You Can't Stop What's Coming

Today has been one of the saddest, sickest, strangest days of my life. I feel as though I have stepped into the Twilight Zone - or even out of my own body. I am sitting here at 11:30 p.m. on a Friday night, with a monster headache, an upset stomach, and about enough Xanax in me to knock out a horse. Still, I am awake, tense, wired, feeling strangely hyper, full of dread and fear and horrible, horrible helplessness and failure.

I never intended for it to happen. Spring Break was a mere week ago and it lies in my memory like a soft, beautiful dream. Who was I a mere 7 days ago? What happened to me? Is this a nervous breakdown? A midlife crisis? Am I slipping into insanity or am I finally waking up from the dream life of denial and delusion? Where does reality begin and where does it end? I am guilty, guilty, guilty. I feel too much, I cared too much, I tried too hard.

Wednesday night I started getting violently ill - another strange stomach flu exactly like the one that pounded me in February. Hello bathroom. How odd, I never get stomach bugs. I have been sick every month since January, with a cold, or a flu. Oddly enough I never got sick between August and December despite how massively stressed and overworked I was. Well we all know what happened in January. Coincidence? Probably not. Depression and a sense of utter and total failure set in after my Principal's conversation with me. A sense of deflated morale and a loss of direction in my life ensued. My grandma's death has been much harder on me than I suspected it would be. My grandma! She lived a longer, healthier life than most people ever will. I know that. It's not really even her I miss - she was mentally gone years ago. It's knowing the house sits for sale, and that that era of my life was wiped out almost instantly...this still resides in a part of my brain that I can barely go to, but sometimes do, late at night, when I close my eyes and remember waking up as a child in her house, or swimming in her pool, or sitting with her at the dining room table. It probably doesn't help that the little monsters I spend my days with are nothing but germ factories as well. It's been a revolving door of illness in my class since January. My immune system is obviously shot to hell. And my psyche and soul are in no better shape. I forced myself to go to work yesterday and barely made it through. I woke up this morning and felt like I wasn't going to make it. But I did. Until I didn't. Until I left at lunch, feeling like I was going to throw up and pass out at the same time.

I began the week with such high hopes; a new Zen-like attitude of letting everything just roll off my back. I just have to make it to June 18th, right? I was good to go. A week in Palm Springs did the trick. Now, I am shaking, cold, hot, shivering on the couch, paralyzed with dread and fear. A lot of it is the flu; I know this. But I wonder, will I even make it to Saturday? I am fairly certain and hopeful I will beat this flu. I am not certain I will gain back the soul I have lost somewhere in this madness. This is what terrified me today. I am nowhere near my period; I cannot blame this on hormones. I lost control of my emotions. I mean, I literally lost control of myself. I could not stop crying. In front of my kids, or in front of my coworkers. It was humiliating and frightening beyond belief.

I will be 41 years old in a few weeks. I am not a young, naive, recent college graduate with idealized hopes of being teacher of the year, educator of the century. I never dreamt of winning any awards, or saving any lost souls, or even turning around the kids who seriously fucked up or lost. I am a realist, and some might say, sometimes even a cynic. I took this job because I needed the money. I thought I might like it. I thought I'd give it a chance. I knew deep down I probably wouldn't spend the rest of my career in an elementary school. Frankly, I'm too intelligent (if that doesn't sound egotistical I don't know what does but I'll explain) and don't like children that much. Haha. And believe me, I'm not insulting the primary school teachers of the world. Sit in a first, or second or even fifth grade classroom. This is where the real teaching is done. The actual process of teaching a six year old to read is excruciating - and yet it is a miracle. These are the teachers who are indeed, truly doing some of the hardest work on the planet. We degrade them by talking about how noble and wonderful they are, but secretly learn pithy little saying at a young age like "Those who can do, those who can't teach." We applaud them at Open House and admire their creativity but blame them for failing test scores and low student achievement. We expect them to teach a class full of kids who can't speak English and we expect them to receive merit pay for it. We expect them to teach kids who are on Zoloft, Valium, Prozac, who still wet the bed, who watch porn at home, who beat their younger siblings, who are so indulged, so massively spoiled that they are convinced they can do no wrong. Narcissim bordering on the sociopathic. We expect them to teach Special Education kids alongside extraordinarily gifted kids. We give them 30+ kids to a room and say "Differentiate instruction for each one of these kids." We expect them to be teacher, counselor, parent, minister, nurse, decorator, administrator, secretary, diplomat. We expect them to work for the district, to work for the kids and work for the parents. We don't have one boss; we have 30, 40, 50, 60 bosses. Everybody's a critic and everybody's allowed to critique you. Any parent with an email address is welcome to tell you what a shit job you're doing with their kid and demand your attention day or night. Email - what a gift for teachers. We expect teachers to teach kids who have been abused, neglected, beaten, abandoned, fucked by their fathers, uncles and cousins in the dead of night on soiled mattresses. We expect them to successfully teach standards while they go home to a raging alcoholic father, or spend weeks out of the month crossing back and forth over the border or are so spoiled their parents tell them to disregard everything the teacher says. I taught kids who had to walk around the coroner's van to get to school; to pass the gang murdered lowlifes blocking the sidewalk, still and seeping crimson under a white sheet. We expect teachers to teach kids who don't even have a place to sleep or eat or do their homework because 10 people are living in a one bedroom apartment. I teach kids now who live in mansions and are dropped off in Ranger Rovers and picked up by nannies and who are as fucked up as the kids who had no food to eat, no place but a closet to sleep. This was what was expected of me. And I did it willingly.

We expect teachers to work 10 hours a day and take home grading every night. Contrary to what one naive, out-of-touch parent said to me in class when she barged in at 7:00 a.m. one morning, teachers do NOT simply work from 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. I had to LAUGH directly at her face when she said that because at over 40 years of age, this professional mommy actually still believed that myth. No bitch, there's a reason I'm here at 7a.m. and there's a reason you should make a fucking appointment with me if you want to see me and not walk into MY FUCKING OFFICE because when the kids aren't in the classroom it's MY FUCKING ROOM and would you just barge in unannounced to your kid's pediatrician or to your lawyer's office? Do I not deserve the same level of respect? She proceeded to take up my whole morning - the morning I came in to get more work done - but what did it matter - I could just stay until 5 or 6 p.m. that day and make it up.

We get annoyed when teachers ask for a living wage (yeah, the unions are corrupt and fucked as anything and I'm not a huge fan - sorry Jimmy Hoffa - but without them I wouldn't set foot on a school campus), a better salary, because you know, Jesus, they get three months a year off, right? Another tidy myth. Most teachers work other jobs during that time just to make ends meet. Indeed, the teachers I have worked with in the last year do the most important work I've ever seen, and get little to no respect for it. But they do it. Because they love it, and thank God they do love it, for who indeed would teach our children?

Anybody can stand at a podium in college and drone on, lecture after lecture. I did it. However, here's the rub: While I believe teaching small kids is amazingly hard, you don't have to be especially intelligent or insightful to do it. My co-worker who teaches fifth grade hates reading. That's right. You read this correctly. She doesn't read. At all. Yet she is the one who teaches the gifted kids in the literature circle. I eat books for breakfast, lunch and dinner but no one cares. My principal was right. I don't fit in here. I'm no better, I'm just different. My interests are not those of these women. No one cares about Caravaggio or ancient Egypt or what I saw on the History Channel. Elementary school teachers are not academics. They are teachers. There's a difference. I don't mean to demean them. They are hugely important. But I came from a different world. Even though I only taught at a junior college - these people had Master's degrees and PHD's and they just existed on a different level, academically. The American educational system however, really does encourage conformity and mediocrity. Teaching is HARD WORK, but it's not rocket science. It's not intellectually stimulating. I've sat around enough teacher staff rooms now and let me tell you, the conversations are less than stimulating. If you're interested in current events, politics, books, profound movies, discussions about art, culture, history - you're in the wrong place. You will get discussions about how little Eli blew the spelling test AGAIN and can you believe that parent said THAT? I'm not saying these people are stupid. They're not. But by and large, in MY experience, there's very little true intellectual stimulation to be had at this level of the educational world. But still, it's brutally hard. And I still think the good teachers are amazing human beings.

For example, try teaching 31 10 year olds how to write. How to write! I wish every American could spend a month teaching an elementary school class. Then perhaps the coy lip service would be silenced and the State buildings overrun with thousands of people who've finally seen the light and realized, Jesus, maybe we should start these people out with with a goddammed fucking living wage. It boggles the mind. Still, I thought, how hard can it be. I taught college! I student taught in the ghetto, the gang schools. This is a cushy place. They all speak English. I'll give it a couple of years. I was told "Don't teach high school. The kids don't want to be there." I have news for America. Ten year olds don't want to be in school anymore. I had second graders who acted like I was an imposition to them and they had somewhere better to be. Oh I was naive, for certain. I laugh at the girl I was last August. Even at age 40, with my hardened view, I was still naive. I didn't expect rewards, but I didn't expect the madness of getting a classroom full of fifth-grade rejects either. They speak English yes, but they hear nothing and they care even less. Stack the deck and the player is going to get fucked royally.

I came into this job with a lot of anxiety but also with principles and values because I live my life with principles and values. I don't have a house. I don't have a husband or a fancy car or a lot of money. I don't even have the health I'd like. But I have principles and values and as God is my witness I will not give them up. I like to think even if I came into a great Lotto win, I'd still have my principles and values. Because I have to live with myself and with what I do. I am I suppose, still naive enough to believe in honesty. I abhor cheating - of any kind. Cheating on a test, cheating on your spouse. The level of cheating I've seen in a class full of 10 year olds stuns me - again, perhaps this is where I am naive. Enron, elementary school. Isn't it all the same? The medium is the message. The message is get ahead, whatever the cost. The ends justify the means. Capitalism has officially run amok in this country. Materialism is a religion and the grand self-esteem movement tells us all the children are special and all the children are winners, and there aren't any losers in games anymore and everyone needs to know they will change the world and their very presence in the world is so very, very meaningful and special. My silver cross just fell off my neck. How symbolic. Losing my religion indeed.

Spiteful, hurtful lying makes me sick. Bullying kids make me want to wring their mean, nasty necks. And I was fortunate enough to never have been a bullied kid. Picked on a little as all kids are, but never truly bullied. Here's what I see - people treating other people as if they are dispensable paper towels - something we have become so good at here with the massive influx of immigrants; this makes me want to commit a homicide. I know, I know, I shouldn't care so much. But as surely as I can't stop my blood from flowing I cannot stop these feelings. I don't care if you are the cook at Denny's, the man who washes my car, the woman who cleans the toilets at an office building, the superstar who plays in front of arena stadiums or brings in $20 million dollar paychecks, I am fucking naive enough to believe that every single one of these people deserves the same level of kindness and respect as a human being. I am not naive enough to think that all men are created equal. Oh yes, this sweetness makes for nice Constitutional copy, doesn't it. But we're not. I realize that. Some people are born with brilliance. Some people are born Bono, some people are born Charles Manson, some people are born Ghandi and most people are just born pretty average and try to make the best of their lives, with whatever talents they have or pursue or cultivate. But I do believe, black or white or yellow or red skin, born here or crossing the Rio Grande with a coyote that took your life savings and will dump you in the desert in the dead of night, I believe that every man deserves dignity and respect.

I am ashamed to admit it, but I didn't always think this way. Maybe that's my problem. I am older and wiser now. I remember in college walking around with a sense of specialness and entitlement too. I was at an elite university, right. I was young and special and my professors kept telling us this was true. Well, I grew up and I've had a few nasty reality checks along the way. Perhaps that's why I have so little tolerance for it now. I hated it in myself, and I hate it in others. I believe in basic decency when dealing with people. I believe in doing your job to the best of your ability. I believe in taking pride in my work. I believe people are supposed to make a fucking effort when they go to work. I trust the man or woman who puts the bolts on my 747 and who takes my flower order over the Internet. I trust they will do their fucking jobs. I am a moron. I am an idealist. I am a romantic with pessimistic tendencies. I am sick because I am deluded enough to cling to outdated illusions and when I started this job, I was terrified. I am terrified still, 7 months later, but in a very different way. In the beginning, I was scared because I thought I would fail these kids, and myself. Now I am scared beyond belief by what I have seen in a small classroom, in a wealthy city in a suburb of Southern California. I am scared because what I thought I would see in this classroom is very different from what I have seen. I expected to come in and yes, perhaps make a tiny difference in some people's lives. I expected I would teach these kids the things I was supposed to, and maybe throw a few creative curveballs their way. I thought, perhaps I could be a small success. I'm a small fish in a small pond. There's nothing grand or magnificent about what I do. I stand and deliver but I'm no Jaime Escalante. But no matter what, I was going to be a professional and do the very best job I could for my kids. My kids. Thirty-one kids I spend 7 hours a day with. Thirty-five hours a week. Outside of their parents, they see me more than they see anyone else. I guide them everywhere. I bring them into the class in the morning. I pick them up from recess. I give them Bandaids, I send them to the nurse, I call their parents. I stand at the gate once every month and make sure every child goes home safely. I loan them lunch money (yes, they pay me back). In short, I work my ass off for them. I grade their papers in a timely basis and send them back. I give them feedback on their work. I am in constant contact with their parents. I email, I talk on the phone, I write letters. I set boundaries far too late in the game.

I bring them in from lunch and I take them to the library. I take them down to the computer lab. I teach them how to write a creative topic sentence. I help them find books to read. I counsel them during recess when they are crying. I counsel them when they fight with each other. I applaud their efforts and praise their growth. I endure their increasing moodiness and honestly, I thank God I go home to two animals. I teach them with every fiber of my being. I teach them to think. I teach them to question. I teach them what I am told by the state of California to teach them. I listen to their stories about their dogs, their siblings, their dance competitions, their vacations. I send them to the office for vision and hearing tests. I sit with them in assemblies. I watch them in their musicals. I encourage them in their contests, their sports events. I sponsor them, I root for them. I go through hundreds and hundreds of their assignments a week, looking for ways to help them learn, improve, get better, grow. I try to prepare them for the insanity that will be middle school. All I ever ask of them is that they try their very best. I put up rules; I ask them to live by the Golden Rule. I talk to them about character. We talk about death and the war in Iraq and 9/11 and religion and the Holocaust. I am sensitive to their religious beliefs. I tip-toe around everyone at the holidays, terrified I will offend someone. In a classroom where 90% of the kids are Jewish, I don't dare say the word Christmas - even though I grew up saying "Christmas vacation" and not "winter break." I listen to story after story about this person's bat mitzvah or bar mitzvah, this person's birthday party, that person's trip to Europe. I go to camp with them. I write their parents and let them know their kids are OK at camp. I hike with them, I eat shitty, cold camp food with them. I sit by a stream and eat a soggy peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches with them. I write down their food allergies in class. I bring different kinds of candy for the kids with allergies. I talk to them about my love of reading, my love of books, my love of animals. I try to show them the wonders of reading and books. I give away Barnes and Noble gift certificates in the weekly raffle. I try and teach them about peace. I talk about Martin Luther King Jr. and Ghandi. We talk about Darfur and Africa. I have a Star of the Week each week. I have raffles for incentives and table points and the prizes aren't good enough you know? Because who wants some scented erasers or Silly Putty when you've been given a laptop and a cell phone and a TV and an iPOD and every video game known to God and man. Now I understand why Oprah started her school in Africa. She was right when she said that even in the poorest schools in America, all the kids want are things. The kids in Africa just wanted a chance. A chance at an education.

I teach them about Impressionism. I teach them about the brilliance of van Gogh. We color like van Gogh. I take pictures of them when they dress up for Halloween. I laugh at their corny jokes. I let them have show and tell. I encourage them to talk about their feelings with me. I encourage them to be grateful for everything that that have because dear God, they have so, so much. Too much.

We read stories together. We talk about the American Revolution. I never mention my political beliefs even when they ask me about them. I don't speak negatively about our leaders, despite my intense hatred of the current administration. That is not my job. I don't tell them my age even when they ask - no yell- about it across the classroom. I confiscate notes from them. I am their advocate. When the science teacher keeps them in at recess, I talk to the principal for them so they get their recess back. I am the last one out of the classroom during fire drills, and disaster drills. I will be the first one in the line of fire, God forbid anything like that happens.

I am not a hero. I am not noble. I am not some great, wonderful person creating better people for the future. I am an idiot for doing this for a shitty salary and no respect. I hate myself right now. I AM naive to think I could do a good job and give 150% to my job and expect one iota of appreciation for my efforts from the administration or from my fellow fifth-grade teachers or from parents or kids. I know I got the shit class full of losers and academic fuck-ups. I've got parents writing me telling me what a fucked up class I have; these are the parents of the FEW good kids I have. You can look at the test scores to see how low some of these kids are. They stacked the deck against me; I've been bleeding chips at the table since August and you know, Jesus you know, the house always wins. I've got kids who cheat, steal and teach other kids how to find pornography between grown men and young boys. I've got bullies in my class. I still tried to play my hand and play it the best I could. People give a lot of lip service to teachers but do I for one fucking minute think ANY SINGLE ONE of those parents would encourage their kids to be a TEACHER? No. I am, in this school, just another blue collar worker to these kids. I am the maid who can't be fired. But I am the maid, when they pull the books off my shelves, and don't put them back. I bring in a book on Impressionism and they leave it scattered on the floor. Their Star of the Week papers are in the trash; they just wanted the prize, the toy, the goods. What? I don't have an iPhone in the treasure box? Yes, I am the maid. I am the gardener, I am the nanny, I am the help. I am the necessary evil. I am the bad guy because I keep bothering these kids with the word respect - I keep asking for it and don't I know by now I ain't gonna ever get it? Wake the fuck up teacher!

A kid whose parents are extraordinarily rich is obsessed with Donald Trump. He's an amazingly sweet kid. But he scares the shit out of me. He proudly told me "Do you know how many maids my mom has fired? When I grow up I'm gonna get a maid and fire her. They don't even speak English." These people are Iranian. No, I'm sorry, Persian. They don't want to be called Iranian. Iranians obviously look down on the poor wetback Hispanics too. At least the rich Iranians do. I hope this kid's parents are proud of the message they're sending him. They're doing a great job alongside the media. My kids are obsessed with Britney Spears. They say she's crazy. They're obsessed with Paris Hilton. They're only reflecting what we as a society care about. They know so much more than I ever did at their age. They know who Kurt Cobain was - they know who he was, what he did, how he died, why he mattered. Jesus. They weren't even alive when he died. I don't think I knew what gay was , what pornography was, at 10. Maybe I was naive and sheltered. I wanted to tell some of these parents at conferences, "Your kid is getting an A in reading and a B in math and I think you should put them on birth control now."

Yeah. I am a teacher. I am the fucking moron who sits there and tells my class to be quiet a hundred times. I have whispered it. I have screamed it. And they defy me a thousand times. I point to the rules. I have made them write me apology letters. They have written letters home to their parents. They are without boundaries. I am the sad soul who took this job thinking I was going to teach fifth graders like myself - kids who not only respected their teachers, but perhaps even had a little bit of fear of their teachers. Instead I sit with kids who have no qualms about asking me every little detail of my personal life. NO FUCKING BOUNDARIES. How old are you? Are you married? Do you have a boyfriend? They have been taught the world is theirs for the taking. I never had a chance; the real teaching was done at home. God only knows what the parents say about the teachers - why do you think these kids have NO respect for teachers? The parents set the example. I have kids who interrupt me, interrupt each other. I have kids who scream out in class and don't care about class rules, or consequences. I have kids with no respect for anything but money. I have no power. And they know it. They've made cracks in class, right in front of me, about how teachers make no money. I make no money, I work for them, I have no power. I do not deserve respect. I can do nothing with them. I write their parents. I can't keep them after school. I can't legally keep them in for recess. I can't discipline them. I had a kid argue with me about the year the Iraq war started. Jesus Christ - would you have EVER argued with your teacher about anything, much less the YEAR A MAJOR WAR STARTED? The kid was in kindergarten when the war started; I was teaching college. I wanted to scream WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU GET OFF? This kid is in love with himself. He's very, very bright. But so fucking what. He's a big fish in a tiny pond now. He has no idea; he'll end up like Narcissus at this rate. People like him are a dime a fucking dozen in the real world. I won't be there when these shitheads grow up and realize that no, the sun doesn't rise and set on their spoiled, indulged asses. I won't be around to see them get fired and watch them collapse under the truth that they are not the center of the goddamned fucking universe.

This is not my world. I don't understand children who have no respect for their elders or teachers. It's utterly surreal to me what these kids have said and done in my class. I didn't expect to save the kids; I could give a shit about the future for the children. Sad, but true. My principles and values involve respect. I give it to you, you give it to me. It's a transaction I require you to make with me as a human being.

I work at a beautiful school. Most of the kids are from very wealthy families. Many have traveled the world by age 10. They have iPhones and iPods and Wii and X-Box and laptops. They get laptops for Christmas and Hannakuh and whatever Iranian holidays they have and cell phones for their birthdays. We have cupcakes at every birthday party. They all wear Abercrombie and Fitch. They have expensive sneakers and go on cruises for spring break. Their parents have given them everything. I have a kid who spent two months in the beginning of the year telling us repeatedly how he flew to London first class. That's great. I finally said "How much later did the people in economy get to London?" This kid is on Zoloft, the product of divorce and can't control himself in class, socially, emotionally or physically. He's crippled by anxiety and sees the nurse for a different ailment every single day and I am not, as God is my witness, exaggerating. There is no hyperbole here. This kid went to Las Vegas over spring break, stayed the Bellagio, saw "O" and can't control his mouth in class; but he has everything - everything but values and respect. Their parents give them a sense of entitlement and forget to teach them humility and gratitude. I have everything a teacher could want. A nice, big classroom of my own. I am given money for school supplies. I have an Apple laptop - a lovely computer of my own to use. I work in a beautiful, safe environment. I have a nice budget for any creative activity I want to do with these kids. And oh God, if I could only buy them some character, some values, a sense of respect. I haven't even spent a dime of my allotted $600 on them. Why? Because there's nothing I can buy them they don't already have and no experience I can give them that I feel they will get anything out of.

This is not my world. And maybe I'm a fool; I expect and know that the only guarantee in life is change. The world has changed; perhaps it is better now than when I was a child, perhaps it is worse. Millions of years and we're still killing each other, still battling each other over pieces of land and pieces of silver. I am trapped in a dream world of my own making. A world where children are decent and respectful. This is a crazy time - a recession, an endless war, a psychotic dictator ruling the country for the last 8 years, an uncertain future. A country struggling to hold onto its position as the world's super power. A country that must see itself slipping, in the grandest of the grand scheme of things. A country that sees China and India in its rearview mirror and they are gaining ground quickly - and so we, the teachers, must push our children harder, and the harder we push, the harder they push back.

I have now lived long enough to watch stock markets rise and start markets fall. I have seen interest rates at 14% and 1%. I have lived in fear of the USSR and the nuclear bomb and have realized all it takes is a few angry, disenfranchised radical extremists to end our lives. I have seen Presidents come and go, recessions begin and end, Cold Wars end and countries fall into economic, political and social despair. I have hoped for freedom and seen exploitation. I see the middle class disappearing here. I see America's halcion days of great dreams for everyone who just works hard enough, on life support. I have studied history. Oh I have studied history and I know we will repeat it; we are repeating it every day. To quote the title of a book I bought, are we Rome? Yes, indeed, Rome fell. I don't know if we are Rome. I think we are. I think we are falling. The decline has begun and if you want to see some of the very tiny beginnings, please come into room 17. That is where I am, with children who reflect the decline of civilization in their narcissism and defiance and disregard and disrespect almost pathological egoism. I have read about this and heard from teachers all over the world on various teacher websites - the stories are the same. Perhaps I got an especially shitty class this year; but the general consensus is that too many of these children, the future, reflect a general defiance and disregard for all authority. The world is their oyster, theirs for the taking. I once asked them if they didn't have school, what could they contribute to the country, the economy, the fucking tax base, at ten years old? OK so maybe I didn't quite use that language, but that was the general question.

The sun set on the British Empire. The sun will set on what is left of America some day. This is the macro. And I live here in the micro. A world of small beings I am paid to guide into the next year of their lives. I have given them everything I have to give. I have nothing left. I am carved out, I am hollow now. I am finished.

To paraphrase a character in the Coen brothers' brilliant movie "No Country for Old Men" - you can't stop what's coming. The world has changed. It's not my world anymore. Too many people don't care about their work anymore. Too many people worship at the altar of consumerism and materialism and status and greed and hey, why not, two planes just took out the Twin Towers but we as Americans MUST GO SHOPPING! Because if we don't then by GOD THE TERRORISTS WILL HAVE WON. Maybe Gordon Gecko was right. Greed is good. People on fire - human torches can willingly propel themselves off the 97th floor of buildings, melting corporate American Express cards floating with them to the detrius and blood and smashed bodies below - and this was the message our leaders gave us. Do not let the economy down people. Prop up the dollar. Stop watching the man floating upside down to his death in a smoke-filled New York City and get thyself to Bloomingdale's stat. No, no, no, this is not my world. Let them have it - whoever them is. No country for old men, or disenfranchised, burned out, tired, cynical, disappointed, sad, sad, sad teachers. I am finished. There is no honor, no nobility, no dignity left in me, in my profession and I wonder if there really ever was and I no longer want to sacrifice myself on the altar of blatant disregard for everything I value. I've worked in corporations and I've worked in offices and I already know there's no honour amongst thieves. I'm not looking for a better deal; I'm just leaving this table. I'm done with this game.

Everything I thought I knew was wrong. Everything I believed in was a lie. I lied to myself. I told myself pretty stories to get myself through the days. Today the world cracked open and the abyss showed itself and there is nothing, nothing, nothing there. Darkness reigns and I give up. My cards on are the table and God willing, in two months, I will walk away and not look back.

Screenland Drive

It was indeed expected
Years and years we waited for it to be finished, over, done
A life stretched over days, weeks, months, years, decades
It was quite understood
A silent agreement
No one would come undone

And you were waiting in the yellow light
The dusk just barely collapsing into the familiar arms of night
Walking through that same wooden door for the thousandth time
A warm glow curtains closed in the gloaming
The blinking caress of Christmas lights
No one saw you coming, no one saw you going

Shuffling through rooms bereft of life and hope long ago
An old man stirs a cup of coffee
The tired old house sighs in some final relief
Things to be done, no time for disbelief

A knock on the door
Papers and forms and documents and pens
The strangest of strange thoughts
We will never swim in the azure pool
again

There is the weary and bent bed we slept in
There are the ancient rooms we played in
There are the cracked cups we drank from
In the eerie, grey dawn
In some other life, in some other eon

There is the table where you dried my tears
There are the fading pictures, proof positive
We were all once here and how it seemed so very promised and long
Still the hollow voices will carry on

There was a road that stretched so long and far
Into the future
A memory of an endless bright white afternoon
A splash of chlorine, the taste of tea
We never said goodbye to you
Only a hand held so tightly
The warmth of forever so mad and deceiving

In the rooms where you dried those tears
We turned our backs as they packed you away
In a cold black bag
For another life, another dream, another day

A few drops under the tongue
A desperate plea for sleep
A heart that whispered “No more”
A promise even these grand illusions can’t keep

Gone, long gone, now
Where did you go?
And we waited and we waited and we waited.
It was expected… the time had justly come.
It was not however…
That we would ever come undone.

Blah Blah Blah

Don't really have much to say tonight. I slept like shit last night - I swear it was like I had nerves going back to school! Then today I'm in the lunchroom and I hear other teachers talking about the same thing; e.g. they couldn't sleep, they've been teaching for ten years and they still get 'jitters' the night before. Weird. It's like I never outgrew it. So I'm exhausted tonight, plus my stomach is upset and shall we say, causing me to visit the loo every few minutes.

The first day back was pretty blah, hence the title of this blog. The kids were as self-centered and out of control as usual. Even the art teacher told them they were out of control. I can't get over, no matter how many times I see and hear it for myself in my classroom, day after day, how I can ask, tell, beg, plead, yell at these kids to be quiet and for about two seconds while I'm telling them to be quiet, they'll be quiet, and then they just immediately start talking again. Oh I made mistakes big time in the beginning of the year. With kids like these, I'm not sure anything or anyone could tame them. But I know now I should have come down on them hard and consistently and been much, much more consistant in my discipline. Now I am paying the price for my niceness and inconsistancy. Little fuckers. Driving me batshit crazy.

They were ALL over the Britney Spears story. I had to shut that one down in a hurry. Then Clayton calls Britney 'mentally retarded'. Jesus! Now I am NO fan of Britney's and I'll be the first to say the girl is obviously quite ill and has many mental issues, but she's clearly NOT retarded. I had to tell him "Clayton, we don't use the word retarded anymore and she's NOT retarded. Let's just say she has issues."

Then as the kids were writing the final outlines for their 'autobiographies' (yes, the story of their ever so exciting and long 10 year-old lives) they had to start thinking about what kind of careers they'd want. Someone asked if teachers made a lot of money and you could just HEAR the disdain in the voices of those that said "They don't make anything." Clearly being a teacher is not something these spoiled kids would EVER aspire to. I know a lawyer - a real asshole, (not to mention an absentee father, alcoholic and a womanizer), who voiced his huge disappointment than two of his four children turned out to be teachers. I guess it's just not classy enough and certainly there's just not enough money in it and isn't that what it's all about?

Today was obviously NOT a day I felt near and dear to my class. Tomorrow is my grandma's funeral - well, her interment. She didn't want a church service, so no church service. Hardly anyone is coming anyway - she outlived all her siblings and friends. I was able to take the day off from work as paid bereavement leave and I didn't have to use a sick day. I'm paranoid about using my sick days, can you tell? My psycho step-grandfather will be there. I hope he doesn't throw himself on the casket or start beating everyone up with his cane. I say this with all seriousness. It will be definitely a two Xanax day. Her caretaker of the last four years will be there. She really loved my grandma. When I was uploading all the pictures of Ella from my camera, I discovered I'd taken a picture of my grandma with her caretaker at my mom's house last Christmas. It's actually a pretty good picture. I'll post it here. My grandma's caretaker's name is Dahlia. She's Filipino (am I spelling that right?) and I can't understand a word she says, but she was always the best to my grandma, and I'll always be grateful for that.

Finally, a friend of mine is going through a nightmarish time with her mom, who is very sick and in the hospital. My heart is breaking for her and other than pray, I can't think of anything else to do. Life seems so capricious and fragile to me these days. People getting sick, institutions like my grandma dying, middle age - it's all happening at once and it's not any fun at all. Nights like tonight I feel so defeated I wonder if I could ever feel happy again. I heard it might rain tomorrow. That'll just make everything so perfect. Ugh.

Photo: Dahlia and my late grandmother Mary, Christmas, 2006

Back to the Grind

Well, here it is, almost midnight on Saturday night/Sunday morning. My 'blissful' 2 1/2 week 'winter break' (we don't dare say Christmas vacation anymore) is almost over. Where in the hell did it go? I know exactly where it went. I spent 8 days in Atlanta, which was great when I got to see my niece, but was tough because traveling during the holidays sucks. This was the first time I'd ever spent Christmas out of California. I'm 40 years old and have still spent almost every Christmas at the house I grew up in. It was a bit disorienting, but again, worth it, to see my niece.

Then I get home, and the next day visit my dying grandmother. Cut to one morphine dose and one New Year's Day later and grandma leaves this earthly realm on the 2nd. So then I spend a few hours in her house with my mom waiting for the mortuary to arrive and take her body away. I am fascinated by how when we're alive, we are "us" by the millisecond we die, we become "the body." It makes sense really because if you've ever been up close and personal to someone after they've died, it is totally and completely obvious that our bodies are truly just shells...whatever brain activity, life force, soul, etc. that is 'us' has let the proverbial building.

So now I'm sitting here writing thank-you notes to my students for all their wonderful 'winter' gifts. Gee, I don't know what else to call them! Oddly enough, I received extraordinarily generous 'winter' gifts from my 90% Jewish students. Seriously, you should see the stack of Barnes and Noble gift cards I received. Not to mention the Macy' gift card, the Nordstrom's gift card, the Starbucks and Coffee Bean/Tea Leaf gift cards and the Visa $50 gift card. Oh and don't let me forget the TWO Disneyland park-hopper passes! These winter gifts also included about two tons of candy, a book on van Gogh, a gratitude journal, several scented candles, a beautiful ring, a lovely scarf, a throw for the couch, a bath set, a personalized teacher pad, a coffee and mug set and probably more things I've forgotten. Honestly my biggest fear is that I'm going to forget to give someone a thank you note and/or get the gifts mixed up.

I am falling into the inevitable grip of "January" despair, which could be understandable this year, giving my temperment, history of depression, rainy, cold weather, and the recent death of my grandmother - which has just generally put me in a funk and set me off on one of the 'what the hell is it all for' anyway mindsets. Aside from her death, I normally despise the months of January and February. There's always the post-holiday meltdown, and since I've been teaching and/or in school for over ten years, I'm used to having a long vacation and going back to work, while good for me, is never that exciting in the new year. I don't normally find the 'new year' very inspiring. I find it depressing. I can't really explain any better why I hate these two months so much. It's normally our 'winter' if you will - the two months when we get the most rain - although the last couple of years have been pretty dry. Here's something kind of odd. My paternal grandmother, who I was very close to, died on January 30, 1995. My maternal grandfather died on January 4, 1986. Now my maternal grandmother has died on January 2, 2008. My father died on February 12, 1996, and my best friend's mother died on Februrary 28, 2003. Even Mr. Rogers died on February 27, 2003! Mr. Rogers! Ha. Needless to say, I have even more reason to despise these dreary months. We do get a couple of paid holidays, so yippeeee.

I know it's best for me to go back to work, since I am getting too depressed now just roaming about here on my own. Yet I'm not ready for 31 kids bouncing off the walls. Also, Tuesday is the funeral and I really just want to get that out of the way. The kids are going to camp on February 4th. I'm praying I don't have to spend the night there with them. It's going to be colder than a witch's tit in the Malibu/Santa Monica mountains, where the camp is located. All the schools in the district have their fifth grade classes go to this "Outdoor Education" camp. We just got lucky and we get to be the first school who goes - in the beginning of February. Geniuses.

My biggest issue is how NOT to spend 10 hours at work a day. Seriously. I want to be able to have a life. Work took over and with my health and work, this is why I never had time to write, or sometimes even to read people's blogs and make a simple comment. My goal is to start leaving work at 3:00 p.m. I get there early enough - there's no one paying me to stay any later than 3p.m. and I don't care what anyone else thinks. I'm contractually supposed to be there from 8:00am to 3 p.m. I worked my ass off doing all these extra things for my class and honestly, it's sad to say I don't think the kids appreciated it. The principal doesn't know about them. It's not like I can get a promotion. Hell, I'm on probation and just praying the school will re-hire me at the end of June. I always felt like I needed to put 110% into a job. But I realize there is really no loyalty from any organization or company. No one is going to reward me or pat me on the back. With my limited energy I'd rather do other things. Perhaps if I didn't have the FMS I could do it all. But I can't. Fourteen years into this health nightmare and I'm just accepting this now. I can't be superwoman and I don't want to be superwoman anymore. I want a relationship. I want fun. I want more time with friends, here and online. I keep saying "They don't pay me enough" to be there at work on the weekends. I know new teachers that spend sooooooo much time in their classroom. Perhaps because I'm older, have worked other jobs, don't have the energy of a healthy 24 year-old, I'm not willing to do this. Maybe I'm smarter, maybe I'm lazy. Maybe I don't care as much as I should, or maybe I've decided to care about me more.

I think that's the whole point right there. For those of you who know me, and those who only know me via online or email, I spend an inordinate amount of time doing, doing, doing for others - now it's for my class/students. I also spend a lot of $$$ buying for others. Gifts for the holidays, gifts for the kids, etc. I've decided for the first time in my life, to become more selfish. If I am hired back to teach next year, ohhhhhhhhhh I'll be doing things differently in class. Talk about being too indulgent! This is a very bad habit I plan to break. It's going to be hard. I'm used to saying "yes" to everyone for everything. I'm used to paying for too much, buying too much, and paying in a different way. No mas.

Ok, I don't really have any picture to put up, so I'm putting up another one of my niece, because I don't ever get tired of looking at her.

Photo: Ella bella and her funny fingers. She likes to play with her fingers and hands.

And In One Ending, We Shall Discover Some Other, Grand Beginning

I know a couple of gals who'd like me to start writing again. I'd like me to start writing again. I seem to have fallen into some sort of abyss with this blog. Complacency is rooted at my core now; I have been emotionally paralysed for quite some time. Can't explain why, really.

I am listening to the rain and longing to run out into the street, bare feet and all, and worship every God-given drop. Flooding be damned, we need the cleansing. It is late, and quiet and the cats are settling in for several hours of slumber - an activity of sorts to keep them busy between meals. I suppose I shall pay for letting them rest their furry and weary heads in my bed, as one of them will no doubt start howling at 6a.m. for breakfast. And speaking of...today and tomorrow mark the last days of my vacation where I can truly sleep in. If I had any sense at all I'd toss those two critters out into the dark, cold living room. But I have less and less common sense as I get older and I'd rather feel the warmth of their stuffed, over-fed bodies next to me and listen to their tiny snores during the night than kick them to the sorry ends of the living room couch.

I am getting ready to get in bed myself, and grade 3o essays; my students have written about their school yers - all five of them - well, perhaps 7-8 if you count pre-school. These essays are part of a larger 'book' the students are composing. They are in essence writing their autobiographies - and at such a young age! You'd be surprised. Travel-wise some of these 10 year olds can run circles around me. Nevertheless, grading essays and writing is the absolute hardest type of work to grade and I imagine I'll give it a good five minutes before giving up and searching the tube in vain for yet another episode of Law and Order: Whatever Murder or Sexual Offense Sounds Good Tonight.

My grandma's funeral is set for Tuesday at 1p.m. I figure I may actually be able to work half a day; however my mother seems to want me to come over to her house early, so I can dramatically walk her into the church - the dutiful daughter bringing yet another daughter to the pyre to pay respects and whisper barely-hidden resentments. Ah death, there's nothing like it to bring about all those conflicted feelings you may have had about a person. My grandma was, as my cousin so succinctly put it " a real prima donna." She was pretty spoiled and quite self-centered and selfish, especially with my mother. Let's just say, there's history there. My grandma was a Southern belle; she hailed from the south and never lost her taste for sitting on the porch receiving her admirers. Well, this will be her last time receiving accolades. I wonder if she'll be around in any form to enjoy it.

I leave you now and will post a picture of my insanely adorable niece. Oh sure, I'm biased I know. The pictures don't even do her justice. She just looks like a regular baby in the pictures. In reality, she's like a living doll. I believe she's finally going to go home next weekend after spending over three months in the hospital. Her name is Ella Elizabeth. My great-grandma's name was Amanda Elizabeth. My grandma's name was Mary Elizabeth. My brother met a girl named Mary Elizabeth and married her. My aunt's name is Linda Elizabeth. My cousin is Stacy Elizabeth. I am Denise Elizabeth. And so the tradition continues. Ella Elizabeth. My class has nick-named her Ella bella. Indeed, Ella, so beautiful.

Photo: Ella Elizabeth in her grandma Carole's arms at Northside Women's Hospital, Atlanta, Georgia, December 2007

The Glimmer Man

You were once the queen
The king
And all the players in between
You were the yes men
The yeomen
The north the south the east the west men
You wept for the worst you wept for the rest

And you were going to change
The game
The game has changed you
Nothing new nothing new nothing new nothing fucking new

About this.

You are at the midpoint
You are halfway gone
You are bitter despised forgotten and even you
Can’t keep check of all your petty lies

You want to go down you want go in
You want to go out and let it all end
It’s a never never land a netherworld a bottom line
That’s written in sand

The bill has come the time has gone
Your voice is lost in the wind and no one is listening anymore
Anyway
The mirror crack’d after you
The pieces floating dead in someone else’s eyes
They see the jester the clown the journeyman
You’ve crossed that bridge
Into another town

Pandora’s box was opened wide
Fourteen years ago
And even hope flew the coop
When it saw the hole inside
Your soul

Check the box fill in the bubbles
Punch the clock laugh at the troubles
The grave awaits and the demons writhe
Will you pick a box or a bag
A vault a furnace a wall
In the end it’s all the same swag

Check for a pulse check for the light
Dilated and fixed
Would it get you through the night
Somebody else has to pull the plug
The trigger the lever the switch
Beg borrow or steal
The queen is dead
The yes men have gone

The glimmer man walks by
To light the darkening sky
And hum a forgotten song.

The Wait Is Over

Yeah yeah yeah, I know it's been about three months since I've written.
You don't even want to know. Believe me.
Churchill called it his 'black dog' ; let's just say William Styron and I undertsand each other a lot better now. Well, he's dead, but you get the drift, right?

So anyway, I return with but one burning question on my mind:

Why do people tape themselves having sex? I mean, celebrities, regular folk - why do they do it? I don't want to watch myself getting out of the shower much less having sex. Sometimes I haven't even wanted to be in my own body whilst having sex!

What are these people thinking?

I know what you're thinking: I waited three months for this? Ah shut up. This is like the great American novel for me. Baby steps people, baby steps.

Photo: Eric Bana. Someone I'd let turn the camera on.

Fin.

Freedom.
The nightmare of the past nine months
is officially over.
I'm credentialed and at least 10 years has been
shaved off my life.
I get to sleep in tomorrow. I can watch TV. I can go to the
movies or watch DVD's without worrying about those fucking
nasty bitches or that rotten program or those stupid assignments.
I can visit my friends (yes I do have some left) and go out to dinner
and lie on the floor staring at the ceiling if I want to.
I am free from the clutches of those old, wrinkled, inefficient, insulting,
lying, manipulative cows.
It's gonna take me a few days to process the fact that I'm free.
Looking for a job will be a piece of cake next to what we went through.
I look forward to speaking to people I haven't even talked to since last August - before I went through this meat grinder.
Also, what's up with this font? I've changed it in the 'edit' portion of this blog about ten times and it still comes out looking huge.
What's it all look like to you guys?

I Forget You Forever

It is over now.
So many things.
Tomorrow,
my last class, my last assignment
the last time I will likely ever see most
of the 16 people I have lived so closely with
the last 9 months.

It is over now.
An 8 year friendship - ended in a split second of
rage and misery. What is left - a package of books
sent in the mail, a key to my front door, someone who
I thought was my best friend changing the locks on her door
I never knew what hit me
She never told me why
It was over before I knew it
Eight years and a week of grieving
sighing, why why why?

I had lunch with her on Sunday and by Monday it
was finished
I'd tell you if I knew what caused this death
and it was a death indeed - a murder of me - but still I breathe
I never saw her; she hid in her bathroom when I came to her house to pick up my videotape from her husband (he'd taped me for my portfolio)
I never spoke to her; she left a screaming message on my machine
I was unable to find out what I'd done, what I'd said to cause
such immense rage
Though now, almost two weeks out, I suspect it had little to do with me
Projection is a great defence

Still
I grieve
and wake up and think
I will call this person, my friend and tell her
"Oh you will not believe what happened. One day I had a friend and the next I did not. You see, someone died; she died in a car accident and I never had a chance to say goodbye." But she didn't die. She just erased me completely from her existence.
There is no rhyme or reason despite my persistence
in wondering, wondering, wondering.
No one, man or woman, has ever, ever, ever treated me with such harshness, such coldness, such utter indifference

She called my mother up crying the night she flipped out
She is 43 and could not face me, but called my mommy???
I do not understand this.

Her timing was impeccable. I spent the last week of student teaching
in a daze - stunned, shocked. I cried at my 'graduation' ceremony. I was walking in a surreal world of obligations and incriminations
My students were my sweet salvation and amazed me on my last day with notes, cards, flowers, and hugs that seemed never ending. I cried and did not want to go.

I wrote my portfolio in a dizzy mad state - for four days I did nothing but sit at the computer and type and scan and attach and click and type until my eyes blurred from the glare of the screen and the burning of my tears

She never called, she never wrote, she never faced me
She went insane and surely you must be thinking "Well you had to have done something for her to act this way"

Ah yes of course!
You see, Monday, May 14th we were on the phone; I was very stressed, very pressured, very PMSy and crying and asking her for the digital tape that her husband had videotaped me with because he was a stubborn fool who wouldn't admit he didn't know what the hell he was doing and my video for my portfolio wasn't working - I'd just come from a friend's house where we tried to work it out on a CD but it wasn't working - so I called her, quite upset, and was doing something stupid. I was on my cell phone, crying, not paying attention and almost got hit by a car as I went right through a stop sign. I dropped the phone as I veered the car to the right and pulled over. I tried to call her back. She wouldn't answer the phone.

I knew why. She thought I'd hung up on her. I tried to tell her I didn't. I told her I almost got hit by a car and dropped the phone to grab the steering wheel and slam on the brakes. She refused to believe me. She insisted I hung up on her and 'she would not be treated that way' - my god, it was my life or staying on the phone with her. My instinct to stay alive and not get hit simply overwhelmed me and I dropped the cell phone as a reflex and it closed shut and hung up.

OK. So THAT was the straw the broke this woman's back? Who knows.
Her behavior became insane, irrational, nuts. And in a matter of hours, it was all over. Eight years with someone I trusted, I thought was a dear friend, someone I'd spent so much time with, someone I opened myself up to.

At this moment, I feel I never want to do that again. I feel if she can do this to me, anyone can do anything to me. I don't trust anyone. I am afraid to even try and trust anyone ever again. I feel I want to crawl up into a tiny ball and never ever let anyone inside again. No one will hurt me like this again. Never, ever, ever, ever, ever.

She is 300+ pounds and sits in the house all day. She does nothing. Her perogative - but sometimes I wondered what the hell we had in common. Now forgive me if I offend anyone because I've gained quite a bit of weight over the course of the program which I am already shedding due to the stress of this week...but this is the second morbidly obese friend I've had and well...these people seem to have more issues than National Geographic as they say. I'm sensing a pattern here.

Oh God yes I've got problems. I'm in a constant state of trying and not always succeeding, to better myself. I'm the first to admit my fucked-upness.

She won't. She'd rather throw me away like a piece of trash. And change the locks on her door. I went over when she was out of town, simply to put her bag of books I'd had inside her hallway. I was going to leave the key under the mat. I've never, ever, ever gone over to her house and used her key without permission. I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach when I realized what she'd done. She CHANGED THE FUCKING LOCKS? These people were like my family. Her husband was my good friend too. They BOTH did this to me? I felt like they thought I was some kind of thief. I was degraded. I tossed the key in the street.

In the middle of one her Weight Watchers books she'd loaned me (obviously she wasn't using them) I left a note - the name of a psychiatric center near her house. I told her she needed help. Nasty maybe. But true.

No relationship in my life, be it with a boyfriend or a female friend, has ever ended so horribly. But I will not sit and wonder what I did anymore. I have no idea. Even if I had hung up on her, did that warrant her hiding in her bathroom from me? Calling my mom at midnight? Changing the locks on her door? Spending $13 to mail my books back to me when she could've just dropped them off on my doorstep while I was at work? We live three minutes away from each other. What in the holy fuck happened to her? I don't even know that person.

I cannot take anymore craziness.
This has completely colored the end of my program, which as you know, has been a real nightmare.
But the end is here.
And I will forget her forever.
And I will move on.
Sadder but no wiser.

This is My Brain on Student Teaching

Oh god am I sick. AGAIN. This must be my fourth cold in five months. This time I have a raging sinus infection and fever. I can't smell, taste or breathe. You know, the little things in life. AND my kids had the GALL to tell me yesterday that it was MY fault THEY all had colds! HA! I said "There are 20 of you - and you're ALWAYS sick! There's only ONE of me!" LOL! They are little germ-spreading freaks. I am going to miss them like crazy. I want to cry just thinking about how much these annoying kids have gotten into my heart. I was worried because it took me a while to bond with them - but I did. Damn kids.

So I'm on Levaquin - my standard antibiotic and I slept about 12 hours last night. My throat is raw and I couldn't even watch TV. I just passed out at about 8 p.m. So Levaquin and Tylenol Severe Cold ,medicine must be some wild drugs because I had the CRAZIEST dreams last night and when I woke up I remembered the dream vividly. Hours later, I still do. I'm going to write my dream here - I don't know how much you'll understand - but the names of the people are people in my program. All other names have been changed to protect the guilty, ha.


My dream: We were taking classes back at my university - although it looked like a mall, not our university at all. Naturally, I'd missed like three of the first classes for some reason (I always have these anxiety dreams where I miss classes). I met with one of the professors on what looked like a porch/stoop or something and she was really nice and told me what reading I had to make up. We were taking classes alongside TODDLERS! We all stood in class and there were adults and tiny kids taking the class too! And there were babies in the classroom. In what seemed to be some kind of advanced math methods class my friend Peri chose to sit at a computer - but there were also BEDS in the classroom. They were single beds with white sheets. I sat in the class lounging in one bed, and my friend Jen lounged in the bed next to me, and next to her was her BOYFRIEND! Then the teacher gave us all some seasoned green beans to eat. We were all laughing hysterically eating these beans. Apparently they tasted really good and there was something wildly funny about them. Then she showed us something on the CBS evening news and we all started crying; it was the CBS news from the 1970's! I remembered the old newscasters and everything. My cohorts Amber and Chelsea were also in the class. So was Rob - but Rob was absent - naturally! I kept asking "Where are the other members of our cohort" At one point I was walking somewhere with Cheri and I said "Oh yeah, Donna quit for now."

It gets even better - after class, Jen and I walked to an area of the class where there was a little 'liquor store' - Jen was thinking about taking home a big bottle of whiskey. We had a liquor store in the class and after class we could stock up. What a riot. I was looking at a the 'baby bottles' of booze. I adore them - I collect them actually; I don't drink them. I asked Jen if the big bottle of whiskey was good. She didn't respond, and she didn't buy anything. I didn't either. Then Peri, Jen and her boyfriend and I were walking to take the bus home. I don't exactly know what happened to my car. It's like I forgot it somewhere - and yet I remember thinking "My car's so messy inside. I can't drive it anymore." This is so true. I am not normally this messy of a person - but my car is a disaster zone now.

So we all got on the bus, at the back and there was hardly anyone else on the bus. I had to go to the bathroom the entire time. Nice detail, huh? Again, we went to a mall parking structure to catch the bus. Now what's really strange is that as I was dreaming this, in the dream, I was thinking about the fact that I was about to have an affair with this guy (have no idea who he was) who seemed to be a family friend and he and his perfect Barbie doll girlfriend came to my mom's house for Thanksgiving dinner. Gena was there and mentioned there was no stuffing and how my mom didn't really go to any effort with the dinner. I was really mad at Gena for saying that. I felt she was insulting my mom; but it WAS a strange meal. Then I find myself sulking and longing for this 'mystery man' inside some long black car (I swear it seemed like it was a hearse) between two streets close to my mom's house. Then, this mystery man, who I felt I LOVED and LUSTED after, came over to the car. I rolled down the window a little bit and put my fingers on the glass and he started sucking on my fingers. He had long, blondish hair and was REALLY classically good looking. The type of guy that would NEVER go for ME in real life. LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Who the hell is this guy? NO ONE! It's just my libido saying "For God's sake woman - are you EVER going to get some again?" LOL! Oh - and then this hot mystery man appears in one of our university classes. He stands in front of me at a desk. He opens his shirt and starts to pull down his pants and show me his underwear! A PORNO DREAM! I am cracking up laughing as I type this. What a riot. How sick am I?

I'm thinking all of this as we are all on the bus. So I'm dreaming and thinking too - does that make sense? Then Peri and I get off at our stop - but naturally I forget my TWO rolling suitcases. I have TWO - not one. We are close to my mom's house on this long street, running down the street trying to stop the bus. We are screaming at the bus. I PANIC - naturally. Oh - Amber is with us too. I make her call Jen, who is still on the bus. She can't get a signal. I pull out my cell phone - except it isn't mine and I can't understand it at all. I just look at it, totally unable to figure it out. At some point we see Jen and her boyfriend. The bus is long gone. I whine and whine about how am I going to get my bags. Then Jen falls down a flight of stairs - don't ask where they came from. Her boyfriend rushes down to check on her - she is really dazed. We all run down to see if she is OK. She is, pretty much.

Is this not FUCKED UP or what? Freudian???? Oh wait- I remember some more - I also dreamt about my cousin having her baby and my mom was bitching that today you could just set an appointment to have a baby. LOL! I have no idea where that came from - my cousin hasn't had a baby in almost four years.

I saw a job advertisement for a home economics teacher. It listed the class schedule - and two of the things on the schedule were "the channel 7 news" and "terrorism"! I said "Wow, when I took home economics we learned how to make artichoke hearts and sew pillows. This is true - this is what I did in my 7th grade home ec class. Boy has that shit helped me in life. Not. Anyway, now they're making kids watch the news and learn about terrorism.

I can probably explain almost everything in the dream - I think I know where it all came from. Isn't the brain fascinating though - how it creates all this symbolism? Still, I need to get laid. Let's face it. I need to fall in love. I need to do so many things that have NOTHING to do with work, teaching and most of all, this stupid ass program.

Only 9 teaching days left. 17 days total left. I can hardly believe it. I'm still trying to get recommendation letters from my mentor teachers. I can't properly look for a job without having these. Naturally everyone is now moving at the pace of a slug. A job? Fuck it. What I need now is a stud.

Photo: Can't someone get me this for graduation?

It's *All* About the Numbers Now

As if it hasn't been for months.
Anyway, 14 teaching days left.
22 total days left.
Doing time in one of the circles in Dante's Inferno
is actually going to end.
End well? No. Just end.

Today I Turn Forty.

40!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Coda

And in the very end
Will I sit by some dimly lit window
Gently holding all the children of my discontent
The whispers of disbelief and soft, sad sentiments

Floating through the gun metal gray haze of winter dusk.

Will we go quietly
The carrion waiting patiently
For some discombobulated demise
Will this numbing silence define all of my goodbyes

In all of the dusty rooms of my forgotten mind.

Will I rock gently to sleep
Unanswered questions born long ago… so broad and deep
Will I caress the haunted relics of my suffering
Kissing sweetly the dull aching and the long, deep, bitter want

In all my days there was beauty and horror
And in the very end I shall lay down this burden
This interminable grief
These neurons insistent upon fact not faith

And like offerings before a great god
I will lay down my questions, my tears, my empty prayers
My sufferings, my sacrifices, my wicked grief

And I shall finally go home.

Five Weeks, Three Days, 8 hours

That's it. I think that says it all.

The Defeated

How far
How deep
How far down
can you be beaten
into the ground

I remembered a ghost last night
In the flickering blue light of the TV screen
And the images in my mind
Was it all a dream?

What happened to the beauty
I had inside of me?
What has happened to my humanity?
I am no one and no where

I am unrecognisable to myself
And all those around me
If you think you know me
You've been fooled too
This is a shell, some kind of debauchery

The more I've learned the less I know
The more I've seen the less I see
I turn my head away from all reflections
For if you spend time with monsters
you become a monster
and this monster is me.

Seven Months Down, Seven Weeks to Go

It is extremely difficult for me to articulate what my second semester in this detested program has been like. Has it been any better than the first? Perhaps in some minute ways. I have finished the majority of my 6 and 8 week classes; 6 classes in 6-8 weeks was incredibly intense and all-consuming. I made an "A" in my social studies class which had to be some kind of miracle. Indeed I finished with flying colours and straight A's. For the first time in my life I have been invited to join an Honor Society - Pi Lambda Theta - the honour society for educators. Sadly my 4.0 GPA seems like a hollow victory compared with the miserable reality of this program and the sad, ineffective student teaching assignments we've been given.

I am still entrenched in two ongoing classes and projects - technology and equity and diversity. Oddly, I predicted I wouldn't like the latter but the conversations we had in that class were some of the most stimulating, enlightening and interesting conversations I've had in my life. I felt reborn after each class. I discovered so much about myself - about my prejudices, my feelings about multicultural education, bilingual education, racism...I was forced to take a good, long, hard look at myself and realise that whatever changes I ever hope to attain in any classroom I am in must begin within myself. The class has been a gift. Those of you following my progress through this Dante's Inferno of a program must realise by now I rarely have anything positive to say about any of it - so enjoy the positive comments while you can!

Technology has been helpful as I was someone who is told old to have gained much technology in college and I've been a techno-phobe for a long time. I've finally learned to do PowerPoint, and we're about to begin designing our own websites. It's a fairly easy class we have every Thursday after we leave our student teaching.

Ah...and now for the real news. The second semester of student teaching began on March 12th. Last semester I taught 5th grade and really enjoyed the students. We are forced to pick a primary grade one semester and an upper elementary grade the second semester. For some insane reason I truly believed I'd enjoy working with smaller kids since I loved my kinder experience so much last year. So I chose 2nd grade. Unfortunately I have discovered I am not cut out to teach lower primary grades. I admit it, I can't handle the little kids. I've been placed in a much better school, and in fact I'm in the math/science magnet with a class of 19 gifted students. And yet...this is not for me. The good news: I have a brilliant mentor teacher. She's in her 60's and is by far the best teacher I have ever seen in my life - and in this program to be sure. The class is very well-behaved and amazingly the kids are very kind to one another. There isn't a lot of fighting or tattling. It's just one of those fortuituous times in life when you get a class that is really exceptional in every way. That being said, I'm having a tremendously hard time with my lessons. I can't seem to bring the material down to a 7 year old's developmental level. I have always been an incredibly profound thinker; I gravitate constantly towards higher-ordered thinking and that's why I enjoyed college so much. I even found gratification working in 5th grade.

I definitely thought this would be the easier part of the program. Yes, we are teaching a full day and are attending all staff/faculty meetings and doing everything a normal teacher would - for absolutely no pay. Boy do I have some different opinions about how we train teachers in this country. The nobility crap is working against us - we should not be expected to give up a year of our lives with absolutely no pay. But that's not a matter I'm terribly concerned with now.

I have bigger fish to fry as they say. Each of us has a mentor teacher and a faculty supervisor. The supervisor comes in about 5-6 times to evaluate us on specific lessons. Last semester I had a very competent woman. This semester I knew I was going to have a woman who makes Hitler look like a humanitarian and I know hyperbole is all over that sentence, but truly, as God is my witness, I have never met a colder, meaner, nastier, more distasteful human being in my life. This woman happened to be our seminar teacher last year so as long as I did what was required of me during the seminar I could fly low and avoid her radar. I'd heard horror stories of this woman sending student teachers out crying after their lessons. My best friend had this woman as a supervisor and she almost failed my best friend who is a bright, capable, experienced T.A. and student teacher. I'm not sure there are words in any language to describe how much I loathe this woman. She is on a cruise ship now and I told my friend if I found out she fell overboard I wouldn't bat an eyelash. I don't want karma to come back and bite me on the ass - but really, I'm wondering if this woman has a heart. I wouldn't be surprised to find you could open up her back and find wires and batteries. There's something fundamentally wrong with this human being and she has our evaluations in her hands. She is arrogant, mean, cruel, revels in humiliating you, and she's impossible to please. I've done two lessons for her and I am convinced I could dance on the head of a pin and it wouldn't please her. She decimated my lesson (and the lesson didn't work - I admit it) and me the other day in class - listing every single negative thing I did without listing ANYTHING positive I did. Get this - I'm not allowed to write on the whiteboard (they used to be chalkboards). Yet I have to - but I can't turn my back on the students. So you figure out how to write something down without turning your back on your students AND not using the whiteboard in the meantime Her reality is so far from what goes on in the classroom I have to laugh at her. And pity her. My mentor teacher laughs at her and finds her extremely distasteful as well. Thankfully, my mentor teacher is fully on my side and can't stand this woman either. She is a sourpuss, never smiles and I truly have to wonder what kind of teacher she was. I pity her former students. I have no problem taking constructive criticism - I am the first one to admit I am struggling with teaching 2nd graders - but to be torn to pieces and not given anything positive to go on is totally unacceptable to me. I admit it. I was so stunned after my second lesson at lunch I went to my car and cried harder than I've cried in months. I called the woman who runs the program and left a semi-hysterical message for her telling her I was 7 weeks away from the end of this program and I want to quit.

The question is: Why am I letting this woman get to me so much? Yes, she has the power to give me a very, very bad evaluation. And we have to attach these evaluations to our portfolios and employers might see them. So I am concerned about this. But I am becoming obsessed about my next lesson - and I'm on the first day of my Spring break. I'm having a hard time enjoying myself because I can't stop thinking about what I can do to please her. Frankly, not to put too fine a point on it, but I could not give a shit what she thinks of me or my teaching. I will respect those who respect me. I have no problem respecting those I feel are truly trying to help me, not play power games with me and humiliate me. And it's not just me she does this to - it's everyone. I just happen to be a very stubborn Taurus. I already have huge issues with people telling me what to do. But I thought we'd work together to get me to be a better teacher. I didn't think I'd be raked over the coals every week.

It's taking all my concentration away from what I really need to be doing - working for the students' benefit. Even though I know 2nd grade is not for me, I am willing to stay in the classroom, learn from my brilliant mentor teacher and try to make the best of the situation. It's only 7 weeks right?

Last night, I was watching a movie - not a very good movie - and my mind started wandering. All of a sudden it struck me that I hate who I've become since I began this program. I am unhappy, negative, bitter, tired, worn out, depressed, anxious, burned out, angry, disappointed and fed up. And think - I haven't even gotten my first teaching job. I had a very telling dream last night. I dreamt I got a job - just not in teaching. I know in my heart I want to get my secondary credential in social studies - I should've done this to start with I suppose. I will teach high school - and hopefully the upper grades of high school which is not that different from teaching junior college.

Anyway...I was thinking about who I am now...and who I was before I entered the program. I feel like I was someone else before last September 5th. I feel like this has been an obstacle course. I have jumped through more hoops than an animal at the circus - we all have. Oh - and good news - I took and passed the hardest test they make us take - the RICA. It's a test to show we know how to teach children to read. It was the hardest standardized exam of my life. But I passed on the first try - and I was sicker than a dog when I took it. So according to Bush and NCLB - I'm now considered highly qualified. HA!

So why am I having such a problem with this woman? Sure, I want to tell her off. I want to sit her down and force her to give ME a lesson on the Italian Baroque in exactly 20 minutes. I want her to squirm and sweat trying to teach something I'm an expert at. She's pathetic. She's a retired elementary school teacher who has been hired by the college to supervise us and she thinks she's a professor. Does she even know what it takes to become a professor?

I have been through a lot in my almost 40 years as my readers know. The death of my father. My ongoing health issues. Fires, floods, earthquakes, suicides, growing up with a raging alcoholic, the illness of my father, my own health problems. It dawned on me - it actually dawned on me that oh my god - I had a life before these last 7 months. I was a person who went to college, who worked in the music industry. I was a publicist for a show at the Greek Theater when I was 23. I worked for Disney, I worked in the music industry. I put myself through graduate school. I taught college for 6 years. I survived the worst kind of death imaginable. I lived with my pain and fatigue everyday. I was a bereavement facilitator for 4 years. I did some of the best things of my life back then. I counseled a couple whose son immoliated himself at age 13 in their front yard. I've traveled all over the US and to Europe, Mexico, Canada. I sort of remember what sex was like. I used to read and go to movies and laugh and enjoy life despite whatever obstacles were thrown my way. The point is - I've lost myself. The price has been too high. I used to write daily. I used to read. I used to laugh more and cry much, much less. I used to have the energy to stay in touch with friends. Does it sound like I'm trying to both convince myself and remind myself I HAD a life once??? Yes, I am.

I'm on break until April 9th. My next lesson is a science lesson on sound. I'll be doing the lesson in front of my mentor teacher first. I'm still waiting to speak to the head of the hold program (though she's as useless as anything I've ever encountered)- but I will put it in writing and have it on record that I will not accept or sign a final evaluation of my work that I feel is unfairly low. I know I need help - that's just it - help! Not humiliation.

Did you think it was going to get better? So did I. But seven weeks...it isn't that long. And when I'm done, I never have to see these incompetent bitches again. Now that's something to look forward to.

One Week Down, Fifteen to Go

Ha ha ha. Actually my first week back at school wasn't that bad. Still...here's the good news: I really like/love my social studies class, although the prof is a hardass, and it's almost impossible to get an A in her class. I don't even understand that kind of mentality, having taught college students myself...but whatever. I love social studies. LOVE IT. In fact, I think I'm going to get a secondary credential in it. Wait! Don't freak - apparently getting a secondary credential doesn't involve much after this. I just need one more class and I do have to pass the single subject CSET. But studying for history and other social sciences is actually fun for me. Most people in the class hate social studies. Too bad for them!

The science class is a breeze and fun - I had the same teacher last semester for math and he's great. And I spoke too soon - I actually like the Equity and Diversity Class although all our readings DO point out how I, the quintessential WASP, am responsible for the oppression of every other race in this country. The only 'oppressed' status I have is as a female. Otherwise I am your typical Western-European mutt, white anglo-saxon Protestant oppressor. Even though my relatives were poor as dirt, and my ancestors didn't have anything, even education, I have White Privilege. Actually, don't think I don't know I've had it easier because I've been white, and I've had some money. I do know it. But I do get tired of being blamed for slavery and immigration woes. Anyway, my professor, who speaks in a whisper, is actually a pretty nice, really intelligent Latino who doesn't seem too much of a crazy activist type. I talk a LOT in that class. In fact I talk a lot in all the classes. Sometimes I don't recognize myself - I used to be so shy. I'm like a whole other person. What happened? Sometimes we try so hard to change something about ourselves and we can't do it and then other times we simply change and don't know exactly when or how or why it happened.

Health class is ok and will be a breeze. We learned about 12 year olds giving blow jobs last week. Wow. This generation freaks me the hell out. The worst class is PE which brings back memories of all the horrible PE classes I ever had. I'm sorry. I hate PE. I know kids are obese today. I know activity is important. But just getting in the gym made me feel like I was gonna break out in a sweat - and not from activity. No one is yelling at me now, I'm not gonna be the last person picked for a team - but holy crap I hate institutionalized activity. Let the kids run around for an hour like wild howler monkeys for all I care.

My biggest concern now is this RICA reading exam I have next Saturday. It is a bitch and just one more hoop to jump through. What's amazing is I'd say 90% of the teachers in our schools today were never required to take ANY of these tests. So we still have a shitload of less than highly qualified teachers in the classrooms. They don't have to study like we have. They don't have to prove their knowledge like we do. I'm not saying we'll all be great teachers because we've had to do these things - but the fact that shitty teachers can't be fired is a crime.

I feel like I'm missing a class. Oh, technology. That should be interesting. We're learning Power Point. I've actually NEVER done anything with Power Point. The fact that I even know how to work this blog is a technological miracle. I am so bad with the computer and I do feel I need this course.

Hopefully Monday we find out what school we'll be teaching at, and what grade. I am still freaked out about that. I can't take charge of 20 7 or 8 year olds! Good God, what have I gotten myself into?

Tomorrow is Stupid Bowl Sunday. Have I mentioned I DESPISE football and all the idiotic madness that goes along with this day? What the hell? This country is nuts. I know, I remember the madness around soccer (real futbol!) and the World Cup blah blah - sports people are NOT my cup o' tea. I am going to the L.A. Zoo for a Black History month festival for my social studies class. I have to go; I admit it, I don't want to go. But maybe I'll become enlightened and I can find someone there to apologize to for being white. Haha. I am hoping it will be lightly attended because of Super Bowl, but I doubt it.

And finally, it's hot here again. @&^%*%&#($(#!!!! weather. I mean 80+ degrees. Just when I was enjoying the cold. L.A. sucks.

The Program , Part II

As much as I've wished this vacation to be over the last couple of weeks, here it is, one day left, and I'm a little shocked. Six weeks gone - poof! And what did I do? Slept a lot. Read a lot. Whatever I did or didn't do, it's over, tomorrow is my last 'free' day really, until it's ALL OVER. Primarily because we are being assigned, I assume, to a year-round school (don't even get me started on those and how much I hate them) and they do not have spring breaks. So no spring break. Also, my university managed to put President's Day at the end of December for some reason. So I really cannot think of one real holiday we'll be getting. And I'm certain the Powers That Be will allow us again, ONE missed day of full student teaching in 9 weeks - which is insane. One day in over two months? People get sick, shit happens, but they harp on that constantly.

So here I am...am I ready to go back? Not really. Not in the sense of someone who's just been through three and half months of one of the worst experiences of his/her life and you say "Well, would you like some more?" I'm sure my readers think, well she's GOT to be exaggerating, how BAD could it be? Believe me, I've been through some shitty things in my life and y'all know it. The horrible shock of the death of my dad and the way I found him, my own struggles with ongoing health issues...I've been held at gunpoint, narrowly escaped a raging fire, almost drowned in the Pacific ocean in Hawai'i and rode out the Northridge earthquake. I've had shitty jobs, bosses from hell and all the other intolerable situations we all have. Seriously, after my health, and my dad, this Program is the worst experience of my life. I didn't believe such ineptness existed in the world. I never dreamt you could be pushing 40 and be treated like a mentally defective child by people who by all rights and means should hold no job period. Forget the gangs, the illegals, the kids who don't speak English. That's tough, but I can live with that now. It's knowing we have to go back to these same morons for 4 months that sucks and blows at the same time, to quote Bart Simpson.

But alas, I have to return. As I've mentioned, this semester, we'll be taking 6 classes in 6 weeks. Health, kinesiology, social studies/arts (yay), technology in the classroom, science and my most dreaded class, equity and diversity. What a joke that's gonna be. Especially since it's being taught by a Latino professor who wrote our textbook and I sincerely doubt all races are going to get a fair shake. But I shouldn't judge him on his race, because I'm being racist. Wow. Show me one person in L.A. who isn't in some small way racist and I'll show you a liar.

Then, if the idiot teachers do NOT strike, we'll be starting our full-day student teaching on March 12th. At this point I have NO idea where I'm teaching and no idea what grade. I asked for 1st or 2nd grade - preferably 2nd. I'm sure we'll be teaching at another school in the valley - I'm just hoping it won't be as gang and violence ridden as the last school. I hope to find out Monday if they've figured out where they're putting us.

I am trying to go into the second semester with a somewhat different attitude - one of detachment - as much as I can. Because there is almost nothing I can control except of course, my attitude. I can't control the idiots, I can't control their idiotic behavior, I can't control the professors, or where I get placed or what school I'm placed at, or what mentor teacher I get. I can't control the strike or the schedule. I'm hoping I can control my mouth, because several times last semester I really thought I was going to get kicked out of the program for voicing my not-so-happy opinions. The 'kids' as I call them now - the 22 -25 year old girls, all looked at me like I was insane. Some of them are fresh out of college though. They've never even had another - no, any job! Naive isn't the word for it. Life has been fairly kind to them thus far. I feel sorry for them in a way. I can't imagine being 22 and going to be a teacher and doing nothing else - having no perspective on life other than being in the classroom. As much as I disliked some of my other jobs, I like the fact I had them, that I was exposed to business, and different types of people, different ways of doing something. Well, they don't care. They formed their own little clique right off the bat and I'm too old to matter to them.

So yeah, here's hoping and praying I can put my meditation practice to work, and keep my blood pressure down. I really don't know if I'll be busier with this schedule - although honestly, I cannot imagine that. I cannot imagine ever being busier than I was last semester. So I don't know how often I'll be writing on here. I'm hoping to at least write some happier updates...if it kills me. ; )

The 25

Oh heck, everyone's doing it - why not jump on the bandwagon...although suddenly I fear I don't even have 25 very interesting things to say about my life that people don't already know about because of this blog or my big mouth!

25. When I was at a preschool, around age 3, some nasty bitch locked me in a utility closet all day because I was crying for my mom. Yes I remember it - I have a fantastic and scary memory. Despite this event, I'm not really claustrophobic.

24. I have an irrational fear of pool drains. Don't ask why - I've never had an accident with one, knock wood. Honestly, I get nervous when swimming in the deep end of a pool and I know I'm over the drain. It freaks me out just to look down at it. I don't fear any other kind of drain. Weird, huh?

23. I have traveled to every state in the union except Florida. I've been to Alaska and Hawai'i' - Hawai'i three times. I really have no desire to go to Florida.

22. I would venture to say I've seen, encountered, etc. more famous people, movies stars, celebrities, musicians than anyone I know. I've never approached one or spoken to any one of them (we don't count The Church people!) - except when I sold them books at a bookstore. This is both a law of natives of L.A. - we don't feed the celebrities, and also my own personal belief in not bugging famous people on their off time.

21. When I was 24 years old, I worked for The Walt Disney Company. Many days I ate lunch on the set of Mary Poppins. Yes, they still had part of the set up!

20. When I was 8 years old, taking a piano lesson in a wealthy section of a suburb of L.A., my 85 year old piano teacher and I were held up at gunpoint. My piano teacher had balls the size of grapefruits - she slammed the door in the gunman's face.

19. I can trace my ancestry back to the following countries: Germany, Ireland, Wales, England, Canada.

18.One of the most erotic places I feel a guy can kiss me is the inside of my hand. Don't ask. I had a boyfriend who did this once and wow!

17. I have been friends with my best friend for 33 years. When we first met, we hated each other on sight, with a passion and neither of us can remember why.

16. Among my other neuroses is my intense need to sit by the window in an airplane. Honestly, for some reason, it calms me down to be able to see the ground at all times. If I have to sit away from the window, I get really nervous. No, I don't think I'm keeping the plane up by looking at the ground. ;)

15. My great-grandfather was born in Madeburg, Germany and was a well known firgure throughout Europe. At 20 he was commissioned by King Leopold of Belgium to explore the unknown African Congo. He was also an artist and sculptor, and painted portraits of Eleanor Roosevelt and Charles Lindbergh. He had an exhibition of his most famous works at the San Diego Museum of Art. His wife, Aimee Souvee, was French Canadian. I don't know exactly when they emigrated to the U.S.

14. My favorite poet is T.S. Eliot, my favourite poem is "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, my favourite movie is Blade Runner, my favourite band is The Church, my favourite singers are Steve Kilbey and Frank Sinatra, my favourite artist is Caravaggio, my favourite Classical music piece is Beethoven's 9th Symphony/Schiller's Ode to Joy, my favourite movie director is Martin Scorsese, my favourite swear word is 'fuck', my favourite pastime is reading, my favourite animal is the cat (surprise), my favourite book is impossible to choose but it would be a toss up between The Great Gatsby, The Catcher in the Rye and The Heart of Darkness.

13. Aside from being an art history teacher, I wanted to be two things in life: an actor and a detective. I could never make it through the police academy to become a detective, but this explains my obsession with true crime, forensics and other assorted morbid interests most people find repulsive. I like looking at crime scenes - they're just mysteries to be solved.

12. I have the thickest hair of anyone on the planet. Honestly, if I had a dollar for every stylist who told me I had thick hair, I'd be a rich, rich lady.

11. My favourite city in the world so far is still New York, with London coming in a close second.

10. I have never had a 'white' Christmas. I really want to experience snow at Christmas for once in my life.

9. I have visited two celebrity graves in my life: Elvis's grave at Graceland when I was 12, and Frank Sinatra's grave in Palm Desert about 4 years ago. I so regret I never got to see Sinatra in concert.

8. The most important things I've done with my life to this date are: teaching my students, both college and elementary school, and working with survivors of suicide.

7. Of all the friends I've lost or left over the years, the one I think about the most is Heather.

6. I cry more easily than anyone I know and probably cry at least once a week. Since I started this f-ing Program, I cry a LOT now. ;)

5. I am obsessed with bedding. Seriously. I have a sad fixation on high-thread count sheets. I bought 1000 thread count sheets and now everything else feels like sandpaper! I have about 8 pillows, a down comforter, a quilt, about 10 sheet sets, and various blankets. I have an expensive pillow-top mattress and I'm always looking to make my bed more comfortable. It's kind of sick.

4. I love hotels. Really, really, really nice hotels. I've been fortunate enough to stay in several 5 star hotels in my life. Once I sent my laundry out in a hotel in Vancouver, and my t-shirts came back wrapped in tissue paper and gold ribbon in white boxes. I just stood there and said "Oh my god, this is how rich people live." Extremely nice hotels are a weakness for me.

3. I've had plastic surgery, I've been in therapy, I lived in Malibu, worked in the entertainment industry. On the surface, this doesn't really look good.

2. My most romantic fantasty is to go to the Maldives, or Fiji, and be able to stay in one of those obscenely expensive villas where you have your own private pool right by the ocean, and you can swim in the warm waters under a full moon and stars, at night, stark naked. The rest of this fantasy is private, but suffice to say, Daniel Craig is somewhat involved.

1. I hate sushi and I won't apologise for it! You raw fish eating people are all freaks!



Photo: #2 on my list - the Maldives. Ahhhhh....maybe someday.

Strike This Motherfuckers

Well pardon my French, especially as a teacher. But I keep hearing more and more about a strike - a strike that teachers will vote on next month, a strike where they will walk out the very month we are supposed to start student teaching. How massively this will affect us, our schedules, our potential to get jobs, interviews...knows no bounds.

But beyond my own selfish reasons for not wanting the strike, I am so sick of this useless union. I pretty much ranted about it in another blog so I won't repeat myself. I've been talked to a couple of my friends in the cohort and I am utterly stunned...stunned at how naive I can still be. That I thought somehow, someway this semester would be easier than last semester...hahahaa!

The district has offered a 3% pay raise, retroactive to last July, full health benefits and smaller class sizes. Sounds pretty decent. But no. The teachers want a 9% pay raise and they're going to walk out on the kids, on us, on everyone for it. And they'll walk back in with maybe 5 or 6% if they're lucky and they will have fucked everyone over for it and the union reps will get richer and the teachers still won't be able to buy a house here and the kids' grades will be screwed up and I really, really, really am thinking about shoving this credential in a box in June and going to work in administration, just selling the hell out for the money.