A few years ago, I had a radical meeting with Jesus which ended in a marriage proposal. It was achingly beautiful, and wholly moving. I could not resist the tug on my heart or the meaning of His words whispered into the depths of my spirit. "Be my bride my beloved, I will love you no matter what." I said yes of course, tears flowing down my face. I was in complete disbelief, but from the deepest part of my soul, I wanted what He offered. The next day I woke up, looked down at my ring, and realized wow, that really happened! Now I’m married!
( a little short, so it's still in the process of stretching)
It's cold. It's November and summer's stay was a painfully wonderful memory by now. At least she had the decency to come with her pitiful sweepers.
Let me explain Agnes Allotte to you. She's just under five feet tall, has wide gold-brown eyes and hair so pale it's white. It's not blonde. I refuse to call it that. It's like snow.
What is Agnes Allotte but a common person with, granted, a strange name? Someone who gets her way, no doubt. Because why else would we all be here, all of us who have respectable occupations and interests that normal people have?
No. I am not normal. The moment I was dragged into her group of eccentrics, I became a class-A freak. Why me?
I'm not wierd. I'm of normal height, weight and not too ugly. Plain is what I am. Sensible, honest, plain-old Ian. And I like that. Whatever seems to be the matter with being boring? Why is it so unforgivable here?
Written a couple of years ago... I don't know the exact date. I might have been 15 or 16.
My concerns about my position being 'too idyllic' dissipated to more appropriate proportions once I had been introduced to the students who would be under my tutelage. There were nine of them, all eleven-year-old girls, and most of them proved to be perfect darlings.
I awoke an hour earlier than necessary the next morning, and my nerves prevented me going back to sleep even for a few minutes, so I rose and began getting myself ready. The wardrobe was my first order of business. I had thought out a dozen possible outfits while lying awake the night before, but still had not managed to decide on one that merited the occasion.
I have many a subject,
Sometimes I will in vain reject,
The things that they bring up,
Until their time is up.
My first subject is very big,
But not big enough to be a pig.
To give him sensations,
Just give him equations!
Yes, this little man loves math,
One million answers and over he hath.
He won’t even stop for a snack,
When he’s in his answering shack!
My next subject I like,
If he hears “reading” he’s up like a spike!
He doesn’t appreciate reading that’s bad,
Instead it’s to him very sad.
It was a tall, thin room. There was one skinny window that stretched up to the ceiling. The walls were close - only about 4 feet apart - and they grappled up at the flourescent lights earnestly, like they were trying to get out. The carpet was that blue, confetti-patterened kind. It was stained by who knows what.
They had informed me that the door locked automatically.