The Job of a Stranded Traveler

There is nothing quite like the moment of time which just passed by. You cannot retrieve it again except from the realm of memory to observe and then place back in its store in history's vault. Time completed is passed. It is gone. Lost, in a sense, and found in another. Unlike the computer, who retrieves past and edits and resaves, time is not the same. Time cannot be edited except by belief. We can, of course change HOW we see history, but not what was actually there. What was, is what was, past, done and was.
The last year has been multiple chunks of small pieces of time stuck together in a year's long, lengthy version of past. And my past this year, was intense.

NEVER would I have guessed that I would feel so stranded as I did for the first 8 months home. Job applications, friend meet-ups, boys, books, pictures, memory, thoughts and breath were the fillings of the mind for those 8 months home. I thought about everything that crossed my mind ten times longer then the average person makes time for, and arrived at no decided conclusion because there was remaining time to continue thinking.

Being jobless is not an easy job at all. There are more hours spent in aggravation in a poor job market then in any productive functioning. Applications are now my enemy. The hardest thing was that I didn't want the jobs I was applying for until this job surfaced. The others were merely jobs. This one was a purpose.

Teaching grade three brings a whole new dimension to being stranded in Oregon: lives. I am no longer living and surviving, but living to inspire others. If only inspiring others were more simple...

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