Buy Vinyl, Immediately

I am newly interested in music again.  What I mean is that I am interested in ALL the music.  I’m branching out, which is enlightening.  Sometimes I feel like the older I get, the more resistant to new music I am.  Not because it’s bad or anything, but because I don’t care enough to take the time to really listen to it. 

I’ve also learned that the people with whom I’m hanging out (specifically, important men in my life), turn me on to different parts of my personality … via music.  

What a beautiful gift.

Two months ago, I was listening to Black Sabbath and Fugazi and other metal.  I had a Z-92 flashback (Omaha) of kick-ass bands from back in the day.   I bought a bunch of albums then:  The Smiths, The Cure, Black Sabbath, Firehose, Nirvana, Led Zeppelin, Husker Du …

And then my son moved back in over Christmas break, and (because I was a fucking emotional mess), he hooked me up with some good music to lift me up and change my perspective.  (God, I love him.)

So yesterday, I went album shopping with HIM, and I bought Kendrick, and Tame impala, and Kanye (yes, I said it), and Nas, and Mac Miller, and Black Flag, and (yes) The Smiths. 

A little bit different on the sound scale, yeah? 

The best part (besides sifting through all those albums in a record store) is bringing them home and pulling off the plastic and setting the needle on the vinyl.  The crackle, and then the power of the Bose speakers inflating the room with sound. 

Digital music is great, don’t get me wrong.  I literally just bought a premium subscription to Spotify today.  But the physicality and the personality of music pressed onto vinyl is never a bad thing. 

Go do it.  What do you have to do right now that’s more interesting?

In The Stars

“Choose the day, and choose the sign of your day:  first thing you see.” -Jim Morrison

NASA mathematicians announced that when ancient Babylonians created the zodiac sign over 3,000 years ago, they wanted dates on the calendar to correspond with star constellations.  But there were 13 constellations, and they were working with a 12 month calendar.  So they ditched Ophiuchus.

NASA also pointed out that the Earth's axis doesn't even point in the same direction as it did when the original constellations were drawn, so all our signs have different date ranges now anyway. They released a statement last week explaining, "Here at NASA, we study astronomy, not astrology. We didn’t change any zodiac signs, we just did the math.”

Here are the new astrological signs.  Check it out.  You might still be the same sign, but more than likely, you’re not.  It’s an interesting way to spend an hour …

Capricorn: Jan. 20 to Feb. 16

Aquarius: Feb. 16 to March 11

Pisces: March 11 to April 18

Aries: April 18 to May 13

Taurus: May 13 to June 21

Gemini: June 21 to July 20

Cancer: July 20 to Aug. 10

Leo: Aug. 10 to Sept. 16

Virgo: Sept. 16 to Oct. 30

Libra: Oct. 30 to Nov. 23

Scorpio: Nov. 23 to Nov. 29

Ophiuchus: Nov. 29 to Dec. 17

Sagittarius: Dec. 17 to Jan. 20

And Now for Some Light Music

I get paper cuts all the time – I don’t even know where they come from.  And sometimes I feel like have a thousand of them on my soul.  How do you get rid of the little, tiny cuts that threaten to merge into one giant tear from which you bleed out?

 Listen to the music play. Dance, even if you feel too tired to move.  Periodically navigate away from Radiohead and Black Sabbath and other emotive shit, and listen to happy music.

---

I am such a fucking hypocrite.  I’m listening to Jane’s Addiction right now, and I have no intention of changing it. 

I’m done. 

The Grand Delusion

I made the final, romantic/friendship grand gesture yesterday.  I decided that I wasn’t going to be ignored anymore.  The silent treatment – the total lack of communication – was killing me.  Making me emotionally and physically ill.  So I put on a dress, and I curled my hair, and I packaged all my unsent letters (and a Christmas present) and drove 75 miles to knock a door. 

I didn’t have terribly high expectations, but I wanted to see and be seen.  I just wanted a moment of recognition, and maybe a handful of words.  I wanted to either be able to let go properly or to know that things might be okay a hundred tomorrows from now.

I knocked on the door.  Someone else answered.  He didn’t have the courtesy to come to the front door.  So I handed the package to someone else, got back in my car, and drove another 75 miles back home. 

There it is.  That was the end.  Totally anticlimactic.  Utterly void of interpersonal connection. 

As I think about it now, me trying so hard so communicate, and him crushing me with apathy, I sound like a stalker.  He told me to leave him alone.  He said he was unavailable.  I just didn’t believe it, because it came like being sentenced to exile for a crime I didn’t commit.  I should have left him alone.  He shouldn’t have broken my heart.  I shouldn’t have tried so hard.  He should have tried harder.

I feel relief, but it’s the kind of relief a person feels when someone stops punching them in face.  The blows aren’t raining down anymore, but my face still hurts. The black eyes will take a while to disappear.  I will never let someone sucker punch me like that again, even if that means I never get to experience romantic love again.  Romance is overrated.  Love should be soul deep, not conditional. 

Down with the Sickness (edited for content & weight)

Can you feel that?
Ah, shit

Drowning deep in my sea of loathing
Broken your servant I kneel
(Will you give in to me?)
It seems what's left of my human side
Is slowly changing in me
(Will you give in to me?)

Looking at my own reflection
When suddenly it changes
Violently it changes
There is no turning back now
You've woken up the demon in me

Get up, come on get down with the sickness
Open up your hate, and let it flow into me
Get up, come on get down with the sickness
You mother get up come on get down with the sickness
You fucker get up come on get down with the sickness
Madness is the gift, that has been given to me

I can see inside you, the sickness is rising
Don't try to deny what you feel
(Will you give in to me?)
It seems that all that was good has died
And is decaying in me
(Will you give in to me?)

It seems you're having some trouble
In dealing with these changes
Living with these changes (oh no)
The world is a scary place
Now that you've woken up the demon in me

Get up, come on get down with the sickness
Open up your hate, and let it flow into me
Get up, come on get down with the sickness
You mother get up come on get down with the sickness
You fucker get up come on get down with the sickness
Madness is the gift, that has been given to me

Why don't you
Why don't you just fuck off and die
Why can't you just fuck off and die
Why can't you just leave here and die
Never stick your hand in my face again bitch
Fuck you
I don't need this shit
You stupid sadistic abusive fucking whore
How would you like to see how it feels?
Here it comes, get ready to die

Get up, come on get down with the sickness
Open up your hate, and let it flow into me
Get up, come on get down with the sickness
You mother get up come on get down with the sickness
You fucker get up come on get down with the sickness
Madness has now come over me

Words of Ice

In a cold, winter flurry of words, I will end up dying like the little matchmaker – thinking that if I’m finally okay, because my body doesn’t hurt as much as it did – but what’s really happening is that I’m slowly freezing to death.  I just don’t notice the cold, even though it’s slowly stopping my heart. 

Lay down, Anne Marie.  Let the words warm you up. 

Except the words aren’t warm.  They don’t have flesh.  They’re just excuses – distractions – for actual human interaction.  Because I can’t have who I want, I surround myself with a scratchy, stiff wool blanket of words.  And the worst part is that my words probably pushed that person away.  I tried to surround him with all my verbal nonsense, because it’s the only way I know how to be.  I drowned a man of few words in an ocean of my thoughts.

I fucked that up.

But.  When your best friend is doing something stupid or fucked up or mean or indifferent, you should be able to tell them.  That respect should go both ways.  I want to be told what’s up, otherwise how am I going to fix myself?  How am I going to be a better person, if no one is brave enough to be honest to my face and say, “hey, bitch, stop it”?  I might be mad for a second, but I’ll get it eventually. 

Just love me for ME; don’t cut me off because of what I’m NOT.

A New Chapter

I’m going to skip all the introductory and background comments to get right to the point.  I am a flawed human being, and so are all the people who intrigue me.  I tried to love again recently and failed miserably, but I wouldn’t trade those supernatural highs or the soul-sucking lows for anything.  I spend too much time trying not to feel things, when the real gift of life is experiencing it.  Drinking in the venomous fluid of life and letting the poison induce hallucinations is part of being alive.  In the hallucinations I can find half-moments of clarity to keep me from wading into the river with rocks in my pockets.  (although I’m keeping that option on the table now and forever…)

To love and be loved, even if for a moment, is better than nothing. 

My problem is, and always has been, that I love other people more than I love myself.  I care about people, and I let them consume me like a soul-eating virus.  It’s not all bad.  I have empathy, and if that’s my fatal flaw, then so be it.  I care.  Do I care too much?  Maybe, but qualifying words don’t apply to life.  How do I define “caring too much”?  Why would I even want to define it?  I can say the words “I don’t care” out loud over and over, but it’s almost always a lie.  What I’m really trying to say is “I don’t want to care”.  Two different things. 

So I will take this most recent crushing experience in my life and I will try to turn it into something useful.  Our experiences are like fuel, feeding who we are and how we act.  Fuel sometimes burns with such intensity that the heat warms us, then creates a mirage of waves, then sets us on fire.  I’d rather have a raging bonfire than some smoldering pile of garbage.  I’m going to do what I want and live how I want and stop apologizing for being who I am.  If people don’t accept me for who I am (river-deep flaws and all), then they don’t deserve me. 

No more apologies.  No more martyr sacrifices for other people.  No more wallowing in self-pity because I can’t have exactly what I want.  Because, as it turns out, I have no idea what I really want.  If and when the right people come along, I will see the light.  And if that never happens, or if it only happens in little glimpses, that’s okay too.  At least I know I didn’t give up on myself or try to be someone I am not. 

Why I Write

I wrote a blog post the other day stating exactly how I feel.  My boyfriend had just broken up with me, and I was hanging on by a thread.  Trying not to cry every second at work and at home.  And the next day, I looked out into my classroom, and I saw a girl who looked EXACTLY how I felt.  She looked like she hadn’t slept or eaten, and her eyes were a thousand miles from the classroom.

I know a little bit.  I knew a little background on her.  She doesn’t know mine, of course, but the shocking revelation is:  me – a person in her forties – and her - a teenager – felt exactly the same way.  I could see it her face for days, while I felt it for myself in a different way.  When I talked to her during those days, I saw my confusion reflected in her face.

So I gave her the blog post and watched her read it, and she wasn’t two minutes in when the tears started welling.  She understood.  I gave her my words, and she saw herself. 

That’s what I want to do with writing:  show people that they’re not alone.

Conditional Love

Henry Rollins was in my brain today, talking to me.  He was saying that some people are meant to be alone.  They try to incorporate other people, but when they do those people become a noise disturbance. 

I don’t think I was meant to be alone.  I need someone.  I need to be loved properly.  I always choose the wrong people - people who disappoint me, because they don’t love me enough to know what I need.  I often don’t know what I need until someone breaks me apart enough that I catch a glimpse into myself.  I want to fix people, to help people, but I don’t know how to fix or help myself.

I want to have a glorious affair with a man.  I want to spend several months in a hotel, where the sun shines all the time, or it rains every day, and I want to make love all day.  All morning, all afternoon, and all night.  I want to get out of bed only to eat or to play music or to wander the streets, holding hands.  I want someone who truly WANTS me.  Not someone who just wants to fuck me.  Someone who understands my brain and engages with it and takes up residence in it.  I don’t want a periodic visitor in my life; I want everything, all the time. 

I can’t have that.

 

I am destined to be alone, because no one I love loves me back in the same way.  They fuck with my brain.  They prey on the part of my personality which wants to cater to other people and make them happy.  They don’t want to reciprocate. 

And I’m (apparently) very bad at discerning who is good for me, because people just keep drive-by shooting into my life.  They say words out their mouths which are not true.  They might think what they’re saying is true, but they seem to just want a piece of me.  And after so many people keep taking pieces, what is left? 

I want someone to love me unconditionally.  But what if the love I’m giving is conditional?  What if I want more from people than they are willing to give, and that is my “conditional” love?  What if I am fucking it up from my end?  If only the people I love would talk to me, out loud, then I would know if I’m fucking it up.  But they never do.  I either get a bunch of meaningless words, or heartbreaking silence. 

Nothing wins better than silence, and I am incapable of it.  

Love is the Answer

Don't date people,  Love people, or don't.  Take people in as they are, broken as fuck, and either love them properly or leave them alone.  Don't play games.  Don't pull the "I need a break" card.  Get your shit together and get in that person's face (face-to-face is crucial here), and tell them how you feel.  Tell them why they aren't right for you.  Tell everyone in your life what you need to tell them, because you could step off a sidewalk tomorrow and get nailed by a bus.  You could have an aneurysm and drop dead at any second.  Do you really want to leave things unsaid?  Don't do it.  Don't die with regrets.  Don't die and let other people wonder what was left unsaid.  Don't disappear.  Your words are of great import.

Even the word, "dating", is such bullshit.  The definition of a "date" is "the day or month of the year, as specified by a number"  OR "a social or romantic appointment or engagement".  So ... "DATING" is just another word for periodically having an appointment with someone, on a day.  Unless you're scheduling with a prostitute, "dating" doesn't apply to anything REAL.  It's just a word that comes with bullshit social obligations.

Love knows no boundaries.  When you feel the boundaries (or start getting choked by them), tell your person and move on.  It's important to look in their eyes when you do this.  People need closure.  Don't fucking hang around afterwards, waiting for the other person to love you properly.  Change happens at a glacial pace.  Even when something blindsides you, the way you feel will seem like the pace of watching paint dry in subsequent moments.  The days and weeks afterward crawl like a fucking slug toward nothing.  You might think you're over it, and then you see a fucking Hallmark commercial or something and you're crying over (what seems like) absolutely nothing, but it's unresolved angst.

Embrace it.  Love yourself.  Love other people.  Do it right or not at all.  People are not toys.  Life is not a Hasbro game.  (It totally is, but you get what I'm talking about.)  TOYING with people and their feelings is just mean.  Rationalizing your behavior makes it no better.

I'm tired of watching people get fucking railroaded by other people and feeling sad.  I'm also tired of being that person who either does it or takes it from other people.  We need to be good to each other.  I'm old as shit and still learning how to be a proper human being.  The problem with being a human being is that we all have different agendas and different pressure points.  It's not okay to systematically test those boundaries on other people.

Be honest.  Be true.  Love is the answer.

Empathy, and Other STDs (for Robin)

In a nutshell, people are assholes.  I am an asshole, and so are you.  Your parents and your children are probably assholes too.

So now we can move on to the bigger question:  WHY? 

Why can’t people look in the mirror periodically and then look at other people and see the resemblance?  We are all here on this shitty earth for a while – together – so why is it so hard for people to be kind?  I know I can be a raging bitch sometimes, but I also deeply care about other people.  I care so much, in fact, that I have devoted my life to teaching adolescents, one of society’s most feared and criticized demographics of people.  I love them (most of the time) and I am annoyed by them (occasionally) and I hate them (very rarely).  But I don’t give up on them. 

People should not give up on people they love.  If you don’t love them anymore, that’s a different story, but to tap out because of “feeling words” is cowardly.  Try to understand the people you love. 

But don’t just stop there.  Try to understand people in general.  Everyone has shit going on in their lives.  They might slap on a happy face, but every person on the face on the planet has had a shitty day, or week, or month, or year … just like you.  Just like me.  The people who need empathy the most are those who have a lot of those shitty days and weeks.  Life isn’t shooting rainbows and unicorns out of their asses, and they need someone to take two fucking seconds to acknowledge their suffering.  You don’t need to hug them or invite them to live in your basement, but PAY ATTENTION.  LISTEN.  Listen, even when they aren’t saying anything, because nothing speaks the truth like silence. 

Be good to one another.  Be good to yourself.  Yes, I’m a hypocrite, because I’m terrible to myself … BUT, life is just so terribly long, and I’m tired. And having someone listen to me once in a while saves my life. 

Love, and Other Ghosts

“Grief is the price we pay for love.” -Viktor Frankl

Oh wait, here’s an even better one: “Love is like a snowmobile racing across the frozen tundra.  At night, the ice weasels come.” -Matt Groening

If only I was a cyborg.  No feelings; no bullshit.  Just get the job done and move on. 

I am not a cyborg.  Unfortunately, I am an impatient, empathetic, jealous, loving, irrational, intelligent, nurturing, angry, codependent human female.  I want things, and I want other people to periodically accommodate for me, rather than me circumnavigating everyone else’s lives all the time.  I need to feel loved and appreciated, which I sometimes make difficult for other people because I am a broken human being.  (as most of my favorite human beings are…)

I am too old to be sitting around pining for things that I want, while simultaneously drinking myself to death out of boredom and neurosis. 

When, exactly, did I lose myself in this void of human vapidity? 

I think we lose ourselves when we stop listening to the voice in our head.  Our gut feelings.  Our bodies and brains are telling us something for a reason.  We need to listen more often.  People who don’t question themselves are boring, quite honestly.  Give me a dismantled person, and I’ll listen to their stories all day.  Give me a suburban parent drinking the Kool-Aid of domesticity, and I’ll show them the door.  Boring, mundane shit cannot take over.  Tragedy cannot take over.  Ennui cannot take over.  Depression cannot take over.  Ignorance cannot take over.  The key, I think, is a mixture of all those things - the bitterness of salt followed by the burn of tequila ended with the sweet lime.  Drink it down.

I don’t want to feel sorry for myself or other people.  I just want to live and breathe in the good moments – the ones that make me happy that I am alive.

I still choke on panic every day, but until I’m dead, I’m going to believe in love. Maybe it’s not the love that I always thought was real, but I refuse to believe that love can’t be true and tangible.  Maybe love only happens in certain moments until it disappears and reappears as something different.  That’s okay too.

Bob Marley once told me that every little thing is gonna be alright.  I think what he meant is that life just IS.  We can’t control it; we’re along for the ride.  I already bought the ticket; I might as well take the ride. 

Wtf?

You lay me down in your beautiful garden
And then you rake the soil so that nothing can grow.

You take me to the places that I want to go
And then you leave me there alone.

Flowers start to flirt and blossom
And then the clippers come round to decapitate the bloom.

Is god playing evil tricks on me
Or are you playing a game of early frost with a fragile plant?

The only one I know has come to take me away
And I have no idea where I'm going.

Everyone has burned before
We'll all be burned again.

Here Comes the Anger

Holy fucking shit. 

My anger is like taking a clone of myself and creating a whole different person made of angst and disappointment and frustration.  I am so fucking angry all the time.  When I’m not angry, I’m debilitated.  I’m useless, because the anger overcomes me at such velocity that I can’t even control my brain.  I’m angry at everything and everyone, simply because they exist. 

The question is … why?

Let me tell you.

I am so fucking sick of people pretending to care.  OR kind of caring and sucking at it.  Here’s the thing:  if you care, SAY IT OUT LOUD.  And then do something about it.  Don’t sit around like a fucking pussy and say nothing.  Don’t IGNORE me, because there is literally nothing worse for me, as an individual, than not acknowledging me.  Does that make me needy?  YES.  But if you like me, or (god forbid) love me, then don’t fuck around with my feelings.  Don’t leave me hanging.  Don’t get so caught up in your own shit that you can’t spend two fucking seconds recognizing the fact that I am a human being who needs love and acknowledgement.

YOU are not more important than ME.  I have spent the better part of 20 fucking years letting someone else be “more important” than me.  And I’ll tell you what, it sucks. 

I want to break up with humanity.  I fucking hate the way other people make me feel.  No one gets me.  No one understands what I need.  No one cares. “I am the dog who gets beat.  Shove my nose in shit.  Won’t you come and save me?”  (Alice in Chains)  No one is coming to save me.  I have to save myself, and I have no fucking idea how to do that.  I have a severe deficit in that capacity, but no one cares enough to help me through that obstacle.  They prefer to ignore it – easier, right?

No one is going to save me but me.  And I can’t save myself.  I am drowning in my own shit.  I inhale, and I get a nasal cavity full of anger.  I am angry at everyone, because no one sees me.  No one gives a flying fuck about anyone else, except when it makes them feel good to “help” other people.  I’m tired of that shit.  I don’t need anyone’s pity.  I need to be loved properly and with careless abandon.  How did I end up so alone and with no one who cares enough to fight for me? 

Maybe I’m not worth fighting for.   That’s always a possibility. 

Fuck the rest of that apathetic bullshit.   I deserve more and I deserve better.  I deserve to be loved truly, madly, and deeply, all the time.  I don’t deserve to be marginalized. 

I wish I believed any of the bullshit I just spewed into this void.  

Things I Love (A Counter to All the Angst in This Blog)

1.        A certain farmer, who, even though he makes me want to pull my hair out in frustration, because I can’t see him, shows me that love is possible.

2.       A certain Filipino, who is the kindest, sweetest person I know, and who is just as fucked up as I am (thank god).

3.       A certain girl from Oregon, who reminds me that having friends is important.

4.       A certain Eskimo, who truly understands who I am and accepts me for that every day, all the time.

5.       A certain Future Famous Person, who showed me a side of himself today that makes me absolutely certain that people will remember who he is, because his talent and wisdom is far beyond his years.

6.       A certain teenager, who makes me understand that I’m not done yet, and helping people become who they are is essential in life.

7.       A certain old man, who is just like me, and scares the living shit out of me, because he is who I will become (excepting the being-married-for-my-whole-life part).

8.       A certain guy who used to make me happy, but who now shows me that I deserve so much better than just someone who goes through the motions instead of living life out loud. 

9.       A bunch of teenagers, who both make me crazy and keep me sane, because they refuse to ignore the fact that high school is bullshit (most of the time).

1.   And probably some others, but I’m tired now, and I just want to go to bed.  

On Being Alone

I always thought I wanted to be alone, but as it turns out, I really just want to be alone with the person I love.  I want US to be alone TOGETHER.  I want to have someone to come home to and to wake up with and to go to bed with and to make meals with and to make love to and listen to music with and to wander around with and to sit and just be still with. 

I don’t want people to intrude on the intimate moments of my life.  Not the sexually intimate moments, but the moments when I just want to be surrounded by my backyard or engulfed in my music.  I don’t want neighbors who stare at me when I’m outside, and I certainly don’t want to be guilted into spending time with people who think they can impose their idea of “friendliness” or “family” on me simply because social norms indicate that people should portion out their time to others in a false sense of “togetherness”. 

Life is so short and yet so unbearably long.  The good times fly past, and the painfully boring and tense and work-based times stretch themselves out over eons of time and fill my brain with vast sinkholes of anxious WAITING.  Waiting for a good moment, waiting to spend time with someone, waiting to FEEL something solid and strong and beautiful. 

You see, I’m very bad at making the time which I spend alone in my head productive.  I want to play the guitar or work out or nap, but my brain won’t shut off and it won’t shut up.  My thoughts wander to “what if?” and “why not?” and when?”.  I have a hard time just BEING.  If there was a drug that gave me inner peace, I’d inject it every day, even if my life span was subsequently shortened by a dozen years.  Better to spend my days reveling than to spend them worrying about things I can’t really control.  But my brain actively works against me in this capacity. 

I want to build a fortress in my backyard, so I don’t have to see or hear anyone who lives around me.  I want to be actually, physically alone, without interference from people who have not been invited into my life.  I want to live in the middle of nowhere, so long as I have the one I love living in solitude with me.  No one else – except by invitation. 

If only he wanted the same thing.  But I guess we can’t control how other people feel or when they will act or how they will respond to us.  People are strange, and I am a stranger.  Even to myself.  

Ghosts, And Other Things I Am

Today is going to be different.  I will not drink too much.  I will not smoke too much.  I will not think too much.  I will not worry about things which are beyond my control.  I will spend quality time with myself, rather than berating myself for failing at not doing all the things I just listed.  I will work on being WHOLE.  I will HOLISTICALLY heal myself, rather than synthetically altering my mental state. 

I will exercise.  I will read a book for pleasure.  I will take a nap.  I will clean the house.  I will engage better with my children.  I will visit my parents.  I will play the guitar without telling myself I suck.  I will make a proper, healthy dinner.  I will start writing another novel.  I will not wander around aimlessly without accomplishing anything of relevance. 

So many statements … all incorrect to some degree.  Some days, some times, in some moments, I may almost or accidentally achieve one of these goals.  While it’s not very likely, it’s still possible.  One of these days, I will quit trying altogether. I’m almost there.  I’ve almost given up.  I have to remind myself that I’m not dead yet, even though I feel like a ghost, haunting myself.  I am still alive.

The day is darkening outside, and with the fading light ebbs my sense of purpose.  Night will come, and I will take a bath and drink some cocktails and go to bed, just to end another day of senseless and aimless wandering.  I will send this note into the vast internet void, knowing that anyone who reads it will not care, or they will care for only the series of moments needed to get to the end and judge my words according to their life view. 

I don’t care what other people do.  I don’t even really care what I do.  Apathy is a practiced skill.  I am getting better.  I have to practice every day, because my inner idealist screams at me to make life interesting and relevant again.  But I wonder if my life was ever interesting or relevant, or if people just delude themselves into thinking that they have an impact on anything.  My words might sound defeatist, but my thoughts are almost hopeful.  One day, I won’t have to fight with my own mind about who I am and what I’ve become and why things are the way they are. 

Mental distance is reassuring.  While breathing life in deeply is beautiful, sometimes a series of gasps is enough to keep a person alive.  This note is a gasp.  I will write another later.  I will intake air and water, and (if I’m lucky) a bit of love, which is the only thing that brings color to an otherwise ordinary life.  I would like to love again, properly.  It’s the unreciprocated and/or unattainable love which burns. 

So I won’t let love burn me again.  I’ll throw metaphorical water on my feelings until they sizzle back into ash.  At least the ash, unlike the angst, is organic and useful.   

Inservgice Days, and Why They Blow

I love being a teacher.  Let me repeat:  I love being a teacher.  (About 80% of the time.)  What I don’t love could fill a book, but today I want to explain the “quality” of an Inservice Day.  I find it ironic that my computer is underlining that word in red, because it’s not a real word.  I suppose the phrase should be “In-Service Day”, because teachers are expected to be “in service” of the school in which they work.  Ironically, I was of no service to anyone today, except maybe THE MAN. 

Let me break it down for you …

8:00 – Required breakfast.  (shitty coffee and fattening donuts).  We spent almost an hour in a “Team Building” exercise during which groups were made to build something creative out of pipe cleaners.  What in the bloody hell?!  As an added bonus, this breakfast was REQUIRED, and the administrators were walking around taking attendance to see which teachers weren’t there.  

8:45 – Staff Meeting.  This is essentially a listing of various clubs, sports, and activities and what they’re accomplishing.  This listing was followed by an extensive conversation about CLOWNS (because people are currently trying to scare other people by dressing up as clowns), and why it’s SUPER-IMPORTANT to preempt any clowning around by our students (both literally and figuratively).  Example:  a student Photo-shopped a picture of a “clown” standing next to a car in our school parking lot, and he was summarily arrested and suspended.  The administration considered putting the school on LOCKDOWN because of this incident, because it was “so scary” for both students and parents.  

Still the staff meeting … We were told how to “Weed the Garden”; in other words, how to eliminate those things which are preventing us from effectively doing our jobs as teachers (aka “In-Service Days”).  One of those “weeding” things is (obviously) NOT having a series of useless meetings which impede my time to do anything productive as a teacher. 

9:15 – Department Meetings.  This is the only meeting which would have (potentially) benefited me as a teacher, but those were cancelled, because so many other “important” things were on the schedule. 

9:45 – Marzano Share Fair.  I’d explain, but the details are irrelevant.  This was a mandatory exercise of walking from one 15-minute presentation to another, listening to my peers share things from Robert Marzano’s books.  Things like, “Hey, if a kid smells, he might have a hygiene problem.  You should talk to talk to him or refer him to the nurse.”  And “class time is better spent if the teacher has a plan in place”.  

            I’m pretty sure we all have college degrees, so … yeah.  Unnecessary.

10:45 – Kognito Training.  Essentially, this is “intervention training”.  “If a student threatens self-harm, you should do something.”  Really?  No shit?  I thought we should just ignore them.  (Jesus H.)  As an added bonus, the video took about 45 minutes, and at the end of it, I was unable to print the documentation, so I’ll probably have to do it all over again.

12:00 – Lunch.  Oh wait, I couldn’t go to lunch, because I had to actually to do some WORK to be prepared for school tomorrow.

1:00-3:30 – Central Office.  The whole meeting was about how to grade student writing, according to arbitrary rubrics, and was “taught” by a person who the district brought in and PAID to tell English teachers how to grade English papers. 

            She said, and I quote, “I’m here to throw some pebbles into your pond.”  What in the bloody hell does that mean?!  Make a ripple??  The only ripple I got from that meeting was digestive angst.  After the first hour, she sounded like Hunter S. Thompson on an extensive ether binge.  Thirty minutes after that, I was literally praying for a natural disaster, so I had a legitimate reason to leave.  

            These people are citing research from people who USED to be teachers, but they found that writing (and selling) books FOR teachers was more lucrative, so school districts buy 1000s of these books (and their bullshit theories), then force teachers to sit through ass-numbing hours of brainwashing and mental numbness just so the district is on the “cutting edge” of whatever the hell kind of Kool-Aid is currently in fashion.

            The primary function was to “decrease our paper-load” as English teachers.  Here’s a thought:  if I didn’t have to sit through three hours of a lady who sounds like the annoying adult voice in the Charlie Brown shows, I could have been managing my paper load by actually GRADING PAPERS.  (yes, a shocking and revolutionary idea…)

So, yeah.  Good times all around.  I’m definitely a better teacher after today …

Heart Strings & Imminent Death

I went to the doctor the other day, and he told me that my blood pressure was "dangerously high".  This is not a phrase any human being wants to hear.  I tried to explain that the two previous days were not "normal" in the sense that many emotionally taxing had recently happened, so I was VERY wound up.  Angry, depressed, anxious, worried ... all of the above.  As it turns out, NOT a great time to get one's blood pressure taken.

In the spirit of releasing some of the toxins which make me an angry bitch, here comes of a list of things which make me happy:

• Triscuits and Cheese.  Perfection is an unbroken, perfectly square Triscuit with gouda, but the general idea of these two foods together essentially creates a food group for me.  This is the quintessential comfort food for me. 
• Playing the guitar.  I used to be really good - could play almost anything - and then I quit.  So I'm learning again, and my fingers are a blistered fucking mess.  BUT!!  It feels good to make music, even if it's not perfect.  (The down side is that I'm typing with those blisters right now, but eventually they will become callouses, so ... still positive.)
• A farmer who lives in the middle of nowhere who is teaching me much-needed patience, something at which I am infamously TERRIBLE.
• Cover songs.  Who knew that there are so many amazing cover songs out there which are sometimes even better than the original?!  Examples:  Ray Lamontagne's "Crazy", Ryan Adams' "Wonderwall", Bastille's "No Scrubs", Perfect Circle's "Imagine", Johnny Cash's "Hurt" ... the list goes on and on.
• Chuck Klosterman.  Yesterday I was reading "I Wear the Black Hat", and he said to me, "Once you realize you can't control how you feel, it's impossible to believe any of your own opinions."  Amen, sir.  (Plus, Chuck has no filter and he talks about music as if it's a religion.)
• Deadpool.  "Happy International Women's Day!"
• Mimosas.  (No explanation needed there.)
• Eddie Vedder's voice.  Listening to him is like taking a warm bath in words.  His voice is haunting and beautiful and makes my ovaries ache.  He has me in the palm of his hand as soon as he opens his mouth.
• Summer Hours.  I love walking up, lying in bed, making some coffee and breakfast, and then getting back INTO bed, just because I can.  Having no schedule is lazy and decadent.
• My garden ... BEFORE all the crabgrass moved in.  (Now I try to avoid eye contact with the backyard, because it makes me feel like I need to go pick weeds.)

That's enough happiness for now.  Perhaps more to come.  

On Older Men

In their teenage years, boys tend to be adventurous and fun and slightly oblivious.

In their twenties, the true personality of men comes to fruition.  They know a bit more about who they are and what they want.  They come in a variety of flavors, but that's the lovely thing about a person's twenties - people get to take chances and make mistakes and fall madly in love and just as easily fall out of love.  Twenty-somethings are in the prime era of PERSONHOOD, in the sense that they care about experiencing life, regardless of the consequences.

Men in their thirties start to change.  If they got married in their twenties, they probably had kids and are raising them (and often wondering if they missed out on something by getting married early).  If they get married in their thirties, they're more likely to just be complacent and happy - buying a home, fixing up their home, impregnating their wife, or whatever.

Men in their forties are a whole new breed.  These men are either happily married (the minority), or living vicariously through their children ( a HUGE percentage), or divorced and carrying more baggage than any airline would ever allow on board.  (There is also the stray 40-year-old man who has never been married, which introduces a whole new level of psychology.)

Trying to date someone in their forties is fucking exhausting.  (I understand that the same is true of both genders, but I'm biased, because I'm not a man.)

Men in their forties either want to fuck 20-year-olds or they have a defense mechanism so deeply entrenched that it's impossible to penetrate.  They just want to have sex, and they are generally incapable of making any commitment beyond a golf tee time.

So ... I give up.  I'm not a fucking supermodel, and I need to feel the "can't-eat, can't sleep, butterflies-in-my-stomach" that I used to feel when meeting someone and the pheromones are flying. Obviously, not everyone is compatible, but when you hit your forties, the pool of men who are available and haven't been completely broken by at least one woman is pretty shallow.  Every woman they date is construed as just another potential bitch who is going to eventually take them to court and try to take their kids and their house.

FYI, not every woman wants your shit.  Are there a whole gaggle of bitches out there who will marry men for their money?  Yes.  But the same is true of men.  It would be really nice to meet an older man who isn't so fucking afraid to open his heart to a woman that his heart gets systematically closed by stress and heart disease.

I guess we all have too much baggage, regardless of the number of birthdays we've had.

The Dog Days Are Over

As the title literally says, the dog days are over.  I have been talking about getting a dog for like two years now, even gone so far as to try to adopt a couple along the way.  All it took to totally eradicate that thought from my head was to dog-sit for a week.

Let me preface by saying that this dog is quite lovely (a beagle/dachshund mix, I think).  He's spirited and soft and fun-loving ... and CONSTANTLY up my ass.  When I move, he moves.  When I walk, he walks.  When I descend the stairs, he tries to murder me by getting directly underneath my feet on the stairs.  When I pee, for Christ's sake, he sits in the bathroom and watches me.

It's very unsettling.

He tears around my yard and gardens like a fucking tornado, trampling and shitting on everything in his path.  He tore out the back door the other day, and the next thing I saw was a bunny literally flying through the air.  (A rousing eight-legged foot chase ensued.)  I'm fairly sure that bunny is either dying or already dead somewhere under my deck or shed.  I'm not looking forward to the imminent smell of rotting rabbit.

To add insult to injury, I had to pick up two OTHER dogs today.  While I only have the two little white dogs for one day, I have to keep the three dogs separated, and the original dog keeps trying to launch himself off the living room chair and over the stair railing to get to the "smell" in the basement.

I'm too old for this shit.  Actually, I just don't have the patience for this shit.

I like my space.  I don't having that space filled with dog hair and violent barking freak-outs whenever someone comes to the house.  8 more hours to freedom.  Hallelujah - deliver me from this evil.

Sport, and Other Bullshit Excuses

I am so fucking tired of grown-ass people living vicariously via professional sports teams.

I get it - I have loved the Chicago Bears since I was a little girl, because it gave me a reason to hang out with my favorite brother.  But when fully-functioning adults become liquor-crazed idiots because they are rooting for or against a team over which they have ABSOLUTELY NO CONTROL by standing up or drinking certain beer or wearing a certain shirt, I want to throw up directly in their mouths.  This childish fascination people have with sports is fucking nauseating.  I watch a certain human being toggle between baseball, basketball, and fucking women's bowling (or whatever other bullshit sport might be on TV) every single time he's got a screen in front of his face.  His daughter came over to see him for father's day today. He came directly from a college world series game, said hello, accepted his presents (3 minutes tops), and then planted his ass on the couch to watch basketball.

Wow, how cool is it to have a connection with a bunch of athletes who wouldn't give you the time of day in the real world, but not be able to have a proper connection with the people who actually have blood ties with you?  Really impressive stuff there.  P.S. Those people for whom you root by shouting at the TV from your ass-couch position don't give a flying fuck about you.  They don't care about your stupid superstitions, nor do they want your shitty used-to-play-football in high school advice about why they're doing it all wrong.

IF YOU COULD PLAY THE SPORT, YOU'D BE DOING IT!

Maybe read a book or something periodically...

Dirt

"Dirt"

I have never felt such frustration
Or lack of self control
I want you to kill me
And dig me under, I wanna live no more

One who doesn't care is one who shouldn't be
I've tried to hide myself from what is wrong for me

I want to taste dirty, a stinging pistol
In my mouth, on my tongue
I want you to scrape me from the walls
And go crazy like you've made me

One who doesn't care is one who shouldn't be
I've tried to hide myself from what is wrong for me 

You, you are so special
You have the talent to make me feel like dirt
And you, you use your talent to dig me under
And cover me with dirt

One who doesn't care is one who shouldn't be
I've tried to hide myself from what is wrong for me 

Worst Shooting Ever in U.S.

Another day, another mass shooting in the "greatest country on earth"- the biggest body count of any mass shooting ever in America.  As of today, 5,831 people have been shot to death in America this year.  THIS YEAR!  Man, that second amendment is really doing some good things for America, right?

So, what will people say about this last one?  Probably some bullshit about how the shooting happened at a gay club, so they were inviting violence (or something similarly homophobic).  And then constitutionalists everywhere will argue that this recent shooting is yet another reason that people need to be armed - to protect themselves from crazy people.  Apparently, gay people who go out clubbing don't remember to pack their constitutionally protected guns, or else (of course) the disaster would have been averted.

It's getting pretty fucking ridiculous to keep defending the sale of automatic weapons in a country where mass shootings are (on average) a DAILY thing.

Hey, fellow Americans:  We have the right to murder each other!  The constitution tells me so!  (As if most people have EVER read all of the constitution...)

And then, the final casualty will be immigrants.  From what I've read, the person (or persons) who did this claimed affiliation with ISIS.  Of course.  A bunch of Islamic douche bags have taken over the headlines AGAIN.  America's ensuing rage will be aimed at Muslims rather than being aimed at the prolific presence and ease of accessing firearms in America.

Embarrassing.  On every front.

Oops

"Mistakes are useful, because they lead, little by little, to the truth."  -Anthony Doerr (All The Light We Cannot See)

So many mistakes.  So little understanding.  So few ways to turn the dark into the light.  And yet so many ways to turn the mistakes into the truth.  I don't think people do things apropos of nothing, so there must be logic in life somewhere, somehow.  I don't want to buy into the early philosophy of Albert Camus and admit that everything is just absurd, but it's almost easier to think that way.  If nothing matters, then ... nothing matters.  Why even try?

How I seem to be dealing with this philosophical conundrum is to  focus almost entirely on other people and just ignore the fact that I am a human being who is breathing air.  If I put all my energy into other people, I don't have to acknowledge all the ways I'm ignored myself.  I help others, but I don't help myself.  Isn't that the definition of a hypocrite?  Do what I say, not what I do.  Or something like that.

I don't know.  I just hope truth reveals itself soon, because otherwise i'm probably just digging my own grave.  But there is truth in that mistake as well.

Waiting: A Circle of Hell

I know Dante didn't make WAITING one of the circles of hell, but he lived in a different lifetime, and he probably didn't have children.

With the onset of omnipresent technology, teenagers are more willing to "wait" for something to happen (whatever the hell that might be), because while they "wait", they are sitting on their asses on the couch with their phones in their faces and the TV blaring stupid, loud, noise.

So when my 14-year-old tells me that she's going to her friend's house "later", all that means is, "fuck off, I'll do something eventually ... maybe."  It's all a ploy to get me to leave her alone so she doesn't have to actually DO anything, because she's "just about ready" to go somewhere (a time frame which might last 15 minutes or six hours).  It's truly ridiculous.

Why do I care?  Because she's not fucking doing ANYTHING, besides cramming her phone in her face and watching shitty reality TV shows.  I would prefer to do something with her (which I have tried to do several times - her attention span is about 15 minutes with me, but four hours with Jelly Splash), or for her to have a hobby (god forbid), or to actually leave the house, so it's quiet and I can read my book without hearing Nev's voice in the background talking about some dumbass being catfished.

...

To be honest, I just walked away from writing this and tried to get her motivated, so we played catch in the living room with a tennis ball for about an hour, and then she told me (for about the 20th time) that she is still waiting for her friend so they can hang out.  Such bullshit.  Just get the fuck up and do something.

Criminals and Idiots

One of my fellow educators (an old man, if that matters) said to me last week that most of his students are either criminals or idiots.  Wow, does that make me sad.  Why would a person be an educator of young people, if that's his opinion of his students?

I met a kid a couple of weeks ago - he was a second semester transfer, a senior, who had been kicked out of four high schools already.  My school was his last chance.  He only needed four credits to graduate.  He's a truly good soul, who got all wrapped up in the wrong group of people, specifically gang members.

For some reason, this kid clicked with me.  I think it's because he would say super inappropriate things, and I would immediately call him on his bullshit and tell him how NOT to be a dumbass and make bad choices.  He was not my student (only in my study hall), and I only had him under my direct supervision for about a week, but I took it upon myself to check up on him and talk to him.  He would wander into my classroom in the middle of any given class and just start telling me things or try to talk to all my students. They didn't know what to do with him.  ADHD = wandering = getting into trouble.  But there is nothing but good in this kid's heart, so I did any and everything I could do to listen to and help him.

He was in the school for all of about a week, when he got suspended for telling one of our female teachers that he wanted to curve her.  While that's inappropriate, all that needed to be done was to have a conversation about not saying every single thing which comes into his brain.  Honestly, I think that HE thought it was a compliment.  (Obviously, that's not how you talk in school.)

Anyway, he is now MIA.  He broke into a former foster parent's house last week, he's now on the run, and he's fucked.  No more public school for him, only incarceration.  Last chance blown, friend.

And yet, I still feel bad for him.  His family life is nonexistent, he's been in and out of foster care for most of his life.  He's in a gang.  And, as a a matter of fact, he told me that the only way he'd ever get out of that gang was in a coffin.

I just hope he's wrong.  I hope he doesn't end up a life-long criminal.  I hope he gets his GED.  I hope he knows that he can be a good person, even though his family and his life is pretty fucked up right now.  I hope he doesn't kill someone or get killed by someone.  I hope that he finds the good in himself that I can see every time I speak to him.  I hope he's okay.

Nebraska, The Good Life (?)

I am sitting at my kitchen table having a glass of wine.  It seems like the only rational thing to do, when I can't go outside because the wind would probably blow my fat ass into my neighbor's yard.

My trash was literally EVERYWHERE when I came home from work, so I gathered that.  My basketball hoop is in the middle of the driveway, in pieces.  The door to my shed BLEW OFF the shed and are laying in the yard.  One of my ornamental fences is hanging in pieces off the metal rods.  My lawn furniture is, well, everywhere.  And pieces of maple tree are littering my yard.

So, I figure if I sit in the kitchen and write about it for minute, maybe the huge tree in my backyard will simply split apart in pieces and crush me, so I don't have to deal with cleaning up the mess.

If Chicago is the "Windy City", I don't know what to call this shit storm which is Nebraska.

On Meeting the Girl

My son has a new girlfriend.  This is no one's business but his, so I shouldn't be writing about it.  But I want to write about it in a different context.

I hadn't met her yet, but all of his friends have.  This is not odd, in my book.  I rarely introduced any of my boyfriends to my parents.  But my son's father has met her (of course), because he works in a restaurant, where he kisses ass all day and has a million superficial "relationships" with everyone, all the time.  Everybody likes him, because he pretends to like everybody.

Anyway, my son wanted this girl to come to dinner tonight.  I wanted to meet her independent of his father, so she came over; I shopped, I prepped, I cooked, and she had been in the house for all of about three fucking minutes when the father walked in the door.  So ... I didn't have the opportunity to actually meet her then, because the person who makes me more angry and sad than any other human being on the planet breezed through the door and took over with his bullshit small talk about NOTHING.  That's his milieu: Talking about nothing.

I hate his face.  I hate that his face gets to enter my home whenever it wants.  I hate that I'm just trying to hang out with my children, but their sperm donor keep interjecting himself where he is not invited.  Does that make me sound like a fiery bitch to divorced men?  Yes.  I don't care.  I want to parent my children without outside, bullshit interlopers.  I want so, so much for his face NOT to make me angry.  I have practiced the Art of Not Caring for about five years now, and I'm terrible at it.  He, on the other hand, is brilliant at not caring.  He is certainly not writing a blog about how much I bother him, because he just chooses not to care, and then doesn't.  In that capacity, I am quite jealous of him.

The one thing that kills me more than anything is that I can't move out, because I can't afford it.  And he will never leave, because ... well, because he doesn't have to.  And if he only comes around when it's convenient for him, then he wins.  He gets to live in the house, not pay a second rent, see his kids when he wants, ignore them when it's convenient, have a built-in housekeeper and nanny, and not have to deal with embarrassing personal questions from his friends and family.

How lovely.  What a perfect, suburban dream for everyone.

I (Heart) Gardening

God, I love being outside and cleaning up shit in the yard.  I might sound sarcastic here, but I'm saying, seriously, I love cleaning up leaves and planting things and landscaping.  I can almost see the end product when I'm raking and digging and getting stabbed by various plants to which I'm allergic.  And when the shit starts growing, I just want to sit outside and watch it.  Maybe take a time-lapse video of all the things which grow and bloom.

But god do I hate owning an old house.  I can break my back outside and see the results, but the INSIDE of the house - where all the plumbing and electricity and general rot happens - makes me want to throw myself under the lawnmower.  I fucking hate it.  I hate being electrocuted when I try to turn on a light.  I hate not knowing how to change an overhead light.  I hate being afraid to change that light fixture - even though I know (in theory) how to fix it - because I might just burn my house down.  I hate that the dickhead who lived here before I did "fixed" all kinds of things, but he did it in the most ridiculous, half-assed way imaginable.  I hate that my roof seems to be slowly disintegrating.  I hate that my deck is rotting so badly that I might just fall through it one day and have to be rescued by firefighters.  I hate that various windows around the house are cracked, simply because they're so freaking old.  I hate wondering if my house will burn down because someone didn't care enough to wire it right.I hate that my driveway looks like Fallujah after a bombing.

But life is coming back to the midwest right now.  And as e e cummings said,

 O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting

fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and
poked

thee
, has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy

beauty, how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and

buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
(but
true

to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover

thou answerest

them only with

spring)

High School, and The Art of Not Thinkinig

I was just thinking (shocking, I know) about what kind of Bouncing Betty of a job I currently have.  In a high school, everywhere I step is potentially a load of shrapnel to the face.

Every time I present ideas in class, I am accused by some group of students of trying to convert people to a certain cause or ideology.

Examples:

I said the word "socialism" in class the other day (reading from Kurt Vonnegut), and then said that America has many socialistic programs (welfare, social security, public schools, Medicare ...), and thus, I am a communist.  Nevermind that those two words are NOT the same; when you're 16 years old, apparently all words are interchangeable and offensive, depending on what KoolAid your parents are feeding you.

I also talked about transgender bathrooms a couple days ago (for the record, I was against the idea, because it seems like another form of segregation), but what they heard is that I am a flaming lesbian espousing the homosexual agenda in classrooms across America.

Today, when reading from an essay written by a philosophy teacher who played college and then professional football in the 1970s, I talked about sports injuries and how people sometimes live vicariously through athletes (armchair quarterbacks, etc), and I was accused of hating sports and not supporting high school athletics.  (Nevermind the fact that I coached all my kids when they were little and have watched about five thousand games of various kinds and watched my son tear his body and brain apart playing high school football - being supportive even when I wanted to throw up from nervousness on the bleachers.)  Apparently, I hate sports.  (go Bears)

So I guess when I taught Machiavelli's "The Prince" I was supporting deceit, manipulation, and murder.  And then (god help me) when we read part of Hitler's Mein Kempf" I was supporting the idea of  murderous dictators.  And of course when we read "The Glass Castle" I must have been subliminally telling students to abuse and neglect their children.  And obviously, when we read Jonathan Swift's "A Modest Proposal", I was literally telling them that we should eat Irish babies in order to fix the economy.

Holy shit.  Never underestimate the ability of teenagers to twist ANYTHING and EVERYTHING you say into something which you DID NOT say at all.  (Actually, I did SAY all of those things out loud, but they were quite clearly presented as someone else's ideas.)

I appreciate those students who get it - we're learning about ideas - but I want to punch those who put their asinine, skewed reality onto what I say.  And if this were back in the day when I went to school, the students would just bitch about it after class or something, but now they're tweeting their bullshit during class.  Maybe if they stopped to THINK for a second and put their goddamn phones down, they'd know what was going on in real time.

Addendum:  The Pledge of Allegiance is optional.  It is absolutely AMERICAN to not say it on demand.  People can respect the United States of America  and not stand up North-Korean-style to say words at a flag.  dissent is the foundation of America.

Bathrooms, and Other Shit

Here is how I started my day of teaching:  an 18-year-old boy gave a speech attacking the idea of places/schools having transgender bathrooms.  I was with him for about the first 30 seconds, and then it all took a turn for the worse.

All of a sudden, the whole class was arguing about bathrooms.  The boys were pissed that the girls have stalls in their bathrooms, and the girls were pissed that the boys kept talking about urinals.  And then the original speaker started ranting about how if a transgender person went into a bathroom with his small child, and his child was made to feel uncomfortable, he would "beat the shit" out of that person.  Ultimately, he said, if you can't go into the bathroom where you "biologically belong", you should hold it until school is over.

Then it got worse ...

The boys and girls argued for 10 minutes about which gender is more disgusting in a bathroom.  The boys said their bathrooms were worse because (apparently) boys pee all over everything and leave pubes everywhere, and the girls proclaimed that (apparently) girls bleed all over everything.  What. The. Hell.  ??  I literally tried to redirect the conversation several times, but they were all hell-bent on talking about toilets - something which I NEVER want to talk about, especially before 9:00 am.

The final straw was when the original speaker (guy) said that he and his friends periodically redirect their streams onto each other, because it's fun.  My life is a surrealistic movie.

The very next period (study hall), I listened to a girl talk about her recent stay in a mental hospital.  I helped a boy write an apology letter for buying an illegal gun.  I heard why another boy had been suspended for buying a bong in the school bathroom.  Then another boy told me about all the girls who send him naked pictures via snapchat - at which point I explained the laws about possession and distribution of child pornography.

I don't even know what else to say.  High school students might be a different species entirely.

Antonin Scalia, RIP

Antonin Scalia is dead.  That is a sad, incontrovertible fact.  The fact that he came from humble beginnings, then made his way up the judicial ladder to THE SUPREME COURT is pretty impressive.  I disagree with most of what came out of his mouth, BUT a man is dead, and a family is in mourning, and people should have some respect.

Not in America.  From the moment he was found dead, our lovely, American government officials have been frothing at the mouth over how to profit politically from his death.  He ceased being a MAN and became a SEAT to be filled.  And that SEAT needs to be filled by someone who "agrees" with peoples' beliefs.  Obviously, that's impossible, because no one in America agrees about anything anymore.  Apparently people just want what they want when they want it.  Period.  Who cares about everyone else, right?

The Republicans have already vowed to block any nomination which President Obama might suggest.  Let's just think about that for a second ... Before the man has even said a single word about the issue or uttered a single name, the Republicans are screaming "FUCK YOU, OBAMA!  WE DON'T LIKE IT!!"  What a bunch of elementary school bullshit.  No wonder America is so on edge and unstable.  Our elected politicians are acting like a bunch of dumbass bullies.

If the Supreme Court of the United States is tasked with interpreting laws at the highest level, we better hope they can overlook their own personal biases long enough to rule in a fair, objective way.

Oh wait, I forgot, this is America.  God forbid that people (ANY people) look at issues without prejudice.  Why should we expect anything different from elected officials?  After all, it takes a certain kind of crazy person to run for office and pander for votes and talk out both sides of their face all the time.  I guess I shouldn't still be nauseated by something which happens all the time.

When Donald Trump can stand in the middle of a legitimate Republican debate on TV and simply shout at everyone and call them all liars, AND STILL HAVE PEOPLE SUPPORTING HIM, America has officially lost its shit.  We've entered into a truly sad state of affairs in American history.

Read a Book, You Illiterate Son of a Bitch

Ironically, the title of this blog comes from the Jay Z song, "Big Pimpin'.  It's not even Jay Z rapping that part of the song, it's UGK spitting some truth. These guys rapping aren't just pimps (or wannabe pimps, or whatever), these are EDUCATED guys. Listen to Bun B as he mispronounces the word "scenario" in order to make it rhyme with the previous couplet, then retreats and apologizes for being so grammatically incorrect. Then he says what all smart people think when someone stupid speaks: "Read a book you illiterate son of a bitch / Step up your vocab". Motherfucker just insulted your ability to READ, bitch! AND he's going to steal your ho! The joy I get from this is indescribable. 
(thanks, internet lyrics blogs!)

So imagine my intrinsic sadness, when my community service club did a book collection, collected almost a thousand books, and then hard a hard time finding anyone who wanted them ... even when the books were absolutely free of charge.  I contacted some elementary schools, a junior high which hasn't even opened yet (so has a VERY small library), an alternative school, and other teachers of English.  Altogether, teachers took about 30 of those 900+ books, because reading is (apparently) not something students and/or teachers do anymore.  (Thank god for those teachers who care, by the way.)

I contacted the local family services place, and they said they would take the books, but as kids only get to spend 20 minutes in the back of the place looking for stuff they want (think: pants, shirts, socks, shoes, athletic equipment, games, etc), they probably weren't going to take the books.  Okay, so maybe INCREASE the amount of time the kids have to look for things!  A book, in the hands of a troubled kid, might be the ONE thing that saves them.  Yes, they need clothes, but the whole idea of a 20-minute scramble to find necessities is mortifying.  And what young kid goes directly to the book section?  They have to be invited in to the world of reading, so they can find an alternate universe of life.  It's essential.

I ended up giving the books away to a shelter out of town, where people can sort of shop around without a time limit and maybe even use the books in an alternative classroom setting.  Some of them I even gave to the Goodwill, even though they resell donations, because my community doesn't even house a book store. But I can't shake the feeling that books are becoming obsolete.  When kids have their phones plastered to their faces all day, in the short-attention-span 21st Century, kids don't understand the value of books.

As Ray Bradbury once said, “You don't have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them.”  Unfortunately, this is already happening. 

Here's a suggestion, when you read a good book, pass it on to someone.  Don't let Big Brother win this one. 

The Point

There is a point to all of this, right? I'm really hoping that I didn't spent all this time and effort, like breathing, for the past 40 years to have life come down to all the petty bullshit.  Cleaning my house, shoveling snow, grading one million papers, enduring small talk, doing six million loads of laundry, binge-watching netflix.  I know there are moments of beauty in the world, like good hugs, tasty food, star gazing, playing at the beach, reading a good book ... but I feel like I could have knocked those things out in the first 25 years and then been done.  I'm just pretty tired now, and I'm not seeing a lot of potential for the future me.

I could plan something, but I don't really want to.
I could fix up my house, but I don't have any money, and I don't know how to fix much of anything.
I could learn how to cook amazing food, but there's no one here to eat it.
I could work out, but ... yeah, no thanks.
I could write a book, but I already did that - twice - and neither one is any good.
I could hang out with my friends, but I don't really have any.
I could make some new friends, but that sounds really tiring and time-consuming.
I could go for a walk, but it's cold outside, and plus, I'd end up back here anyway.
I could play my guitar, but I'm not good at it anymore.
I could write this stupid list on my blog ...

Genres of Writing, For Dummies

Here's is how writing works:  there are many different genres of writing.  Fiction, nonfiction.  Poetry, drama, memoirs, biographies, autobiographies, short stories, novels, science fiction, and so forth.

Please take note of the fact that these genres can be mixed; in other words, some fiction has a basis in fact, and some nonfiction takes liberties with truth.

Don't judge people (and their subsequent writing) on what you do or do not think is "REAL".

It's all up for interpretation.  Just read and enjoy.  Don't insert your own reality or your own biases on a writer's message.

Drink it in, and let it be independent of you.

Snow Day

Who doesn't love a snow day?

(Okay, in all fairness, let me name those people:  parents who want their kids out of the house, parents who have a job which requires them to find daycare for their kids when they're out of school, people who hate shoveling, and ... communists.)

But ... there is almost nothing better than waking up when my biological clock goes off at 6:30, then falling back asleep, waking up and eating breakfast in bed, then playing in the snow.  The shoveling part might kind of suck, but at least it's a bit like exercise, so I can pretend I did a workout for the day.  

I have about 70 research papers to grade (which blows), BUT!  I can grade them at home in front of a roaring fire.  The atmosphere alone makes me less angry about the one million grammatical and research errors I am encountering.  And if I get truly annoyed at the lack of literacy, I can simply chuck the papers into the fireplace and watch them dance in the flames!  Beautiful. 

I'm not even angry that the adult male in my house slept until 1 pm and didn't lift the shovel even once.  (That's a lie; he's an asshole for making me do all the work, but I'm still on the snow-day high, so whatever.)

While I truly detest winter, I love a snow day.  I'm thinking some coffee and Bailey's will be in order soon.  And then a snowman.  Peace.