Retired

Whether I like it or not, I am now retired. Everything happened quickly, and the semester I had hoped would be a good one (Spring 2013) is now non-existent. I cannot say everything I would like to say because I had to sign an agreement, but the essence of it all is this: I was fired (forced to resign) because they accused me of threatening people both on Facebook and on this blog. Someone diligently read my blog with evil intent in mind to find any mention of violence, real or imagined, and of course, they found it. I use words to show anger and frustration, like most writers do. But as for any real violence, I can do some serious harm to cheesecake, but no human alive has anything to fear from me. I cannot shoot a gun and am terrified of them. I'd be far more likely to cut myself with a knife than I would be able to cut or stab anyone else. With my weak wrists, scarred from carpal tunnel surgery and still white-fingered from Reynaud's Syndrome, I'd be hard-pressed to bludgeon anyone. I can't hold my arms over my head long enough to roll my hair, much less enact a scene from Psycho.

Silly. Disappointing. Frustrating. Humiliating. All of that and more. It was a witch-hunt, and I was the prey. I am a victim of some nasty academic politics, and I have a choice. Lots of choices, actually. I can lick my wounds for a few months and try to get back into an academic position as an adjunct. I can try to do something different. I can retire and try to live on less money. Right now, I plan to get my house clean and organized, throwing away tons of academic stuff, selling and donating books, and just in general erasing my life as a teacher. Except for the memories. My former "colleagues" can take my job from me, but they cannot take the love and memories I have of teaching and of great students. In 25+ years, I have had many many "love letters" from students. I have wedding invitations. I have birth announcements. I have the comfort of knowing that I was not just a good teacher, but occasionally a GREAT teacher, and that will always be mine.

As soon as I can, I plan to get back into painting. We just spent a couple of weeks with my son and his wife in Fayetteville, Arkansas, at their new home. We helped paint and fix and get it ready for their move-in. I've got a painting in mind for them that will incorporate all their new room colors. The living room, kitchen, breakfast nook, dining room, and library (formal living room) are all open to each other, and all have a view of the two halls, with all colors coordinating, primarily in grays and sands and neutrals, with that shot of claret in the dining room and the peachy-orange and burnt orange colors in the kitchen/nook area, so I'm doing an impressionistic landscape using many of those colors, as well as a triptych on smaller canvases that will be more of an abstract.

I'm going to move my sewing area into my upstairs office to take advantage of the big double windows and the natural light. I doubt I'll get much into sewing clothing, but I would like to make curtains and pillows and other sorts of things. I've got some patterns for Renaissance and Tudor and Victorian-style clothing that I might make, just for fun.

Anyway, life is going on. I've cleaned out my office at school, turned in my keys, ID, and parking tag, and have all that sitting in the living room, ready to be sorted and disposed of as needed. Tomorrow I'll head to Big Rapids to begin work on my apartment. That stuff has to come home, too. Sigh. But once it is done, I will be done. No more long boring drives up to Big Rapids on Sunday afternoons. No more living apart from my husband for 3-5 days of the week. No more frozen microwave meals for days on end. Instead, I can wake up next to him every day of the week, share a pot of coffee with him, chat with him about our day's plans, and in general, act like a married couple again.

Simon the Number One cat is delighted to have me back, I can tell. He sits for hours on my lap. He escorts me to bed at night. He meets me at the foot of the stairs each morning when I get up. He is the epitome of fur therapy and love.

So despite my anger and grief, I found myself laughing out loud this morning over something silly on Facebook. I laughed until tears ran down my face, and as I was laughing, I realized it had been a hell of a long time since I had laughed like that. So life is going to be good. I'm going to be just fine. And the butt-barnacles who worked so very hard to get rid of me will have to turn their attention to their next victim. I wish karma existed, but it doesn't, so I'll have to content myself with living well. It's the best revenge of all.