."

Soon, I shall spend my days searching for that which I am certain I once had. Perhaps I'll find it under the couch or at the bottom of the bread bag all covered in crumbs. While I look I will be lost in a frenzy of uncertainty and confusion. I might do things like dress like Britney Spears and go out downtown with my cooler-than-I'll-ever-be friends or maybe I'll start sleeping on benches in the library.

In a pinch, I could rip off something from the Boise Weekly writer Bingo Barnes and try to pass it off as my own. I doubt anyone would notice and I bet he wouldn't care. He could charge me royalties for writing term papers and daily scripts and I could plead temporary insanity and he could take pity on my eternal soul and lift the couch as I peer under, looking for my commentary on life. Without help, I'll probably be able to write about nothing again except my dog or the fact that I spent all day sitting on my porch or the aggrivations I have with school. But that's boring...so I'll keep searching...and searching...

When I find my commentary on life again, what will I do with it? Will I even know how it works any more? Or will it be rusted with neglect and stiff with unuse? Will it talk back to me, telling me I don't know anything and that it wants to be its own person or will it sit obstinately, refusing to budge despite my pleas and dark chocolate bribes? Will it have shrunk because of sitting still for so long? Or will it have grown on its own, without my help or awareness?

*sigh*

So much to consider. In the meantime, I'm ready for school to be out and my dog is really cool. I would spend more time outside, but I have a mess of work to do at my desk and it's too cold outside still to really enjoy myself. Soon, I'll be on my stomach in the living room, though, peering under all the furniture.