I Hate Tests — I Mean, I Really Hate Tests

I have a policy in my English class, one designed to keep students from failing. No one has to fail my class; no one has to make less than an A unless he or she wants to. If a student doesn’t like his or her score on anything, they are free to re-do it. Especially tests. I offer tests in multiple formats. I offer second chances. Third chances. However many times it takes for a student to master the material.

I’ve been thinking about tests lately. Life seems to always be giving us tests or opportunities to learn life lessons. And the old saying goes, that life will continue to give you the same test until you get the lesson you’re supposed to get. And maybe you’ll get the test in multiple formats as well.

I hate taking tests. And it seems to be showing. I have a feeling life keeps presenting me with the opportunity to learn a very important lesson: people make time for those things that are precious to them or those things that hold value for them. As soon as I think I’ve got it, I feel like I’m back in another position to learn the lesson all over again.

Today, I was talking with a co-worker about how tired I am lately. I’m literally drunk with exhaustion some days. And the sad thing about it is that on those days I don’t have time for writing or reading. And, so, on top of feeling drained, I’m incredibly disappointed that I’m not finding time for the thing that really matters to me, my true passion. During our discussion, my co-worker tried to comfort me by telling me that there’s no way I’ll lose my talent and that I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. But, the truth of the matter is this, people lose things and people all the time because they don’t treat them like they are important. Time lost cannot be re-couped. And some opportunities once lost, well, they’re completely lost.

It seems my last couple of posts have been lamentations about the lack of time I have for my writing. Mostly because I’m teaching two college courses in addition to my high school classes. Frankly, I’m spreading myself way too thin and I know it. I just don’t want to be one of “those” people. You know, those people who are afraid to live their life the way they want. Those people who put off living the life they want today because they believe there will always be time tomorrow. Sometimes there is no tomorrow.

I read a quote today that said, “Sometimes the smallest step in the right direction ends up being the biggest step of your life. Tip toe if you must, but take that step.” So, I gave myself permission to take a short nap when I came home this evening, but then I forced myself to get up and write. My small step to send the universe the message that this is my passion, this is the thing that makes my heart skip a beat, this is the thing that gets my blood boiling. To get my creative juices flowing, I pulled out a poem I started earlier and worked on it. It’s nowhere near where I want to go with it. The poem, like me, is a work in progress.

As a young girl I would walk
along thin rails of abandoned
tracks near my home –the
loud blare ringing in my ears
trying to assure me, eventually
I’d know home. One day
the loud blare didn’t make a
sound & the days weren’t the
same. I stopped in the middle of
the road longing to hear the
metallic scream, a reminder
it was near. Silence was all
that came to me. A deep
fog of silence let me know
I was all alone.

It’s a dangerous thing to
try & fill empty silence with
the noise of screams cuz
screams reverberate in emptiness
and fall on deaf ears. I can’t
stop the memory of the screams
from keeping me up at night
so I sit in my home, still alone,
enveloped in a shroud of
darkness, listening for the
shrill screams. I want to
tell her to relax—make her
know that if she doesn’t resist
it’ll be all over soon.

The only problem I see is
I don’t know if she’s
screaming in my head or
if it’s all happening in my
dreams. Is it the girl next
door who’s screaming or
is the girl screaming really me?

And now, with my creative juices flowing I’m going to do some more work on a short story I’ve been working on for a while. It’s a story I’m very excited about and that I’d like to submit to some college journals and a few short story contests. Off to take my small step for the day….hope you’ll do the same.

Peace & Love,
Rosalind

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About Rosalind Guy

I'm broken & my soul is weary/ my weary soul rebels, fights/ anything & anyone who tries to heal me/I beat my head against a wall of memories/ trying hard to break free from the chain of memories/ I can only be free by saying it so/ i weave a necklace from words and finally/ I find freedom/ free free free. As you can see, words are powerful to me. As Maya Angelou said, words are wallpaper of the soul. I have lots of nightmarish memories that threaten to break me, but I learned a long time ago about the power of words. They can be used to heal and destroy anything that threatens to destroy the person. Words coupled with love have the power to save and heal. I am author of three books: Skinny Dipping in the Pool of Womanhood, Tattered Butterfly Wings, and Blues of a Love Junkie. I am a high school English teacher. I am a former reporter. I am a mother. I am a woman. I am a fierce advocate for those who cannot speak for themselves, those who's voices go unheard. Check out my Amazon author page at the following link: http://www.amazon.com/Rosalind-Guy/e/B00BGH5F88/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1432491754&sr=8-1.
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