Here are my confessions.�
Today, when you were grading those tests, I was just dying to take one, just for fun. Because history class, those tests, they're comforting. It takes me�back a bit, being in your class.�
It's like letting me go back, or at least relax. It's like, I can breathe there. That's where I belong, teaching. Imearsed in history, in choir. That's where I need to be, what I need to do with my life. And there, in choir, in your class, there I can stop, detox, breathe a deep breath. The sort of breath that is keeping me from colasping in a panic attack.�
Cause... (And I know you'd object to this statement, because you don't believe our governor could be wrong...) Cause my future fell apart in my hands, you know. My dreams of Madison, my dreams of eeking out a living, reveling, if not in the fruits of my burden, at least in my burden. My dreams of the basic needs of a worker. My dreams of teaching in a beautiful little public high school-�living. God, that's what I call living...�
In one flourish of pen, those dreams were, if not crushed, at least steped on. You probally think I'm a drama queen, so liberal it hurts, I bleed indago blue.�
But don't you see if the people look at those who work for the government, in my personal case, teachers, if you look at the things they say about your kind? They way they treat you?�
How can you bear it? How can you hold your head up amonst people like that?�
More importantly, what will it mean, for you, for me?
Here's something else. I loved the Great Gatsby. I keep a copy of it with me all the time. It's the beauty of those words Fitsgerld strings together, their deep meaning, their tragic messages.�
Gatsby's suposed to be Jesus, you know. "a son of God" who gives up his life for sins he didn't commit, who walks down to that pool much like Jesus walked on Good Friday.
It's such a book. Phenominal. Fantastic. So painfully beautiful that I choke on tears as I roll the words through my mind, slow, savoring it, the way you read books.�
It's like reading something that you want so much to be true, but all it is is another example of a failure at love. Another peice of evidence in my arsanal that screams "Love is not everlasting, no matter what Gatsby though diffrently!" �
And David. He's so not the man I need. Not a wrestler, or a liberal, and I swear, I desire both.�
He's also not a basketball boy or a consertive, but he is Catholic, and loves their laws as much as they love to make them.�
And me? I don't.�
My faith is so weak these days. I don't talk to God the way I should. It's like, maybe all these obstacles he's throwing at me are suposed to make me stronger, make me grow, make me closer to him.�
But all that's happening is I pray until tears roll down my cheeks, the edges of my eyes. And He says "No, No, No!" and all I hear is "I. Don't. Care"�
And it's dragging me away.�
I won't say these things to you.�
I just wanted to say them now.�
Love, Anna. �