But I've only just started...

Last October, 2009, I was hired to replace a teacher who broke her contract to move to another state. I had all but decided I would never be hired, having applied for dozens of teaching positions without so much as an interview to show for my trouble. When this job came through it seemed to me a redemption of sorts; a confirmation that I was pursuing the right goal. I had wanted to be a teacher since I could remember, despite the detours that I had taken, I was now finally achieving that dream.
It was a good year - eight months. I loved my school, loved my administration, my fellow teachers. Though I had pictured myself as an elementary school teacher, I had no hesitation in accepting this job as a junior English teacher and Drama teacher. I grew to love my students and high school. It wasn't easy. I, as the new teacher, the replacement, the interloper, was rejected by most of the students, despised by a few, but eventually they came around and within a few weeks they were my students. It was my first year. I made all the rookie mistakes, but I and my students survived them. My first, second and final observation reviews were glowing.
Then in late January when the rumors of layoffs began and it seemed that the unthinkable - that the economy was catching up to education - was a reality, we all began to worry. Was I safe? It was my first year, but I felt good about it. I taught two disciplines, surely...
One day, immediately after the final bell, I was called into the Principal's office. I was reminded that as a late hire I had known (had I?) that re-contracting was not promised. I had known (really?) that this might be the case and I did remember (did I?) that this had been discussed. I left her office in a fog of disbelief. For all my efforts, for all my earnest ambition, for all the love...I would not be re-contracted.
That was February. I worked through the stages of grief. I avoided the other teachers for a while, even my friends, especially the teacher who I was sure was getting my position. Then I cried. I cried a lot. A lot. Then I realized that I had months to prove my necessity and that perhaps, something would come up, perhaps, not all was lost.
I left my first year as a teacher with glowing reviews and lots of promises that something would come up and with encouragement to be hopeful; something would come to me. I am, I am told, a good teacher.
The first few weeks of summer flew by me. I threw myself into domestic chores, spending time with my children and checking my email twelve times a day for some word from former colleagues. Now it is nearing the end of June and I haven't heard from anyone in some time. My fear of falling off the radar is growing.
So what will I do? What if I do not get another teaching job? Will my first year be my last year? What do I do with all these ideas of mine? What will I do with these lesson plans un-taught? What does one do when one is living the life of an Ex-Teacher?