esther's journal-4

SATURDAY, September 16: I think you would like my school. I say, “my,” because I have assumed some ownership – or taken it. I was thinking about that, it, the school, about how people feel about boarding schools, when I looked out the window, this morning. No sure why, exactly. I don’t need any sort of affirmation; I don’t think the school does, either. But it is nice to be respected and maybe even admired, and I think we would be. There are schools out there that are real meat-grinders. You know the names. But not “The Win.” I like to think we have a soul, here, somehow – it has a soul, somehow. Anyway, I’m not going to bore you with details or try to make any sort of case. Just keep that in mind.

The other thing on my mind this morning was my body. I actually posed in front of the mirror for a few seconds and took inventory. I’m 59, remember, but even given that, I think I looked pretty hot. Before my “health issue,” I exercised every day, an hour a day. Since then, not so much. I think I finally decided that I was going to just enjoy myself. Yes, the exercise was painful, driven by my self-image. So, I just sort of said, “Fuck it!” Anyway, the body was ok. Legs – check. Hips – check. Boobs – check, honest. And all the other parts, too. Anyway, it put me in a good mood. Yes, I was standing in front of a “good’ mirror, not like the one at the Holiday Inn when I went to a teachers’ conference, last May. Bad mirrors. You know the kind. Not those. A kind one.

Spent much of the evening with my good friend Mollie. She’s a therapist, in town. She’s happy I’m writing this journal. I told her I’m hating it, but I’m not, really. I kind of like it, in an odd way. Or maybe it’s not so odd.