Feel it Up
Current mood: determined

How hard is it to just sit and be in your own skin, amidst the rush of empathic feelings rolling at you from every other person you encounter? If I discover a way to help another person, it makes me feel like there is a reason for me being here. I feel needed, and I know I love to teach and nurture. So do a lot of people.

The problem lies in taking care of myself. I struggle with several issues that need real addressing at this time. I have not felt "well" in quite a while, and it is a new realization that I don't want to be a healthier person for just me...frankly, it is a bigger influence to take care of myself for those I love and who love me.

How does one change a deeply ingrained behavior...one which lures me like a mosquito to a zap-lamp?

I feel a new need for redemption and forgiveness of myself. It sucks when you realize no one can truly change things that you need to change...only you can. I can't even commit to a time to wash the fucking dishes. How to stay on track...

The winking shades of orange from the firelog in the hearth...they beckon me to search for a deeper answer, a more spiritual one. Perhaps a more Earthly one. Somehow it eludes me, and I stumble along, my surface shiny and glossy...my core is burning with a destructive blaze, singing the tiny shoots of growth.

It's not okay to just look 'together' on the outside anymore.

Currently listening : Hybrid Theory By Linkin Park Release date: 2000-10-24

4:06 PM - 4 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

OMG. WTF. IDK. F-It.
Current mood: blah

It was a full fucking moon in the Art Classroom today.

First class of the day. 4th grade. They have a new teacher. The kids don't listen.

Second class. Third grade. A lone racist white boy, all of 3.5 feet tall. Sweetly offers to help me with art supplies, acts obedient and accommodating in class, and does not cause drama. Until my back is turned, and then he whispers to the black kids in the class, 'I'm gona kick your mother-fucking ass, you nigger." Um. I would have punished him fully if I could have done it legally. Ugh.

Next class. Fifth grade. Talkative, but basically good. By this point, my nerves are shot, and I'm not handling things as well as typical. Not their fault, and they get through Art just fine.

After lunch. Second grade. The kids come in, and I brace myself. This class in particular is a talkative one, but they are well-meaning. I see that one of the big talkers is absent today. Small break for Ms. Holton.

As the kids walk in and seat themselves on the carpet, two of them I notice have their hoods on their heads. I ask them to take them down, and one complies. The other, a girl, pulls her entire sweatshirt over her head. I ask the class if anyone has a sweatshirt they want to leave on the rack during art, to hand them to me. The girl, we'll call her Jevon, holds on to her shirt. I walk over to her, ask her for it, and she takes it off and puts it under her bottom. Itake a sleeve and pull it up, and she won't let go.

I ask her, "Do you want to go into the music room, to think about why you are not acting respectful in Art?"

She proceeds to run into the corner and hod her shirt behind her. On the way there, she punches a classmate in the shoulder. Fabulous. I summon Ms. Y, the music teacher across the hall. We take care of each other when our students get crazy. I have babysat a few of her kids before, and it is all good.

She comes in, verbally rips Jevon a new asshole, and the kid starts running around the room, throwing her sweatshirt up in the air and tries to go outside into the courtyard. The principal has to be called, and aftr chasing her around the room, drags her dead-weight from my room, into the hall, and to the office. There, she proceeds to hide under the desks and run from him.

Last our school saw of Jevon, she was escorted from the school, carried under the arm of our Vice Principal, to her mom's car at 2pm today. Wailing all the way there. She is not from this planet. I hurt for what she might experience at home...I just don't know.

I still had Kindergarten and First grade to go...thank God they were somewhat with-it today. I didn't have to punish a kid for throwing paintbrushes. Just had to make my first grade draw on the floor because my Kindergarten made such a mess with paint that the tables had to be abandoned for the much-cleaner surface of the floor. Sad but true.

Thank God for small favors.

1:35 AM - 2 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

Testicles
Current mood: choking a tree

Today sucked big deformed hairy balls.

It started with a 4th grade class I had only seen twice this school year. I guess it didn't start with them, because all the fun started after they exited the room, and I had exactly 12.5 seconds until the 3rd grade came in. This third grade includes a kid with anger-panic disorder, a spoiled-rotten kid who knows all the answers and calls them out so no one has a chance to answer on their own, and about 18 other kids who can't sit still for three seconds.

After they leave, I have the "low" 5th grade class. They are usually calm in here, and I often feel as though they are just humoring me, and they know that I am new and only one person, and they could seriously fuck my world up for 45 minutes.

When lunch is over, I expect the 2nd grade which fell apart last Thursday. The class has a girl who is a moody, stubborn perfectionist. Simply put, she is the best artist in her class, cries when her work isn't "perfect", and hides in the corner behind the couches, refusing to participate in class. Her crying last week made two others cry. In fucking art class.

Today, she was refusing to take part because her classmate said, "She's still upset because her picture wasn't good last week." When I asked her to join the class because everyone was having fun (they were loving it today), she said, "I wanted to be an artist this morning, but now I don't want to be one."

How devastating is this to an art teacher?! Her teacher says she's like this a lot, but WTF. It's sad because her artistic skills are so strong.

Last class of the day. The dreaded "F" class. "F" is an initial I'm using because it's all I need to use here. The class is a mess, and it is not their classroom teacher's fault. She must have an ulcer the size of Canada. There are 4 boys in that class that lie, steal stuff, push others, and generally fuck up the entire mood of the class. The 4 Alpha Boys, as I call them, are constantly moving around when my back is turned, taunt others so even they can't concentrate, and give me bad attitude every chance they get.

I actually sent the 4 boys into the room across the hall into the music room today during art class. Our music teacher rocks, and she is tall and scary to the kids when she's pissed. Amazingly, the F class went well after they left. How sad when a few kids can wreck an entire class's learning.

I had a therapy apointment after school today, and I fucking needed it. That and a beer. Or seven.

I want to reach these kids while I have them in my room, but all I feel like I did today was barely manage to keep things together. What these kids' lives are like at home....I am not sure I ever want to know. But I do and I want to connect with them so they feel safe in my room. How to make this happen is gonna be a journey.

It's beer-thirty.

Currently listening : Enema Of The State By blink-182 Release date: 1999-06-01

11:19 PM - 11 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

Free Carnival in the Express Lane
Current mood: sardonic

Ahh. It feels good to have the fire lit under me for a good, full on rant. About the grocery store lines.

The best time to get groceries, everyone knows, is about 15 minutes before closing time. It's the perfect time to reflect on that random, useless bag of garlic croutons you absolutely must have TONIGHT.

It's like the fucking liquor store. You know you don't care until about 8:30pm and then you know you just have to have a back up bottle of Cuervo or Bacardi. You never know who'll stop by, and God help you if you have nothing on hand.

Anyway, tonight at the store. For me it was hair conditioner. Some call it "cream-rinse", but it is not the 1950's at my house.

I just decided to stay in, as Rob and a few of our buddies decided to head out to north Raleigh for karaoke. Eff that, teaching wore me out today. Got observed by the principal and shit. Did well, but stressed over it. Moving on.

So I decided, in my boredom, that I needed to run around the corner for some Pantene Pro-V conditioner. I'm almost out. Perish the thought of dragging a comb through this wavy mop without it. Half my hair ends up in the comb, and I have to strategically arrange my ponytail to avoid showing scalp.

So I walk into the store at ten-til-close. One lane is open, and there are a few customers in line. I bee-line it to the toiletries aisle, grab my shit, and head to the front of the place. I notice a stuffed-full cart parked right behind two shoppers in line, each with 2 items. Apparently people in my hood don't purchase tomorrow's breakfast until the night before, because everything on the conveyor belt was cereal, oatmeal, and milk.

Well, the stuffed-full cart had no human being in sight to operate the vehicle, and I had one item. I looked around me, so as if perhaps I could dart around the cart and the owner would not notice the different combination of color and clothing that was now in front of her. Just then, a lady walks up, looks at me, starts chuckling, and says with a smile, "Go on, girl." I take her up on it. Three seconds later, they open a lane next to us. She motions for me to go, and I tell her to just go on and I'll wait behind the easy people in front of me.

Fifteen minutes, 32 coupons, and two bad checks later, the ancient lady in front of us shuffles her cart off to the side, asking for help loading her shit into her 1986 Taurus wagon. The lady with the full cart...long gone.

All I could do was laugh uncontrollably with the lady behind me at the tabloids making fun of Sarah Palin. The tall bottle-blonde lady behind me was carrying a tray of buscuits, 2 pounds of fatback, and smelled like beer.

Currently listening : We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things By Jason Mraz Release date: 2008-05-13

2:05 AM - 7 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

Idiocracy
Current mood: is it Friday?!

Did I coin the term? Hell no. Can I offer some examples of it....affirmative.

So what makes it okay to say to your specialist teachers, "you all need to take over two classes at a time today...no worries, just 50 kids for 2 hours 3 times today."

You try teaching 25 fifth graders as you teach 25 second graders. It just ain;t happening. The 11 year olds don't want to watch the 7 year olds mix colors, and the 7 year olds can't fully understand abstract art. Why this chaos? The classroom teachers ned time to meet and plan.

Last time I checked, 7am and 8am were still available. Not to mention 345pm and 4pm.

I know all teachers struggle with time management and classroom management, but come on. Dumping 2 classes at a time into Specials classes is just fucking retarded. I don't mind the work, I just think it's a waste of time for the kids, and it feels like babysitting for us.

We should just get our paycheck on each Share Day, as it's called. At least we'd feel like we were compensated in an immediate way.

So. Today was a tough one. The whole fucking week, actually. Yesterday I had a kid just lose it, as in, a meltdown. I thought his head would spin around. His response to his overly loud fellow classmates in Art was to start hyperventilating and to sprout hives all over his arms and face. He freaked out and began wheezing loudly. I was told by his teacher that he has cryng "spells" where he screams for hours. Fabulous.

Today I had kids cry in TWO art classes. TWO.

Who the fuck cries in art?! Well, my 2nd graders went from extreme enthusiasm to Nancy Negative in the span of 15 minutes. The girl with the best eye for drawing in the class, cried and hated her artwork. It was truly the best in the class today. WTF.

My kindergarteners were so unruly I had to play games with them to keep control. They are like, as big as my hand, and yet they can't seem to get through a class without a total shift in their focus from me to a disruptive classmate.These 5 year olds have never had to speak to an adult who would listen before. What does one do with this situation? I want to do good, but it seems like an impossible task sometimes....like what I do doesn't matter. It is the best thing I've ever been a part of, but it sucks to realize you are just a person.

And cafeteria duty is a bitch. Ravioli shaped like a scoop of ice cream really blows my skirt up.

Currently listening : The Eraser By Thom Yorke Release date: 2006-07-11

12:00 PM - 8 Comments - 9 Kudos - Add Comment

You Had me at "Hola!"
Current mood: whatever

OK, so the cutest kids ever are tiny Latinos.

I have a few who don't even speak English at my school, and they still are cute enough to have it serve as a disclaimer for not getting the day's lesson. I think some of them fake the shit out of the language barrier issue, and know perfectly well what's being said yet they act like they haven't a clue.

I'll teach a lesson in fucking Spanish, bitches. Bring it.

I think after teaching kids I won't ever be able to work in an adult corporate world again. Contrary to what one might think...kids are way more logical than adults. If something is bad for you, it's bad for you. If something hurts you inside, then it is to be avoided. Risks taken have simple outcomes that are not in shades of gray.

It's like kids don't have to face unhealthy addictions or decisions and self-serving ones. They want to make others happy. Period.

We wanted approval as kids, we wanted to not get into trouble, and we wanted to slip on through the system without disrupting any aspect of it.

Why am I thinking of the movie "Office Space"?

Is it really better to just not get into trouble? If that's it, then it's much more fun to get into some shit and suffer some big consequences. Much less boring. But don't tell my students.

Currently listening : Arular By M.I.A. Release date: 2005-05-17

1:27 PM - 4 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

The Safe House- part 3
Current mood: indescribable

Throughout the night, a soft-spoken black lady walked into every room, woke us, and took out blood pressure and temperature every 2 hours. I was a little confused by this routine, until I realized that most of the people that come into these places are going to be experiencing withdrawal over a course of 24 hours...and some might need serious medical attention on their first night here.

It felt surreal, being lumped in with the "addicts" and the lost souls. In a very real sense, I felt like a lost soul...needing help and support, not knowing how to confide in those close to me for fear of scorn or abandonment. People don't often know how to deal with suffering from another, that is, if they haven't been in a very similar place in their own lives.

We have all struggled, but not all of us have strggled the SAME ways. It is easy for me to try to put myself into another's place. It is natural, and not everyone is the same when it comes to empathy.

The morning after, I got up, cautiously looked out from my door and saw three people sitting sullenly on the couches in the Living Area. Rita, who was oh-so-friendly towards me the night before, was sitting in a straight-backed chair in the hallway, a white sheet wrapped around her wide shoulders, sobbing quietly.

Mike, the boisterous extrovert from the night before, was sitting, eating Honey Nut Cheerios out of a styrofoam bowl, and staring at the door longingly. I am pretty sure he was thinking about the closest 24 hour convenience store where he could purchase a 40oz.

I ate a bowl of cereal, leaning against the wall...then returned to my room to write in my journal for a while. Joe was sitting in the Living Area, and I wanted to write him a note, something inspirational that he could maybe look at when he feels like he wants to give up on any thoughts about getting out of the rut he lives in.

I wrote for 20 minutes, and when I returned to the public area, everyone had left. Three had been admitted to the next phase of recovery...the 2 week detox. Three had walked out. I was left there until I got picked up 5 hours from then, and there were 2 newbies. One was a Schizophrenic crack-addict, who entertained himself in a corner chair. The other was a cocaine addict, who kept staring at the book I was reading, surreptitiously. A mystery fan, I was passing the hours reading a Tami Hoag novel, and he asked me about my reading choice...he knew the author, even.

I told him I had another novel by James Patterson in my room, and did he want to borrow it. He was all about it, and I knew he was bored as hell and contemplating what he'd do with his time there, before he got back to his recreational activities on the "outside".

My parents came an hour later, and he said to me, "I can keep the book, right?"

I left it with him, hoping he would read it and leave it for someone else.

2:12 AM - 4 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

The Safe House part 2

As Mike, the newest addition to the crowd, walks into the Living Area, all the while chatting with the cops from the intake room, homeless Joe and I cease our conversation and look towards the sound of raised voices coming from our left. Mike's gray mullet looks sprayed-on, though it is a bit ruffled in the front, probably due to compulsive fiddling with it through his nicotine withdrawal. The first thing he says is, loudly, "How y'all doing?"

How does he think we are all doing? Not a one of us entered this place, went through the intake process, the nurse visits and piss tests, and the room assignments with no belongings in them....to be able to say, "Hey, that was a great fucking break from the rest of my life!" I responded with "What's up?"

Mike obviously sensed I was more willing to talk than the others. He definitely wanted a conversation, and Joe didn't look like he was happy about the interruption. Joe and I had developed a little joke between us...we'd look at each other and laugh if a commercial came on where beer was advertised. It wasn't really a joke, but he had suffered from alcoholism for 30 years, and if he wanted to make light of his addiction by laughing along at a Corona commercial with a strange girl 16 years his junior, I was willing to participate.

I was curious about Mike, though...he was so hyper and boisterous, that I made a certain assumption about why he was there, and it turned out to be half correct.

After he went through AA as a 20 year veteran of alcoholism, and implemented the Twelve Steps in his everyday life, for 5 years he was sober. Good for him, and that must've been hard.

Just after that period of time, Mike blew $250,000 in 5 months on a cocaine binge. He had the money because he "has 4 successful businesses". I believe him, actually. Something tells me that this man and his skills are what they are. And he "can't stand not having fun cuz if it makes me feel good, I want a lot of it!"

Mike was a lot of fun to talk to, and eventually he made us all laugh and want to listen to his never-ceasing monologue. The conversation went from "What are you in here for?" to "you have to get in touch with your spirituality and love yourself before you can heal and get over your addictions." Wow, Mike actually sold me into going to an AA meeting to see how it has helped others in our small corner of the world. He described it as having been a life-changing self-awareness journey. Which kept him sober for five long years. Just before he blew his savings on cocaine.

He had been in the Safe House 4 times.

Intermittently throughout our conversation, Rita the schizophrenic lady, who was sitting next to me in a somewhat uncomfortable proximity, kept murmuring affirmations to what Mike and I were saying, and obviously coming to all the wrong conclusions. Every time Mike would make a point about coming to terms with your mistakes, she would interject with a, "Them's all just alcoholic, anyway. Girl, we ain't like them." She would talk over his own talking, and I felt like I had fucking voices in my head like Rita. Jesus.

Mike and I ended up being the last 2 to stay up in the common area that night talking, until a giant behemoth of a white-haired forty-ish dude in a polo and slacks ambled through (I had never seen him before) and said we had to be in our rooms. Blah, blah...time to read for the next two hours on my pristine white bed with my "clean-multi-used-bed-smell" in full effect. Before retreating to my room, I told Mike goodnight, hi-fived him, and walked towards my door....wondering how Joe would sleep, now that he wasn't in the woods...

Tomorrow would be another day for us all...

6:59 PM - 1 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

The Safe House

I have spent the last 10 hours without computer or pen. They don't allow sharp objects such as pens, toothpicks, bobby pins, paper clips, and pencils in here. I feel naked, though not just because I'm not allowed to write.

On a sheet of paper somewhere in the building are my statistics. Some of them are basic descriptives, like weight 120 and age 31 years. Ohers are more personal and sensitive, like "eating disorder" and "anxiety problems". Still, compared to many people in this place, I am "OK ad Normal". At least the schizophrenic ex-nurse says I am.

We'll call her Rita. Rita is a very articulate, spiritual lady at around 8pm. She listens well, tries to relate to others, and senses their "heart's desires". She told me that "everyone else is a bunch of addicts but I don't got that feel. I got it together."

Rita was crying heavily when I arrived in the place; a low, soft moaning cry where her agony seemed deeper than even she could axcess. This was my first sight of her. As I placed my things in my room, my colorful clothing standing out vividly against the stark white of the sheets, cover, and pillow, I thought, "I want to go out and talk to her...see how she's doing...make her laugh and not cry."

By the time I got out into the public TV area, she was sitting, sullen, in a wooden straight-backed chair, facing a corner. I decided to sit on one of the three couches and stare at the TV and watch Law & Order like the other 4 zombie-eyed folks in the room.

Easier said than done. As I start to get into the show's manufactured drama, a man asks, "What you in here for? I don't mean no disrespect or nothin', but you don't look like you are in here for the usual problems." I tell him I have an eating disorder, I freaked out about how long I have pushed it under the surface and haven't dealt with it. Then he talks.

I learn this man, Joe, has been homeless for 8 years, and has been living in the woods near New Hope Commons in a tent. During the hurricane (Hanna) he got his money and tent stolen, while he was drunk. He ended up talking to me for 4 hours last night, about his alcohol addiction, which is beer, and how he gets disability checks, which he spends on beer and cigarrettes. He went through a nicotine fit while we were sitting there, shaking and convulsing until someone brought him a Patch.

Immediately 3 others wanted one too. Thank God I don't smoke. I have enough things I need to concentrate on, thank you.

Joe told me about another homeless man, who is addicted to heroin, and who sometimes stays in the woods with Joe. This guy we will call Jeremy. Jeremy walks in the door of the safe house an hour later, looking lost. Joe and Jeremy live in tents, but unlike Joe's alcohol and tobacco habits taking over, Jeremy seeks heroin. His arms show dark, elongated freckles that aren't freckles.

He is nice to us all, but seems aloof and it feels to me like he just wanted a place to stay for the night...and tomorrow he is back to his typical choices. Who knows.

The there's Mike, who strolls in late, at around 10pm. He's sporting a Hawaiian shirt and a grey mullet. His eyes are sparkling and he exudes charisma. The cops in the lobby come out to talk to him and banter. Either he sells them cocaine, or he's been here a few times. My answer is comfirmed when the intake nurses come out into the "living room", stop in their stacks, and say, "what the hell you doing back here??"  

Mike laughs, sits back, and begins to talk...

More tomorrow, the story needs to marinate.  ;o) TBC...

2:03 AM - 9 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

I Pack Serious Meat.
Current mood: whatever

Not only do I hate vacuuming, I don't really cook, I watch CMT yet dislike country music, I love the band Rush, love it when a dog licks my toes, and I adore beef jerky.

If I were single, this would go right up on Match.com. Would YOU hit me up? You'd definitely have to enjoy cooking, animals, and music at all hours. The little things in life are lovely to me. I can sit on a patio with my dog and a drink and watch the sun as it sets below the horizon....and not be bored.

I can listen to a complex song over and over, and still hear something new. I love the visual arts and believe they affect everyone on so many unconscious levels that I need to teach art to satisfy my desire to give something to the world. I also enjoy drinking.

I am very open-minded and will most likely not judge you, even if you are so very different from me. I like to see things from new perspectives, and enjoy learning from others almost more than teaching them.

I love my hair, and think I don't look half bad, though I would like to be more in shape cardiovascularly. I used to be an obsessive runner, and want to start again, sans the eating disorder that accompanied it.

I like to feel sexy, but it's been a while since I have. I love nature, and will be happy taking nothing but a backpack and hiking the Appalachian Trail. I want to drive cross-country on lesser-traveled roads. When I am through with that trip, I want to visit New Zealand. I love the smell of autumn leaves fallen in the woods. I love cheddar-n-sour cream chips, diet Sunkist, and Bagel Bites.

Any excuse to be silly is alright with me. Luckily I teach elementary school. I love children, and think they are gifts to the world. If they cry too much, then just leave the Starbucks you are in.

Most of my friends are "real" people. They sell shoes, fix computers, wait tables, bartend, teach, or write. I only judge you if you like to hurt or antagonize people. But, if you get judged by me, you likely won't give a shit.

I love music. It changes me and makes me want to affect others in the way I am affected. Music is playing in my classroom constantly. The lyrics are of less importance than the sounds.

That's about it for now. Those that are really close to me might perhaps know why I needed to write this.

Cheers to beef jerky. It fucking rocks. Yummm.

12:23 AM - 4 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment