New Year's Eve

An optimist stays up until midnight to see the new year in. A pessimist stays up to make sure the old year leaves. ~Bill Vaughan

I don't know which category I fall into in regard to the above quote. There is a bit of both in me, I think.

I watched the last light of the last day of 2006 fade from the trunks and boughs of the pines on top of the hill near my house. It seemed to cling just a little longer than usual, as if the year was hesitant to pass on, as if it would stay now that its time has come.

Yesterday and last night, torrential rains swept through Podunk. The rain was sufficient to set dry streams running and to cut shallow rivulets through my driveway. As I listened to it pounding the metal roof in the back of the house, I kept thinking that it was the hand of God washing away the old year, cleaning the slate, as it were.

2006 was not a particularly good year for me. Those of you who have been reading me for a long time may have noticed the shift of topic and tone in my blog; of course, with the infrequency of my blogging, the change may not be apparent. It's been so much easier to stick with the trivial or not to write at all. If you know me personally, you may have noticed that my usual taciturn nature has been even more than its usual solitary self.

There were things from the past that came back to me this year, things I cannot and will not discuss in a forum such as this, but suffice it to say, these things put a crack into that thin roof of hell upon which the famous quote says we all stride picking flowers, oblivious to the imminent danger just below. The idea that the monsters in the closet come back after childhood is over is enough to make anybody run, and running is exactly what I've been doing. Things I used to care about and enjoy have been pushed to the wayside. Friendships I treasure have been allowed to slide into decline. It's been easy to be too busy for everything because being busy keeps the mind from having time to engage topics better left alone.

I refuse to live 2007 this way. If I do, the monsters in the darkness win. So tonight, as I prepare for my own observances of the death of the old year and the birth of the new, I am lighting every candle in the house. The lights on my porch still glow and twinkle. There will be no darkness, no horrible things waiting in the shadows tonight. I will meet the new year with hope and with purpose. My family has its own traditions, and one of those is that odd-numbered years are lucky for us. I am looking forward to a lucky and healing 2007.

Happy New Year to you, wherever you may be.

Nothing Like Sickness for the Holidays

Christmas Eve morning, I woke up with that spaced-out feeling that precedes a bout of sinus crap for me. I hoped against hope that it was just allergies stirred up by something the previous day, but by the time I got home from church, I was really looped out. I went to sleep, and slept all day.

Christmas day, I was supposed to cook a breakfast meal for my family so we could do our gift exchange, but I couldn't even get up. We finally had Christmas last night around 8, and it was very low key.

I hate being sick, but this is the worst. I am fighting it with every medicine known to man, so hopefully, I can stave off an infection or bronchitis. I guess I should be glad that it's not school time right now, but man, I did NOT want to waste my precious holiday with this....

Citizen Kane

Today, I saw the movie ranked #1 by the AFI top 100 movies of all time poll. I don't know exactly why I haven't seen it before now, but it's one that has eluded me. I am currently trying out Netflix, and I decided to send for Citizen Kane after having seen most of Welles' Othello in my recent Shakespeare class.

I enjoyed it for several reasons. I was able, thanks to the Shakespeare class, to appreciate some of the technical things that were going on film-wise, and with me, the more I know about something, the deeper my enjoyment generally is. The storyline was also captivating, as was the way the story was presented. I can see why it's considered to be so great. If I knew more about its technical aspects, I could probably understand better why it's considered to be the best ever. I'm a little leery of labels like that.

While I don't think it will ever become one of my frequently-watched favorites, I am glad I saw it. I want to watch it one more time before I send it back to get the flavor of it better.

Passion for Vintage

Yesterday, another box of the vintage Shiny-Brite ornaments I won on eBay arrived. These were in the original box with Uncle Sam and Santa shaking hands. As I took each incredibly thin and fragile ornament from its box, I wondered what kind of Christmases each had seen. What presents had been unwrapped, what family meals had been consumed in their gentle twinkle? I felt privileged to be a part of their continuing history. I have one more box of them on the way, and that will probably end my collecting of Shiny Brite.

I have also been using my old cotton print tablecloths this season. My favorite one is a 1960's Santa and reindeer in reds, greens, and browns. It makes me incredibly happy just to smooth my hand across it on my table. Again, I can almost feel the "happy holiday vibe" coming from it. Granted, it could have been put away in someone's linen closet and never unfolded, but I prefer to think that maybe for at least one holiday, it soaked up some joy.

Currently, I am on the trail of a chenille peacock bedspread. I know just the colors I want, but I am having a hard time finding one in good condition and at an affordable price. A gorgeous one is up for auction on eBay, but the seller wants $250, and there's no way I can justify that. Hopefully, before summer, I will be able to find one that is both the color combination and price I desire. I think it will look great with the decor I already have in the house.

I guess I'm just a hard-core vintage junkie. Other prize holiday possessions are my previously mentioned Phil Spector collection and the absolutely lovely, sparkly Christmas tree pin I won at auction. I am going to wear it proudly to church tomorrow. Each of these items has opened up conversations with others: friends, parents, other collectors. This is one of my favorite parts of these things. My dad remembers having Shiny Brites on his family's Christmas trees when he was a child, and he knows, as did I, that my grandmother would have loved the Christmas tree pin. It's a connection to my own personal past as well as to the past of those who loved the items before me.

Another satisfying aspect of these things is finding their place in history. Nothing I have is of exceptional value; in fact, many of the things I enjoy collecting are fairly inexpensive. None of them are in the running with Waterford or Haviland for price, value, or historical significance. However, I've been learning a lot about these American products, and through them, I'm opening tiny windows into recent American history. Shiny Brite was made on a machine that was developed by Corning for light bulbs, and the peacock spreads were made in Georgia and originally sold off clotheslines to tourists. The tablecloths I love so much were a household staple brightening the kitchen tables of America for thirty years or so before they fell out of favor. These are the items that were common during my grandparents' and parents' time.

Now I have the joy of using these things and adding my own memories to the collections they already hold. There's nothing pretentious about these common-place treasures, but each time I unfold one of my vintage cloths, add a PEZ to my collection, place a hanger through the metal loop atop a Shiny Brite, or pin on my glittery tree pin or one of my other vintage brooches, I am making a bridge between the past and the present. It's a comfortable place to be.

Peace on Earth

We had a really great trip today to see my uncle. I had given Mom part of her Christmas gift early, an Elvis Christmas CD, and we all hummed along and sang as we traveled. Normally, Mom and I get irritated with each other at some point, but today was very peaceful. Maybe we need Elvis all the time.

Now, I'm back home, and although I had hoped to go carolling tonight, the current mizzening rain is kind of nice, too. There's a snoozing pit bull on the couch, various and sundry napping cats draped across chair backs and velour blankets, and I have at least three books I can choose from to spend the evening with.

I also got a package today from one of my eBay purchases. Six of the old-fashioned indent glass ornaments I won came in, and they look great on my tree. The other auction gained me eight more, and maybe they'll come in tomorrow. I love the old-fashioned look of them.

I'm going to spend the evening with the animals, the glittering tree, and whichever of the paperbacks I finally settle on. How could life possibly be better?

Phil Spector's A Christmas Gift for You

Today, the DHL man zipped up the driveway in his large, appropriately-yellow van, managed to overcome his fear of Roux, and delivered Phil Spector's Christmas compilation to my door. It's a fabulous bit of Christmas fluff. I have been listening to it as I've been driving around in this unseasonably hot 75 degree weather to finish out my Christmas shopping, and I am in a better mood than I've been in for a long time. I think it's probably impossible to listen to the Crystals sing "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" and be grumpy. I went bopping down the interstate and didn't once feel like yelling at anyone. I even managed to be cheery in the midst of the chaotic hell that is Wal-Mart these last few days before the holiday because no matter how many people cut me off with carts or screaming children, I was humming "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" a la the Ronettes. It was great. It's amazing how happy thirteen bucks can make a person sometimes...

Long Time, No Blog

I simply haven't felt like blogging in the past month. I've been too tired or too busy. I've often thought about it, but I simply haven't been able to scrape up enough interest to get into it.

I've spent the last few days since school got out singing in our choir musical, entertaining people from church, and generally trying to rest up some. Today, I spent most of the morning reading and glancing through eBay. It's delightful.

Soon, I really need to get the last of my Christmas shopping done. The same old dilemmas persist: what am I going to get Mom and Dad, people who want nothing, need nothing, and will request nothing? This year, I think I found a couple of neat things, but really, I still don't know exactly what to get them, and I don't want it to be gift certificates. I might go roam around Jackson a day and see if I can't find something there.

Well, I'll try to keep up the blog better now. Maybe I'll be able to come up with something better than the inane commentary here.

Holiday Procrastination

I am hopelessly behind with my work for my two night classes, so of course, today I got my Christmas tree, hung the lights and the ornaments, fixed the lights on my porch, and did laundry and other housework. The more behind I get with school, the spiffier my house and my holiday decorations get. I'm sure it's a kind of sickness.

It's nice, though, to see the tree up and all the lights glittering. I love Christmas, as I've said here before, and now when I'm coming home at dark-thirty from the endless pageant of night class crud, I will be able to see my lights welcoming me home. That along with a heavy dose of Christmas carols in the car and during my off period are keeping me in a mostly Christmasy mood.

Yesterday, I went to the Chimneyville Crafts Festival in Jackson. It's so nice to go somewhere and see items lovingly made by hand rather than mass-produced and cheaply-made things. Part of the experience is getting to talk to the craftspeople, too. I had a thirty minute conversation with a potter whose husband has an anagama (Japanese style wood fired kiln) in Tennessee. It was a touch of Japan, and I was thrilled. The piece I bought from them, a splendid raven figure, is something I had been thinking of since last year's show. They only make two each year, and last year both had been sold when I got there. This year, I was able to buy one. It's sitting in regal black satin splendor on my living room shelves.

Tonight, I played for church and also wound up getting drafted to sing. I was a nervous wreck, as usual, but I managed to get it out okay. The song, "What Child Is This?", is one of my favorites, so that helped. Now, I suppose I need to do a little class work before the almighty teacher bedtime kicks in. Sigh. Where are those magic ruby slippers or genie lamps when you really need them?

Things Your Dog Won't Forgive

I know it's tacky and heinous, but I saw these at the dollar store and was seized by the need to see Roux wearing them. Since she got bunches of treats, maybe she'll forgive me at some point....

A Largely Useless Bliss

I did nothing over the holiday. I have spent an entire week resting, reading, and taking care of those day-to-day chores I have no time for during the school week. It's been wonderful. I got a haircut, so I no longer look like a shaggy pony. I went with my family to see a dog they're going to adopt. I made calls, registered for classes, put up holiday decorations, dug out my Christmas CDs, cleaned out my refrigerator, and folded about five hundred pieces of laundry that had been waiting in baskets for a long time. I swept, mopped, and vacuumed. I went through a pile of old bills and mail. I tried my darnedest to get my Christmas lights working but only managed to coax about 1/3 of them to burn. I went to see my uncle who lives in the northern part of the state. I sunned my feather mattress, chased my dogs, aired out my house, took naps with my kitten, and I refuse to apologize for one minute of it. I think now, even though I am very behind school-wise, I have the reserves built back up to jump in, get serious, and survive this last manic push to Christmas. I might even have a little bit of Christmas spirit.

Seeing Red

Friday, three guys were talking while they were doing their Canterbury Tales projects and their conversation turned to their bad, bad dogs and how their dogs could take out anybody else's dog. I tried to ignore it, but when one of them started talking about how his dog had taken another by the throat, I told them to stop the conversation. I wanted to pick up a heavy object and hurl it, or even better, defenestrate them personally.

Only a weak, sorry human being gets joy out of goading an animal to fight another. Only worthless, powerless trash would take a loving, fierce, loyal dog and twist it into a killing machine. Pit bulls, Rotties, Mastifs....all are glorious and game dogs. All of them would put themselves through hell if their owner showed them approval. All of them have animal aggression that can be turned into a lethal weapon. Nobody I can have any respect for would ever twist that power and spirit into something to amuse and bet on, to debase and abuse.

And it is abuse. Let there be no questions. Let there be no claim that the animal is personal property, that it is natural for the dog, or that it doesn't hurt anyone. It is the most basic betrayal of the bond between man and dog, and I wish with a fervent and passionate desire that all the dog fighters could be adequately punished. I wish they could know the terror and the pain of the animals they abuse. I wish somebody would put every single worthless, disgusting, inhuman one of them under a jail somewhere and forget them.

Because of these human vermin, the pit bull has taken on a reputation as a vicious dog. There are cities all over the country where even owning one or a dog that looks like what somebody thinks might be a pit is illegal. The dogs can be taken and destroyed just because of their breed. No actual assessment of the dog itself is done. It's a pit; it's a threat; it's a dead animal. This is the legacy of the dog fighter.

But the legacy of pain doesn't even stop there. Even more horrific are the breeding programs, the bait dogs, the poor abused and maimed creatures left after the battle, and all the dogs who die for the bloodlust and avarice of their so-called masters.

How anybody could look into the eyes of a dog as brave and loving as a pit and see only a deadly toy to be used and disposed of is beyond me. Instead of law enforcement focusing its sights on the dogs, why can't they begin to punish the human refuse that tortures and abuses them? Instead of the media frothing everyone into a state of hysteria over vicious animals, why can't they dispose of the vicious owners and raise the public's awareness of the truth about this situation?

I am passionate about this. I don't think anyone with a shred of love for animals who has seen some of the abused and rescued dogs that come from this world could fail to be angry about it. I only hope our culture can reawaken some of its respect for all life and start punishing these semi-human monsters with the severity their crime demands.

Just the Coolest Thing Ever

Last night, Mom, Dad, and I went out to eat and then headed over to Sam's. Sam's is a place of great financial danger for me. I always, always, always spend too much money when I go there.

While I was there, I browsed through the Christmas stuff, and they had just the coolest thing ever. It was a giant Mr. Potato Head wearing a pirate outfit. He was like a cookie jar, and he's full of four other Potato Heads and all their accouterments. I swear I giggled like a five-year-old. Just seeing that giant pirate potato made my weariness slide away.

I'll tell you the truth. People were buzzing around those toys like moths drawn to a flame. Many happy children, or crazy middle-aged people like myself, are going to have those. I bet they'll all be gone by the end of the week. There's just something so non-threatening and smile-inducing about Mr. Potato Head.

I brought him home to add to my collection of kitsch toys in my office. He goes quite well with all the PEZ and the Darth Vader Potato Head I already had. I'm sure it says something not-so-flattering about me that I'm 30, and I still like Mr. Potato Head, but as I told my students: everybody collects something, and if something as simple as this makes me happy, then I think I'm pretty well off.

A Moment of Peace

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower. ~Albert Camus

I'm sitting outside at a table at the university branch here in town. The sun is gilding the poplar leaves, there's a gentle wind soughing in the tops of the still-green live oaks, and even though this place is close to a busy road, there is peaceful birdsong. Only occasionally does the road noise become intrusive.

I needed this moment of peace desperately. I have been in a constant state of furious motion since yesterday at 5:30 a.m. I did my class day, did my class night, went to the grocery store, came home, fell down, got back up, came back to work, set up a buffet table, led a meeting, dealt with the aftermath of that, and am just now having a minute where something isn't demanding my attention. It's divine.

Soon, I will have to get up and go to another meeting, another class, but for just right now, the only sound I have to focus on is that wonderful leaf-rustle of late fall. I will try to wrap this moment around me like a warm blanket against the haste and furor to come.

Places Cellphones Should Not Go

I just had an odd experience. I was in the ladies' room prior to my night class starting, and I began to hear voices. Doesn't that sound like a cry for medication and /or a "vacation"? It turned out that someone was checking her messages with the speakerphone option turned on in the stall two or three down from me.

I got to hear all her personal business including a song somebody left as a message for her. The song was the freakiest part. Imagine a disembodied voice singing in that tinny tone given by cellphones in the emptiness of a large ladies' room. Surreality at work, folks. I wanted to laugh, but didn't want to be rude.... Oops, too late....

Google

"Don't be evil." -- Google motto

I like Google. I use their web pages, calendar, photo editing software, and of course, this wonderful Blogger. Every last tiny bit of it is free. They put it out there because they think everybody ought to have access to useful tools without having to mortgage a house to get them. Isn't that an almost foreign concept in today's world of burden the market all it can bear capitalism?

The calendar application is one of my favorites. I can keep up with all my various classes' assignments online, and parents and students who miss can use the calendar to see what they've missed. It's so much more efficient than a paper calendar which invariably gets lost. Students can print it off and tote it with them if need be, and then go to the website to get the handouts or Power Points to do the assignments.

Google keeps putting new stuff out, and every time they do, it's always something that I think, "Huh, why didn't somebody else think of that?" Their video service is something I'm exploring, but I have already found old Buster Keaton movies, the 1984 Mac commercial, and several other things I wanted to use for class. If it grows as fast as some of their other services, I can only imagine what will be out there next.

It's amazing to me that all of this grew out of a search engine. It's nice to see a company innovating, growing, succeeding, and yet not sticking it to their users just because they can. Kudos, Google, kudos.

Romeo and Juliet

Last night, I went to a newly rennovated theater downtown and watched the Aquilla acting company's version of Romeo and Juliet. It was wonderful, the theater and the performance both.

The theater is a part of a downtown rennovation project. The Grand Opera House was built just before the turn of the last century, and in its heyday, it was one of the premiere entertainment destinations in the southeast. It fell into disrepair, was closed down, and because it was on the second floor, also suffered the indignity of having a shoe store put in what was once its lobby. I remember going with my mom to the department store of which the opera house was a part. It was such an old-fashioned building that the elevators still required an operator to run them. While Mom shopped, I rode the elevator, and the kindly lady who worked it would tell me stories of the opera house. I always dreamed of going to a performance in it.

I saw it briefly in high school. A local theater company had reopened it and was trying to use it for amateur performances. It was in very bad shape, though, and I wondered then if anything would ever be done to save it. About five years ago, Mississippi State University and a local group of philanthropists bought the property and started massive rennovations. They have combined the old department store and the theater into one large center. The department store became a conference center, and the theater was restored to its full late Victorian glory. It was absolutley wonderful. I was so proud to see the care that had been taken to preserve what was already there and the additions that will allow it to be useful for professional performances. I don't think this town has ever had anything like it, or at least, not since the opera house was open in its original incarnation.

Romeo and Juliet was different again. The company consisted of six actors, and to figure out which roles they'd be playing, the actors went to the audience and had them draw roles out of a sack. We managed to wind up with a male Romeo and a female Juliet, but some nights, depending on the luck of the draw, they don't. The costumes and sets were stark and simple, but the wonderful language had the same power. I really enjoyed it. The character who played the Nurse as one of his three roles was a riot. He milked every innuendo and seemed to be having a good time with it.

Overall, it was a night of what I needed. I desperately needed something that wasn't teaching or taking classes, something with beauty and art. I am looking forward to more performances at our new theater.

Phantoms

I just saw the most recent film version of The Phantom of the Opera, and I know I'm going to be singing various parts of it for days. I had put off watching it for awhile even though I've had the disc for some time now. I was afraid it wouldn't be as good as I had hoped it would be, but it was even better, I think.

I love this story. I first read Phantom in junior high school, and it became one of those stories I revisit every year or so. Sometime in high school, I read Susan Kay's novel Phantom, which added a tremendous back story about why the Phantom was the way he was. I have almost worn that copy out with rereads. I don't know if it's even still in print, but if you enjoy this story and haven't read it, you might check Amazon for it. It's universally wonderful.

The next stage of my great love for this story came when I saw the 1929 silent version presented in a local historic movie palace. Even though the building had long since become a performing arts center, they lowered the original "silver screen", dusted off the projector, and showed Lon Chaney version for Halloween one year. They had also just finished the restoration of the world-class theater organ this theater is fortunate enough to house, and a master organist was invited in to show off that powerful instrument's range. Even though the seats in this wonderful old building are tiny, having been sized for bodies in the 1920s, I was absolutely spellbound by the thundering organ and the pathos of the creature suffering and striking out in pain. That film version is one of my all-time favorite versions of the story, and I added it to my personal collection earlier this year.

This newest version satisfied a long-standing desire to see the Andrew Lloyd Weber version. I know the film and the stage production are going to vary, but I have had the original cast soundtrack since college and have spent many a long road trip and flight wondering what images went with the music. Now, at least, I have some idea of how things go together. A lot of it is as I imagined it, but the costuming and the performances were so gloriously ornate. It was perfect.

The story of the Phantom is just another example of how I always empathize with the "monster". There is not one solitary doubt in my mind that had I found myself in Christine Daae's position, I would have dumped the milquetoast Vicount de Chagny and stayed with the Dark Angel of Music. Of course, this is probably indicative of all sorts of reasons why I always fall for guys who are inappropriate or imaginary.

Regardless, there is such power in this story. What would Erik have been able to accomplish without the prejudice against his appearance? Would he have become a killer without the cruelty of others? Can anyone, when told he or she is monstrous from infancy by even one's family, find a way not to become a monster?

In many of the stories, the Phantom is given some reprieve at the end. The version I saw tonight made it clear he lived on. Susan Kay's version gives a gentle and beautiful finality to it. I think that's what we are all rooting for in the end, the idea that the Angel of Music can find a way to mend his broken wings and soar out of the endless night in which he has both been confined and confined himself.

By the Way

The blood work came back, and I finally got a surly nurse to tell me what the results were. Fortunately, there doesn't seem to be any problem with anything they tested. I suppose the headaches are a combination of stress, allergies, and other factors about which nothing can be done. I am just so happy that my blood sugar was okay. That's one less crisis to have to deal with.

Screaming with a Smile

There are things about school that sometimes make me want to throw my Shakespeare bobble head in a tote bag and go home before lunch. Often lately as I've been working with my classes, I've had the urge to close my book with the delicacy one would use in handling bone china, gently place the wooden stool I use with my speaker's stand in its place, blow out my candle, and pull the door soundlessly shut behind me. This softness would be the last mask before the true frustration emerges. It would be necessary because if it disappeared, all that would be left would be something that I couldn't live with.

It's the time of the year and the fact that I have three preps this year. Honestly, I love my kids. Some days, though, most days recently, they're treading on very thin ice. I get little sleep, have great stress, and get mortally weary of saying the same stupid things over and over. I am tired of student who strain at gnats and swallow camels. Apathy, after a very short time, becomes a physical pressure in the room.

This is a late-October teacher cry. Tomorrow, I'll go back to work, screaming with a smile.

Great Quote

Today's quote of the day, "Only the educated are free" by Epictetus, is one of my favorite quotes. How much truth is wrapped up in that one small statement? Ignorance is slavery of heart, soul, and mind. Only by learning about ourselves, each other, and the wonderful world around us can we grow the wings we need to fly over the walls of the prison that holds us. Great quote. Really, really great quote.

Dill Pickle Potato Chips

I have become addicted to Dill Pickle Potato Chips. Before I tasted them, the very thought of a chip flavored with pickle made me shudder. I had tried salt and vinegar chips, and they made my stomach curdle. Somehow, though, I was persuaded to taste one, and now I want them all the time.

Golden Flake's are the best. They are so tart that after eating them, it feels like my tongue has wrinkled up. Yum. They make an exceptional accompaniment to sandwiches, and also a really nice "this-day-sucks" food, too.

They can't possibly be good for me, and I freely acknowledge that. However, sometimes, you just gotta have a dill pickle potato chip. I refuse to apologize for it. I have to have some cheap thrills, after all.

Spoon River Anthology

I had said that I was going to write about something good that happened, and now I'm keeping to it.

Last Wednesday, I took my honors and AP students through Edgar Lee Masters' Spoon River Anthology. It's one of my favorite collections of poems, especially American poetry, and I was so glad to get to share it. I made some very ugly tombstone cut-outs from black foam core and adhered a poem from the collection on it. We had six tombstones in our little graveyard.

The students walked around the room, read the poems, and wrote comments on pieces of paper near them. I had Mozart's Requiem going in the background. It was so wonderful to watch the students get into the poems. I love it when that happens, especially when it's a work or set of works that I myself am passionate about.

We had excellent discussion in all three classes, and I heard several students say they wanted to read more of them. That was a very good day. I don't know if any of them went and read more of the poems or not, but just the fact that they had that interest, even if it was only for 55 minutes, made me feel like I had accomplished something. If I can continue to give them those moments, maybe I can do something that lasts.

BTW, if you've never read Spoon River Anthology, check it out here.

Bad Attitudes

The natives are restless...

We've had a spate of bad behavior at school lately. I don't know if it's a phase of the moon, the bizzare giddiness of Homecoming, or some sort of hellish voodoo, but I do so hope it goes away soon. I have rarely heard more kids whining, backtalking, and generally being savagely uncouth.

I don't know where they get the idea that it's okay to act like that. Who ever told them that they have the right to show disrespect to one another or to their teachers? I get so tired of having to ask for silence and to try to get them to do what they're supposed to be doing, but I'll tell you the truth: the part that bothers me most isn't my kids' classroom behavior. The part that is killing me is the wild insanity and rudeness in the hall.

I am trying very hard not to focus on it because I can only Type-A my little corner of the world. It's just so discouraging and exhausting to fight the same stupid battles every day with people you're trying to help. It's like trying to pull a drowning wolf from a pond while it claws and bites you.

On another front, I still haven't heard back from Monday's blood work. I called today and left a message, so hopefully I'll have an answer tomorrow. I suppose if they haven't called me by now, nothing too bad can be wrong, right?

I had another splitting headache today, and I'm not sure why. It started on the way to school and neither caffiene nor Tylenol could kill it. I finally got rid of it with an accidental fifteen minute nap while I was waiting for my night class to start. If they could just tell me what to do about them to make the pain stop, I could live with everything else.

There's so much more I want to say. There are so many entries that I start composing in my mind that never make it to the screen. I guess I'm back in the school year blogging mode, which is to say slow, slow, slow...

Last Week

After Monday, there really wasn't a lot of time to blog. Monday afternoon, I had an eye exam and was told that at least one thing on my stupid body is working perfectly. 20/20 vision and a perfectly shaped eye. At least I don't need glasses, and my eyes are the cause of my headaches.

Tuesday afternoon, I went back to the doctor for a recheck since my white blood cell count was high. I was running a slight fever, but upon recheck, my white cell count was lower, and he has just about ruled mono out as the source of my ongoing tiredness. Monday, I'll have some more tests run to see if he can locate what's going on. He's talking now about pre-diabetes. Nothing will be certain until the lab work comes back, and he's talking about some other possibilities, too, so right now, I'm trying as hard as I can to reserve judgement.

I stood with a friend at the funeral of his mother this Wednesday. Funerals are never easy affairs; I always feel the grief like a clinging haze. This one was harder than most because my friend was so grief-stricken. I pray for my friend. I
hope he can find a way to move on.

Thursday is actually a blur. I had stayed up late getting already-overdue grades ready to submit the following morning. I remember very little of it except that I was weary, and it was long. I couldn't have been very coherent in class. I had a midterm in a night class I'm taking, and I probably failed it. After I finished the test, I came home and fell down.

Friday went blissfully fast until seventh period. Seventh period, an assortment of sophomores and juniors got stupid, and there was a shouting match in the hall amongst them that had to be dealt with.

There were some really good things last week, too, but mostly it was a grey fog. I'll write about one of the good things later on because I need to remind myself that the good is always there. Right now, though, my whole life's focus is on finding out what in the world is wrong with me, whether it's diabetes or needing a new multivitamin. Maybe I'll get that answer this week.

Just a Little Scarier Than It Used to Be

There's something wrong with the world today
I don't know what it is
There's something wrong inside...

-- Aerosmith "Livin' on the Edge"

Today's news was full of the North Korean nuclear test. Now a crazy man with delusions of divinity has a weapon capable of starting a war that may be the end of all we know. Once one single person finally pushes that button, I wonder if there will be anybody standing in the end after the preemptive strikes, the retaliatory strikes, and all the other excuses to kill masses of humanity.

Why is life so cheap? How did it get that way? How can any person look at another and be blind to the beauty of that life? We talk about acceptable losses and collateral damage. We entertain ourselves with games full of destruction and movies full of the same. What is it about us that drives this blood thirst?

The leader of North Korea is in charge of a nation with the world's largest standing army and a population that is literally starving to death. There has to be a special place in hell for that sort of thing.

I keep thinking that God should have made us with some sort of fail-safe valve, some sort of mechanism that just blows up if we reach a certain point of evil. Don't talk to me about relativity, either. Don't talk about YOUR values versus MY values. I'm not talking about driving SUVs, leaving lights on when you leave the room, or failing to recycle. I don't mean things you ought or ought not to do. I'm talking about EVIL, all capital letters. I'm talking about the kind of evil that leads to child abuse and genocide, to dictatorships and torture. When you are in charge of a group of people and you use that power to suppress, misinform, torture, and starve them, that valve ought to blow sky high.

So what now? This is my generation's nuclear threat. I don't think we'll be having drills at school where we all slide under our desks and assume the position. What will we do? What about Japan, China, and South Korea sitting so close to the impulsive insanity of a human gone rabid with power and paranoia? I have friends in those places, and now I have to worry for them and for the wonderful nations in which they live as well as for my own land.

And what of the North Koreans? What will happen to them once the political maneuvering is over and the sanctions or worse begins? My one wish is that they as a people would rise up and say, "Too much is enough," and destroy the leadership. If they did that, then maybe they could have a chance at freedom.

Just thinking about all of it is enough to make you want to find a safe, dark place and hide. I don't know how this drama is going to unfold, but I have to say it's frightening. Thanks to the machinations of a madman, the world is just a little bit scarier that it used to be, and God knows, it was scary enough without it.

And One More Thing

One more small thing... I got an antenna to pick up local stations. That means Tuesday I get to see either the enchanting and wonderful Mr. D'Onofrio or the other pair. At least it's a new episode of CI, and I'll also be able to get local news now. It's the little victories, you know.

Medical Mystery

I have to go back to the doctor tomorrow or Tuesday for a recheck. Apparently, my blood count was high. Joy. I'm feeling a lot better, though. I still get tired quite a bit, but I feel better than I've felt in weeks, and the swelling in my neck is completely gone. I'm hoping for good news when I go back.

On the more amusing side of things, some of my student readers were apparently speculating as to how I might have contracted mono, if that's what this turns out to be. I imagine they had some pretty lurid romantic scenarios. It might be funny to find out what they were, but then again...do I really want to go down that road? I think not.

Halloweening

Yesterday, the air was the perfect temperature. The sun was warm but not the brutal and burning type it has been all summer. I decided to put out my Halloween decorations and enjoy the day.

I love Halloween. Christmas is my favorite holiday, but Halloween runs a close second. I love the fun of it. I love the simple, inner-child pleasure of candy and safe thrills. I love putting up the pumpkins around my door, hanging the ghosts in my driveway, and watching parents with their kids in the store deciding whether this year's costume will be the princess or the witch.

Even in our increasingly homogenized world, most cultures have a holiday that deals with fears and concerns about death and grief for those who have departed. Japan has Obon, Mexico has Dia de los Muertos, and we have Halloween. That part of the holiday fascinates me, too. It is so important for us to have that connection to those who are gone, and even though we don't use Halloween in a ceremonial way anymore, the haunted houses, plastic phantoms, and carved pumpkins still represent a way of dealing with the fear of the unknown that comes with death. We learn as children, even in a very softened way, that death doesn't have to be something of which we need be afraid.

I have loved Halloween since I was a child. We used to have the best Halloween carnivals at school. I remember walking through the sixth-grade building's haunted house, riding around the playground on a hay wagon, and winning endless little bags of prizes with my friends. There was nothing fancy about it, but just being there with the costumes and the cooling weather was special.

My mom and I used to hang the same cardboard decorations on the windows every year, and so looked forward to the day when Mom would say it was time to get them out and hang them up. We also bought plastic ghosts and pumpkins and hung them on the trees lining our driveway. Coming home was a thrill as the headlights caught those silly, smiling plastic figures. It was special to me, and it still is.

For the remainders of the month, I will have the same thrill as an adult. Whenever I come home late from school, my plywood copies of those same silly smiles will be there to cheer me. The plastic pumpkins around my schoolroom door will keep me company as I work late to get papers graded and recorded. I will feed that six-year-old who still lives inside me and enjoy it.

Please, Not Mono

I have been feeling so bad lately. I have no energy, and no matter how much I sleep, I always feel tired. Two days ago, my lymph node under my ear became swollen. I've never had that happen in all my many illnesses.

Today, I felt so horrible that I went and braved the overcrowded waiting room at my doctor's walk-in clinic. Once I got to the back, all I wanted to do was lie down on the paper-covered table and sleep until somebody made me better.

When the doctor came in, he checked me over and ordered a blood test. Then he uttered the worst of words...mono. It's not sure yet, and I'm fervently hoping it's just a sinus infection, but if it is, it's a doozy. I'm not really sinusy, but I'm completely wiped out. I won't know for about two weeks whether or not it's mono for about two weeks, but keep your collective fingers crossed for me. It's going to devastate my school year if I have to be out six weeks.

October

October is finally here! It's one of my favorite months. The weather finally starts to cool down, the leaves change, and the holidays start to roll in.

I love to get my Halloween stuff out every year and hang it up or set it out. It brings back memories of childhood and never fails to bring a smile to my face.

Before I left Friday, I redid the bulletin board in the hall outside my room and hung my garland and pumpkin lights. I changed out my "This Day in History" calendar and rewrote the information on my boards in orange and black. These are little things, but I feel better knowing they're done.

I still have to hang up my ghosts outside, but that can wait awhile. I have a lot of school work I need to do today, and I also want to take a nap. Then I can enjoy the rest of my decorating.

Longing

I miss Japan so badly today that it's a physical pain. I don't know if it's the quality of the light or the fact that it's finally turning to autumn here. I don't know if it's because I'm listening to Agatsuma as I'm trying to get school work done, because I received a new catalog from the Japanese American Museum, or because I chose one of my Japanese pottery bowls from which to eat my cereal this morning.

All I know is that if I only had one wish right now, it would be to be back in Toyohashi watching all those lustrous golden ginkgo leaves showering down on the campus of Aidai. I long to be riding my bike, to be on the trains going somewhere, to be walking with my camera and seeing autumn take the countryside in slow waves of color. I crave chestnut sweets and mochi. I want to stop in a noodle shop and enjoy the flavors before a cool evening ride home.

I miss my friends there and all my wonderful, diamond-bright students. Last night while I was copying grammar exercises, my eyes fell on various knickknacks from Japan in my office: my Nohohon collection, a tiny pair of shishi-mai, my Denko-san dragon and shishi, and most wonderful of all, the card my first class of students gave me. I framed it and hung it in my office to help me remember when I have really bad days that somebody somewhere thinks I'm a good teacher.

I want to be walking down the winding pottery path in Tokoname with my camera in hand. I want to be sitting on my ridiculously small green sofa and hearing the absurdly musical chime of the factory across the street. I want grocery store sushi and an egg salad, tuna salad, potato salad sandwich trio from a C-store. I want to go indulge at the 100 yen store.

Here, there is no sumo, no maneki neko, no matcha, and today I feel the loss like a lash across the shoulders. I am starting to get itchy feet and a dreaming mind again, but I have too many obligations that keep me here. I suppose I will just have to satiate the hunger in some other way, but oh how I long for my simple gaijin life in Toyohashi.

Restoring the Balance

Friday was the stupidest day I've had in a long, long time. There was an altercation with a colleague and a blazing headache. I left school early, and I took no work home with me. I deliberately left it sitting on the desk and went home. It was a mutinous, rebellious action, and I refuse to apologize for it.

This weekend, I read four pulp fiction novels, made several pots of tea, lay on the couch with Dillon purring supportively in my ears, surfed eBay for vintage Vera scarves and chenille peacock bedspreads, chatted online with two dear friends who are far away, sporadically did laundry, watched The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, cooked Sunday dinner for my parents, and generally focused on feeling less like a dead teacher and more like a "real" person again.

I had reached a point where this was absolutely necessary. I am now behind in several things, but I can't bring myself to worry about it. It will all get done. I may have to stick a cot in the back of the classroom next week, but at least I will start the week rested and refreshed. I know the ridiculous crap with the coworker will probably flare back up at least once next week, and at some point, I will tell that story here, but I think I will be able to deal with it.

Another Sisyphus Day

This week has been crazy. There have been fire drills, personal and professional dramas, preparation for unit tests, fights in the halls, screaming crazies elsewhere, departmental work days, and parent conferences, and I'm worn out with it.

Today has been especially long. A perfectly capable student is trying desperately to get out of my class because it's "too hard." I can't tell you how tired one gets of hearing that, of hearing how hard my class is, how much work I assign, how strict I am. I feel like just saying, "Well heck then, let's all twiddle our thumbs and do nothing. Let's all be the same unimproved, unenlightened people we were when we came in. Let's keep our world view and comprehension from expanding one iota."

It's not that student alone or even mostly that's triggered this. There are other issues going on there, and I know AP is hard. It's supposed to be. I do everyone a disservice if it's not. I don't have a problem there. As the lady who ran our AP seminar this summer tells her students, "Hate me now; love me in May."

It's more that I try so hard to do this. I try so hard to make every single day something that will bring some new facet to the jewel of life. I want my students to understand the power and the humanity, the shared lives and the eon-spanning emotion, we approach every time we open our textbooks. So often, I watch them shut down as the covers open. So often, they refuse, by conditioning, I suppose, to give what we're doing a chance. These things have lasted for a reason. They are, at their bedrock, built on experience we all have.

I try very hard not to teach boring stuff. Even if it's grammar, and God knows, grammar isn't my favorite part of being an English teacher with all its rules and strictures, I make every effort to cut through the crap and get to the meat of it in the most meaningful way. I know not everyone is going to love Beowulf or Pride and Prejudice or 1984, but I would hope that I am at least presenting it in a way that makes it appreciable.

I also believe I make a genuine effort to treat all my students with respect. I don't lie to them or talk down to them. I want them to do well and succeed. I want them to discover the unimaginable possibilities of themselves.

It's just a Sisyphus Day, I guess. The frazzlin' rock has rolled over me, and I feel every bruise. I need to go home, eat supper, and watch something mindless or read an old favorite. Barring the possibility of either kendo or fencing where I could release some of this frustration and sadness by destroying a hapless opponent, I think that looks like the best option.

Sunday House Call?

I was working on getting things cleaned up this morning, and my phone rang. It was a BellSouth repairman asking if he could come out today and take care of the repair issue with my kitchen phone jack. I almost fell over. I had no idea they worked on Sundays.

He came out, and in about 45 min., fixed the wiring problem. Apparently, something (probably a large reddish pit bull or her small golden sidekick) had chewed the wires leading into the house. I am so glad that it's fixed! Not having a phone right there was a terrible inconvenience.

Well, there's not really more to tell. I'm still working on school stuff and watching D'Onofrio, so life goes on. It's nice not to have exciting things to tell, sometimes.

Gnashing of Teeth

I have been on the phone with tech support for the past three hours. My wireless router has apparently gone belly up. I am ready to throw it against a wall. The very nice Mid-Asian BellSouth DSL tech guy who patiently walked me through various fixes is probably ready to throw it, too.

I hate it when things that are supposed to work, don't. I have absolutely no patience with malfunctioning inanimate objects.

I still have to call Linksys and deal with whatever sort of tech support they offer, but I don't think I can stand to do it right now. I think I'm going to get a snack and get away from the darn thing for a few minutes first.

Deluge

Today was a long day. Classes were good; we finished up Beowulf today in my regular classes. My kids were mostly engaged. Some of them even like the story. I love it, so that made me happy. I think some of the others liked it, too, but were too "cool" to admit it.

The long part came during 7th period. It's incredibly loud on our hall during seventh period. The noise is disturbing because it always sounds like a fight is about to break out. It makes me very nervous, and I want to either call security or just go scream, "SHUT UP!!!! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SHUT UP!!!" The situation is increasingly uncomfortable for me.

From 7th period forward, my room was full of students. I have so many who come in to do work, makeup work, or get help. It's kind of nice. I like that the students are concerned enough to come in. It's such a change from last year and tenth graders.

I tutored after school, and I didn't get a chance to get a snack. That made my blood sugar drop, and when I finally left school at 4:20, I was sick. Fortunately, Dad called, and we ate dinner. It was nice to sit and talk. Now, I'm watching a little TV (yes, the delightful Mr. D'Onofrio is on), and later on, I have big, big plans that involve a long hot shower, my bed, and a book I don't have to read for school. Maybe if I sleep enough tonight, I'll be able to get some energy for the big pep rally tomorrow.

Fulbright?

Today I got a packet of information from one of the mysterious office fairies about Fulbright's Teacher Exchange program. As soon as I read the flyer, I felt my toes curl and that electric zing that the thought of travel, especially long-term travel, brings to me. To spend a year teaching and living in another country AND to be on paid leave from my job here is just too good to be true.

I ran down the list of countries and places, and there were so many places on the list that I want to go. The one that looks most attractive is the six month stint in the UK. I would have a chance to explore WITHOUT a ravening horde of teenagers trailing me. It would be paradise.

There are still lots of questions about the program, and I have to give it some serious thought before I even decide that I'll apply. Once I apply, I know my chances aren't very good to be selected out of the thousands of applicants. I might still decide to throw my hat in the ring. My feet have been itchy lately, and something like this might be a cure for it.

Victory!

Finally, finally, finally, the huge pile of papers has been graded. It took two days, and I think I used up two whole pens, but by George, it's done! Now, I can do the happy dance. This usually involves lots of hollering and scooping up various cats to spin around with. They, of course, find this less than soothing.

I have one teensy-tiny little set of essays from my Juniors left to grade, and I think I can get them done tomorrow during my off period if everybody will let me alone so I can work.

I'm rewarding myself by watching the late episodes of the Bravo marathon since I've been so good about forcing myself to grade all weekend. I have to go to bed soon, but I feel as if a huge rock has been removed from my back. It's a good feeling for as long as it lasts.

Genetics

I went up to have dinner with Mom and Dad tonight, and Mom was in a state of near-exhaustion. She's obligated to do this, that, and the other and then has school stuff on top of it. She, like me, works 14 hour days at school, and still comes home and grades into the night.

I guess I come by it honestly. I suppose I should have known this was the way it was going to be. After all, I've spent my entire life watching her do this. I never knew there was any other way to be a teacher.

There are other ways, though. I know lots of teachers who roll out with or just after the buses. My question is how? Are they doing it all at home? I wish I were that disciplined. Are they just not doing it at all? If that's the case, how do they stay employed or look at themselves in the mirror?

I think I'm just a poor time manager. There's got to be an easier way to get these things done with the same quality. Maybe I'm just genetically cursed to do it the hard way.

STRESS

In the space of two days....

1) my phone in the kitchen died, a repair was scheduled, and the repairman never came because he was calling the defunct phone instead of my cell -- I'm still waiting to hear back from them

2) the class I'm taking for my silly second MA loaded the crap on me with tests and projects out the wazoo

3) the garbage I set out today didn't get picked up because apparently Monday wasn't really a no-garbage holiday

4) my dog chewed up another package, this time containing something I need for school tomorrow and Monday

5) a student told one of my admins that she would like to change classes because she needs a "different teaching style" and now I have to go through a parent conference about it

6) my laundry is overflowing, my house needs to be declared a haz-mat zone, and my yard is stemming out with bahaia

7) Yelldo and Dillon need to go to the vets

By all that is holy, please let tomorrow not be as full of crazy mess as the past two days have been.....

Seed or Husk

Sitting draped in my doctor's office today, I had quite a bit of time to reflect on things. When one is surrounded by the accoutrement of childbearing, it's hard not to think about having babies. For me, it's hard not to worry about whether I ever will have them or not.

Nobody enjoys these visits, I guess. There are few positions as vulnerable; few relationships require the level of trust the relationship between a woman and the doctor who helps her maintain the apparatus of the creation of life does.

When I go, though, there's always another layer underneath the general discomfort: the fear that one day the doctor will come back in and tell me that my body has finally betrayed me to the final extremity and that children are not possible. Every year, I procrastinate about making the appointment. Every year, I sit nervously in his office, trying not to look too closely at the photographs and other artwork of newborns and infants that cluster on the walls. Every year, I endure the exam and pray he won't tell me, with genuine apology on his kind face, that I will never know what it's like to carry life inside me and be a mother.

These visits are stressful to say the least. I'm sure after a few days have passed, I will find some self-deprecatory humor in it, but right now, I'm tired of thinking about it, tired of worrying about it.

Tennis Is Great and All, But....

I've been suffering from D'Onofrio withdrawal. USA has been showing the US Open non-stop for a week now, and I have been missing my Law and Order episodes. Tonight, though, is Bravo's mini marathon, and I am soaking up the lovely man.

I really hate it when a network pre-empts its regular scheduling for extended periods. I guess if I were a sports fan, I'd love it, but since tennis isn't my particular obsession, I resent having to miss one of the very, very few shows I do watch because of it. It's just another facet of my Type-A coming out, probably.

Oh well, I'm off to the kitchen for a really late supper, and since there's no school tomorrow (thank GOD), I'm going to spend the night watching the witty Mr. D'Onofrio and reading until dawn.

The Evil Wench at the C-Store

Look out...I'm getting up on the soapbox, and I'm steaming....

Today, I went into a C-store to get my favorite nectar of the gods, Diet Mountain Dew. All the bottles in the cold case had spatters of something sticky and brown on them. I'm assuming it was probably exploded Pepsi or a similar substance. If not, I really, really don't want to know.

I pulled one and took it to the register. While the gum smacking under-dressed gutter socialite behind the counter was ringing up my drink, I asked her if she perhaps had a wet wipe or a damp paper towel I could use to clean the bottle. She waved her hand in a vague fashion toward their deli, said something largely unintelligible around the wad of gum, and then TURNED HER BACK ON ME.

She didn't turn to answer a question or get something for another customer. She just turned around and rested her vast backside against the very counter upon which my purchase was sitting. I felt my blood pressure soaring. She hadn't helped me get something to clean up THEIR mess, she hadn't even offered to put the things I'd picked up in a bag, and she turned her back to me in dismissal while I was still trying to understand what the heck she was trying to say. People have died for less than that.

If you hate your job that much, go to the house. Please. Your life may be a living nightmare, but that's no reason to take it out on every innocent bystander. Truly, I understand that working at a gas station on a Saturday afternoon probably doesn't rank up there as one of the top ten jobs, but if it's paying your car note and your light bill, don't give me crap when all I am trying to do is buy a soda.

I was very proud of myself. I did not reach across the counter and slap her silly. I thought about it. It was fairly satisfying just thinking about it, in fact. Instead, I found a napkin, got the bottle clean, and left. I managed not to let her rudeness force me into rudeness of my own, so maybe I won a small battle with myself if nothing else.

Greetings and Salutations

It was inevitable, I suppose. It's come to my attention that my darling, darling students have found my blog. This explains the huge surge of traffic the site has had from the area around Podunk. I guess it's just the price I pay for having briefly flirted with MySpace.

Welcome. Enjoy. I told you I write for fun. I never said I write WELL for fun....

Open House

Last night was our annual Open House. That of course means that I did not actually leave school until 8:30 last night. I was at school for about 14 hours.

The meeting went well. I got to see a lot of parents and just touch base with them. It never ceases to please me when parents come. I wish all my kids' parents would come to see me. It would solve so many problems.

Well, today, I'm wiped out. I came home as soon as I could, and I have plans to go to bed before 9. I want to stay up and see the enticing Mr. D'Onofrio, but my eyelids have been slamming shut all day and tomorrow is another long, long day since we have the AP Orientation tomorrow night at 7. At least I'm getting some school work done in the intervals, I suppose....

Teacher Lady and Me

I'm slowly being devoured. The teacher is taking me over. I am at school until 5:00 or 5:30 every day, and everything I do seems to revolve around teaching. I'm always preparing to teach, teaching, or recovering from teaching.

I am uncomfortable with this, but I don't know how to stop it. I don't know if I even can stop it. I like to be passionate about my teaching, but there has to be something else. I am risking burn out if there's nothing else.

I wish I had something that could help me refill and refresh, something artish. I would love to take a pottery class, or one in photography, something that would force me to leave school totally behind. I always say I'm going to do something here at home, but what really happens is that I crash on the couch and do nothing.

It's a question of balance, I guess, and I've yet to find mine. I hope I find it before the Teacher Lady subsumes all else.

How to Eat Literature Like a Pit Bull

I had ordered a copy of How to Read Literature Like a Professor from amazon.com the other day. I came home yesterday evening to find it and the cd that was also a part of the order in pieces strewn across my yard. The cover had been ripped off neatly, and the corners had been chewed away. The case of the cd was chewed right down to the edge of the disc, but miraculously, no dog teeth had penetrated it.

Needless to say, I wasn't happy. I had been looking forward to reading the book since this summer's AP conference. Several people there really recommended it as a resource for students, and I finally had enough money in my budget to get it.

Missy, who usually mugs me as soon as I get home, was very tentative. I just unloaded my school stuff and told her to stay away from me. I was so mad.

When I came in, I looked out the screen door and saw her standing, wilted and droopy, on the porch. I came back to my senses. Who gives a crap about a book? She loves me faithfully every single day. Every day, no matter how bad my day has been, she comes to the car and tries to get all sixty pounds of herself into my lap for a hug. That kind of unconditional love is worth all the books and cds in the world.

I went out, sat in the chair on my porch, and gathered her into my lap. She wrapped her paws around me in that way she has and just about shook herself apart with happy wiggles. It's amazing how trivial are the things we get mad at the ones we love, be it dog or human, for sometimes, isn't it?

Random and Sleepy

I haven't been posting much lately for several reasons. First, I've been trying to go through and tag/label my older posts. I haven't gotten very far, but I really like that aspect of the new Blogger. I went through and looked at all the posts in a category the other day, and I liked the continuity of it.

Second, I am just tired, tired, tired. I have huge piles o' grading to do this weekend, and I've been at school until at least 4:30 every day this week. Home is starting to feel like a hotel again, but fortunately, next weekend is a three-day weekend, so maybe I can catch up here at that time.

There are other things, specifically some stuff at school, but I'm really too tired to go into it with any sort of clarity. Tomorrow, I'm supposed to get to hang out with one of my friends.

It will be nice to go somewhere and be something other than a teacher. The teacher part of me is slowly eclipsing all else, and, when I stop to think about it, it really bothers me. More about that later, probably...

The New Look

As you may have noticed, I've I have changed over to the new Blogger Beta. It may all blow up at any moment, but I like being able to add labels, etc. What do you think? Comments, por favor? Or do I hear the clicking of crickets a la my juniors?

Gracias a Dios

Today was a good day in so many ways. I got a lot of stuff done at work, started a new phase of my job, and got my reimbursement checks from the Central Office and the IRS.

I have been teetering on the verge of financial ruin for awhile now, and getting those checks really made me feel better about life in general. I paid off two accounts and can make some payments on others now. I feel like a huge stone has been rolled off me.

At work, I got two sets of ID tests done and tidied up a bunch of loose ends. Tomorrow is Poetry Day (not a national holiday, but rather a weekly thing in my classes), and just knowing it's Poetry Day makes me feel happier about going to work tomorrow. We're doing a poem by Emerson in the 11th grade classes and the wonderful "Queen of the Blues" by Gwendolyn Brooks in AP. I am going to play Bessie Smith and introduce them to the real life Empress of the Blues while we're at it. It should be a good day.

I also got my 11th graders to actually talk today. This was a huge personal victory for me. I had reached the point where the cricket noises and the blank stares were about to kill me. We were going over a portion of "Self-Reliance" by Emerson, and they responded as I had always hoped they would. I had a feeling that good old Emerson would get them, but I wasn't sure until I saw them look up from the texts with that light in their eyes. I remember the first time I read "Self-Reliance". I think I underlined almost every other sentence. It still moves me. I'm a closet Transcendentalist, after all. (Can you be a closet Transcendentalist? Is that a paradox? It's late and I'm tired...cut me slack.)

The last good thing is that I am finally doing ESL again. I am our school's new ELL (English Language Learner, for those of you unfamiliar with the jargon) tutor, and I get to work with our small ELL population after school as much as I want AND get paid about $25/hour for it. How great is that? The one thing that I was missing in my current job was ESL. I have missed it so very much. Now, at least two days a week, and maybe more, I get to go back to my first love in education. It's not Japan, granted, but then again, I'm not an 18 hr. flight away anymore, either.

It was a good day, thank God. I needed one after the sorts of tiresome days I've had lately.

Full Plate

There's never enough time to do all the nothing you want. ~Bill Watterson, Calvin and Hobbes

I have too much going on, and it's only the third week of school. Today, I was at school until 5:30, and as I drove home, I realized that I'd been there almost twelve hours. Why can't I get anything done faster? Other teachers go home at 3:30 or so. Why am I always there so long?

Today, I finished up a packet of material for a parent-teacher night upcoming, photocopied masters to send to print shop, pulled and formatted poems for assignments on Wednesday, corresponded with parents of absent students, was an impromptu website consultant, cleaned my room, and oh yeah, taught some. Once these classes I'm taking at night really get rolling, I don't know what I'm going to do.

How far along are they with that cloning thing?

Anyway, I got home in time to see Law and Order and watch the toothsome (oh, how I love words and that big, wonderful man) Vincent D'Onofrio. I took a long shower and am currently being mugged by Dillon, so life is pretty good. Soon it will be bedtime to enable me get up tomorrow and do it all again.

Heritage

Tonight our church had a time of testimony instead of a regular service. We don't do that very often, and when we do, sometimes few people want to speak. Tonight, though, many people stood and spoke about what God has done or is doing in their lives. As I listened, I reflected on the people God has put in my life who have helped me to become the person I am. My grandmothers, my music teacher, and the women of the church whom I've known all my life have all left their marks on the woman I've become.

My grandmothers were very different women, but both of them were women who taught me many things. I learned to cook chicken, homemade macaroni and cheese, and cornbread, to make things for my house with my hands, to love my family, and to love God from them. They taught me that marriage is a life-long commitment that comes with sweet and sour, that giving up is not an option no matter what the odds are, and that it is possible to have grace and peace even in the face of a horrible illness like cancer. I have physical things that I inherited, a cookie jar, some jewelry, my house, but the most valuable things they gave me are the things I carry within me everyday.

My music teacher was almost another grandmother to me. She taught me to love music, and even though she could never get me to practice as much I should, that love has stayed with me long after she passed away. She taught me the value of doing things the right way, and even though I often play for Sunday night church wearing jeans, I still feel guilty about not wearing a dress and heels. She taught me that music and the playing of music is service to the Lord, and even though I'll never be as good a musician as she, I always feel her with me when I play.

The women of my church have taught me many different lessons. I've learned how to be a gracious hostess, even with little to share, how to take care of my neighbors in their times of need, and how to follow God, even through the darkest times. These are the women who hold our small community together. They are always ready to pitch in during the inevitable times when life falls apart.

I've been so lucky to have these women in my life. Their examples helped me learn who I need to be. I don't know that I will ever be able to be that kind of example to another person, but I hope I always live in such a way that does honor to the heritage I have received.

Wake Up

This is the world we live in
And these are the hands we're given
Use them and lets start trying
To make it a place worth living in.
-- "Land of Confusion" Genesis

What is going on with people today? Why are so many people caught up in things that don't matter at all? I am frustrated beyond belief today, and this is a soapbox message, so you might want to run away right now.

It was brought back to my attention the other day while I was talking with some educators from various places that there are teachers in various places who are just sort of drawing their checks and telling their kids to read or watch a video. There are teachers who pick favorites, pass them, and ignore or actively persecute the others.

I am an idealist. I proudly accept that title. I know that reality is often so far from my ideals as to not even be visible from the distance that separates them. I know my idealism often makes me naive.

All that being said, I cannot understand how anybody anywhere would get up as early as we have to, come to school, and do this incredibly taxing job with no passion. As far as I'm concerned, if the paycheck is your primary driving force, no matter what your job is, you need to get the heck out. Life is too short to chain yourself to the grindstone just for the money.

Why do people spend the biggest part of their lives doing things that don't fulfill them? Who told them that that's what life is for? Not every day is wine and roses, nor should it be, but if the majority of your life is spent hating what you do, then one day you will wake up, bitter and wasted, wishing you'd followed a different path.

The students under those burnt-out teachers are learning the same dangerous lesson: there's no joy to be had in the working world. That all that awaits them after high school is boredom beyond comprehension and perpetual unhappiness. The pattern of drudgery is being ingrained before they even choose a future for themselves.

Worse to me, the privilege of learning, of coming to a place and spending your time taking in new ideas and knowledge, of expanding your world's boundaries, becomes an onerous burden when those teachers simply snarl, snap, and ignore. Everyday, I get the joy of watching some of my students start to unfold like flowers opening in the sun. This has nothing to do with my skill as a teacher. I am a mediocre teacher at best, but I get to see those tiny victories because I care desperately about what I'm doing and I try to make sure they know it.

Can you imagine the force and the power for change if people would simply raise their heads from the rutted paths they've worn, and look for the jobs, the hobbies, the lives that would make them feeling humans instead of lifeless automatons? Life is too short to do what you hate every single day. It's tantamount to grabbing a sharp or hot object again and again because you make the mistake of grabbing it the first time and you don't know how to stop. We have to find a new way for our world to go forward.

The Little Things

I had a confrontation with a student today who is usually a good student. He chose today to be difficult for some reason, and it has totally soured my mood. In an effort to reclaim what had been a peaceful day prior to this, I am going to focus on some of the little things I love.

1) The little cream-colored McCoy planter on my desk -- It holds the blank 3X5 index cards I use as memo pads, notes to class, to do lists, etc. It has two tiny gnomes, one on each end, and is roughly shaped like a log with ivy twining around it. I don't know why it should make me so happy, but it does. Maybe it's the gnomes.

2) Dillon playing with her toy mouse -- Has there ever been anything as heart-cheering as a kitten with a toy? She chases it, pounces it, and brings it to me as proudly as anything weighing less than three pounds is capable of doing.

3) PEZ -- Walking in and seeing all my kitschy little dispensers lining my office walls makes me smile. I wish I could have more of them here at school, but they're small, portable, and tempting in a way that means they'd disappear pretty quickly.

4) Writing with my fountain pen -- Mom and Dad gave me a nice one for Christmas last year. It's not a Mont Blanc (I'd be too nervous to use one, anyway), but it's got good balance, a responsive nib, and I feel loved when I write with it.

5) My maneki neko collection -- Whenever I look at one of my maneki neko, or lucky cats, I can remember Japan and where I was when I bought it. I can remember Tokoname and the color of the tiles in the rain or the wall made from old sake jugs. I can remember the excitement and fun of traveling with my friends and going to pottery festivals where we always bought more than we should have and then struggled like beasts of burden to get our treasures home on the trains.

6) A new (or new-to-me) Law and Order: CI -- When I get to sit and watch the alluring Vincent D'Onofrio take apart some crime from the inside out, it makes me happy. Of course, I would probably also be happy watching Mr. D'Onofrio read from the telephone directory.... I wonder what he'd do with his elegant hands for something as silly as that?

I'll stop with six. I feel better. Now it's time to grade some essays. I have one of my night classes for the first time tonight, and I am determined to get some of this unfinished work done before it.

Bad Behavior

I am not good at meetings. Today after school we had another staff development meeting, and I just couldn't have cared less. All I wanted to do was be in my room and get some work done. Yesterday, I had to go home right after school because my jaws were hurting so much from the dentistry on Monday. Today, I needed to catch up.

I am afraid I was very rude. I had my laptop and I was using it in the notebook setting to draw and doodle on. Originally, I had it out to take notes, but there were no notes to take. I drew and drew.

I swear I was listening, but I am aware that I probably didn't appear to be. I can't seem to help this bad meeting behavior. I have to draw or do something with my hands or I just go crazy. Sometimes, I fold origami cranes. I think that it would be nicer to doodle than to fill the table with tiny paper birds.

I don't know why I hate meetings so much. I think I always resent the lost time. To me, talking about stuff usually doesn't actually result in getting anything done. Most meetings could be taken care of in 15 minutes or with a well-written memo.

Regardless, I think I need to reevaluate the way I act in those meetings. They're a part of my professional life now, and I guess I need to stop the bad behavior. I can't promise there won't be more paper birds, though.

Exhaustion

I am only writing this as a way to unwind before I crawl to my bed and pull the covers over my head. I am so tired that I physically ache. Actually, I'm not sure the ache is from tiredness. I suspect it has more to do with standing on concrete floors all day.

After a long day at school, I went to have two cavities filled. I swear, at one point, he was actually using a Dremmel on me. I jumped when he first started drilling, so stopped and hit me with two more shots in each cheek. After that, I didn't feel anything except the friction.

When that joy was over, I had to go to the local college branch to get registered for classes. That was when Marlowe's quote from his Mephistopheles came to mind, "This is hell, nor am I out of it." I wound up sitting in a hall for three hours waiting to see a counselor for 10 minutes. I HATE things like that.

While I was there, this twit on a cellphone stepped perilously close to the edge of destruction. She talked the WHOLE time I was there. Non-stop. I now know about her husband and his new four-wheeler, their dog, the diesel pickup she wants to buy from Texas for him, and all other facts about her life. She was having painfully personal conversations in a room full of people who had to try to pretend we were deaf. Why do people do that?


When there were only four or five of us left doggedly waiting on our turns, she stopped talking and started playing a game. Now I was also playing a game on my phone and had been for an hour, but I respectfully CUT MY SOUNDS OFF, including the ringer. She just let hers beep on, so every dadgummed time she moved her thumbs, it beeped and hooted. Visions of dead cellphones danced gleefully in my head. I wanted to jump up and down on it, to do a rumba across the tattered remains on the floor. I wanted to say something witty and apropos, but all I could come up with in my Novacaine deadened state was, " Hey, *&%$*, cut down the volume on that *&##(* phone." How urbane. How cutting. How eloquent.

After it was all over, I finally made it out to my aunt and uncle's house for my uncle's birthday party. It revived me to sit with my family and relax. I am still hurting, jaw and legs, but I feel a little less like somebody beat me up and left me for dead. Hopefully, a night of rest will complete the restoration. Tomorrow has GOT to be better....

Gruesome Profiteering

I just saw a commercial for a commemorative coin proof for 9/11. It has a segment that can be removed and will stand in a groove on the body of the coin to make a three-dimensional sculpture of sorts of the World Trade Center complex. The removable segment is supposedly cast from silver removed from vaults under the Trade Center wreckage.

I am appalled. What sort of person buys that kind of thing? It's horrific to take actual debris (if that part is true) from a crime against life and turn it into a gleaming collector's item. How could a person sleep at night knowing that something taken from that place of death and grief was recast, marketed, and sitting in their living room for the low, low cost of $19.95? How far will we descend with this sort of thing?

It's almost like the medieval practice of buying pieces of the true cross or the bones of the saints, but without any religious hope of salvation or healing. I know any person has the right to make and market any sort of thing, but I fervently hope sometime in the future people will stop trying to turn a quick buck off other people's tragedies.

Overwhelming Piles of Crap

My house is a wreck. There are cast-off tote bags and work bags strewn from the door to the livingroom. Clean laundry overflows the baskets in the laundry area. The dishwasher is full of dishes that need to be put away. My floors need sweeping, vacuuming, and mopping. My birdfeeders need seed and sugar water, and my grass is getting out of hand.

This is my least favorite part of the school year and the teaching life. Things pile up so quickly, and I have such a hard time taking care of more than running a load of laundry or the dishwasher during the week. I'm at school so much more than I'm at home, so home becomes a place where I dump, dine, and fall down.

I wish I knew how to reach a better balance with this. I know not all teachers live this way, so there has to be a way to do it. Of course, I also know a lot of teachers who have someone in to clean once or twice a week. That must be nice. Those people are married to men with good jobs, though, because I can't even pay all my bills with what I make, much less afford the luxury of somebody to help me with all this crap.

I guess the best I can do right now is turn Saturday into the day of decrapificaiton. Maybe if I can restore order once a week, it won't get so bad.

Prometheus and the Plane

Today, my bellringer activity concerned the myth of Prometheus. Even now that I’m teaching Seniors, they still sit wide-eyed for these tales out of the distant past. I like to think that maybe they’ll remember the stories even if they don’t remember the grammar.

I told them about how Prometheus believed in humanity’s potential, petitioned Zeus to share the gods’ gifts with them, and was denied. I told them how Prometheus, the forward thinker, stole the sacred fire from the hearth of Olympus and brought it to man. I told them how he was bound to the rock and daily suffers unspeakable agony for his actions.

Yesterday, my AP kids and I went through Owen’s “Dulce et Decorum Est”. We looked at the timeline of the last century, and talked about what the major events were. I am not surprised, but somewhat ashamed to be a part of the society that allowed it, but my kids have very dim knowledge of those earth shattering times. World War I, World War II, the Great Depression, these are barely realities. They’re more like impositions, a mosquito buzzing in the ear, nothing that truly has to be considered but merely waved away to maintain a pleasant atmosphere.

This evening, I read my email and my CNN alerts and became aware of the full scope of the British plane plot. Men have sunk to the level that they have devised ways to kill masses of other men with sports drinks. Is this what Prometheus stole the holy fire from Olympus to create?

When I look down at my hands and I see their miraculous design, when I think of the almost unimaginable complexity of how our brains work and create reality from imagination, I am sickened right down to my soul by the uses to which we put these tools. If we can engineer ways to kill one another with household cleaners and fruit-flavored beverages, why can’t we devote the same fervor and unwavering perseverance to something worth a tinker’s damn?

It seems sometimes as if all we get better at is killing one another. When I was going through the Twentieth Century timeline with my kids, it struck me afresh how horribly fast we advanced from close combat to weapons of mass destruction. Will we ever grow beyond this, or are we doomed to selfish self-destruction? How can we fight this? How can we ever reclaim those wonderful gifts stolen from Olympus for good?

Tonight, my optimism is mostly done out. The eagles of hatred and extremism have torn the flesh, and I don’t know when Hercules is going to free the poor, shredded body of innovation, but I pray it happens soon.

SNAAAAAKE!

The thing about snakes is that how do you defend yourself against a snake if you don't have a weapon. You can't strangle it.
Morris Chestnut

I came home from dinner with Mom and Dad tonight and casually threw my bag on the parson's bench beside the door. My cat Pearl was staring fixedly at the space above the windows next to the door. I glanced up expecting to see a bug or, at the wildest, a mouse or lizard.

Imagine my surprise when I saw the head and first coils of a snake elegantly draped over the curtain rod. I could barely pull the cell from my pocket and remember how to work it. All I could think was that my cats were all staring at that same general area of the house LAST NIGHT. It was in the house all night.

I called Dad, gibbered something mostly incoherent to the tune of, "Mumble gibber SNAKE. Mumble, stutter, stutter, KITCHEN, SNAKE." Dad came with a pair of odd red metal tongs, grabbed the snake by the head, and pulled it off the curtain rod. It just kept coming. It was about four feet long. He took it outside and disposed of it.

Dad did some research when he got home, and he and Mom called to tell me that it was a kind of rat snake. It probably came in after the field mice and to escape the incredible heat. I'm sorry now that we killed it since it was a harmless rat snake, but it really, really, really shouldn't have done the whole "surprise!" thing hanging off the curtain rod. That was a bit more than I could take cheerfully.

Reckon I'll check the covers before I get in bed tonight?

Grading Zombie

Today, while my classes were writing reading tests and diagnostic essays, I graded. My eyes feel a bit blurry. I completed two sets of AP ID tests, two sets of bookcards, and half a class of Honors ID tests. Now, I just have six sets of essays left. How on earth did I get this many papers so fast? Oh well. Such is teacher life, I suppose.

Technology Problems

"Well, it was working just fine yesterday..."

We've got our projectors and we've got our laptops, and today we didn't even have basic, hardwired connection to the big server. It was just Monday all over the place. Technology came by the room twice, and the second time, I think the worst of the problems were resolved. I would NOT want to be Technology right now. They're darting all over campus looking frazzled. These wireless projectors are kind of tricky, apparently.

There's not much to tell about the day. Everything is still moving right along, but it was only day two. I did notice that the new copier is already on the fritz. I hope someone gave it whatever the machine version of last rights is before they shipped it to us. We kill copiers pretty fast. It's a real shame, too, because this one kicked butt.

Well, I was awakened at 4 a.m. with Missy barking at distant coyotes, had to take a dead mouse Pearl had caught out at 5 a.m. while I was still in my p.j.s, and had an 80 degree classroom most of the day due to a/c weirdness, so I'm pretty tired. Tomorrow will be Tuesday, and maybe it won't be as full of mechanical failures. If it doesn't, I think we're going to have to have some religious person come and lift the Machine Curse.

The Joys of T-Shirts

Short post, totally non-philosophical. Tonight's set of Bravo Law and Order: CI episodes has D'Onofrio in his usual suits, but it also has him undercover in a t-shirt and jeans and several variations thereof. Mmm, mmmm, mmm. Such a big, handsome man with such big, strong arms and shoulders....

Of course, I'm supposed to be doing schoolwork for tomorrow. However, I just can't look away. This probably means I'll be up really late. It's worth it.

V for Vendetta

"Remember, remember the fifth of November..."

I finally saw V for Vendetta tonight. I have the graphic novel, and I loved it. The movie, while different, was also really good.

I am really impressed with the performances by Hugo Weaving and Natalie Portman. Weaving managed to convey emotion without his face ever being seen. His whole body emoted. It was like what I think watching ancient Greek or Japanese Noh theater might have been like. He was graceful and powerful, but always human. Even though the face of the mask was fixed, by his body language, it almost seemed that it changed. It's amazing how much of what we know about the actions and feelings of other comes to us through their bodies.

Portman was as good as I've seen her. I like her in general, but she was strong and real in this movie. In the graphic novel, Evie was portrayed as more of a victim. Portman's Evie had a little more spine, and I liked that. This role couldn't have been an easy one to play.

The movie, as did the graphic novel, makes you think. They fit into the same category as 1984 and Brave New World. The scary part of all of them is that they are not impossibilities. They are worlds that we stand inches, thoughtless inches, away from. I'm not advocating the destruction of anything, but it scares me how little we think about what our governments do. One day, if we don't start thinking, if we don't start questioning, if we don't quit believing the old axiom that the ends justify the means, we might all wake up with V's world or John Savage's or Winston Smith's.

The older I get, the more I see Orwellian shades in the corners. I see Norsefire and Big Brother hiding behind the drapes, just waiting for a crisis, an opportunity to step in and give people a choice: security for their freedom. What are we going to choose? Are we already making those choices by inches? Are the things we've given away, especially our privacy, worth what we've received, or is it all just a big lie? How far have we gone toward our own personal dystopia without the majority of the people knowing it?

I know I'll use clips from V this year when I do my unit on dystopian literature. My students last year recognized our possible future in the novels. We had a lot of discussion about it, and that's the point of those books and of V as well. Maybe if we continue to talk about it, maybe if we can recognize the symptoms of the sickness, we can prevent the disease before it becomes terminal for our liberty.

The First Day

I woke up extra early this morning and was ready to go in record time. When I went out to drive to work, the check engine light came on. So much for leaving really early. I wound up driving my mother's minivan to work, and she took my Cruiser to the dealership later in her day to see what was going on.

When I finally got to school, I was oddly calm. I didn't have any of the first-of-school butterflies that I usually have. I don't know why. I was ready to go, not because I have everything ready or all my lesson plans done, but because of some other inexplicable reason.

The kids were in uniforms this year. They looked great. They looked unified, and although I know that surface is illusory, I hope it will help to unify them in some way. While I don't believe those uniforms are a panacea, I do know that the students carried themselves differently in the halls. I can't explain it.

The day passed with unbelievable speed. I hope they all go that fast. I think my AP classes are going to be pretty lively, and my regulars are going to be a lot of fun, a handful, but a lot of fun. We're going to need to have a "Come to Jesus" moment, but once we get all of that out of the way, we should have a good year.

Once classes were over, I was exhausted. My voice is strained, and I'm physically wiped out. I'm not in "fighting shape" yet. In about a week, my throat will be used to projecting again, and walking around the room all day and standing for lecture won't be such a big deal. Today, I was really happy when lunch came so I could sit down. I don't think I sat down more than a moment between 7:40 and 11:20, and then not again until 1:20.

After school I went to the dealership to swap vehicles with Mom, and to find out what the verdict was with my car. It was another one of those ghost phenomenon, and I got to take it home with no major repairs made. I cooked the previously mentioned steak, ate half of it (it was REALLY big) and am currently vegging out in front of the TV watching Dog Whisperer. It's a nice way to wind down after the long week of hectic preparation, endless and depressing meetings, and today's manic pace.

My optimism about the year persists. I hope the promise of today is fulfilled by the remainder of the year. Monday, the new will have worn off, and we'll see how we go.

Jumping on the Bandwagon

I have a new phone, and I may regret it, but right now, I'm loving the process of customizing it, or in geekspeak, tweaking it. I changed my wireless service from Company A to Company B because I can drive to my parents' house, less than a mile away, and have service with Company B. Company A's service doesn't extend much past my driveway. It was endlessly frustrating.

Company A doesn't cover most of the state, in fact. When I was driving two hours on two-lane roads during a period where I was teaching for a local community college, I often just sort of crossed my fingers that no deer or drunken loggers would cross my path because there'd be no phone service to call for help. I feel safer now.

I jumped on the bandwagon and got a Motorola Razr. I know everybody and his brother has one, but I have craved one since I first saw the original commercial where it sliced through the words. Mine is hot pink. I'm not usually a fan of hot pink, but it seemed to fit. Last night, after hours of trying to connect and finally replacing the data cable that connects the phone to my computer, I uploaded the original theme song from Wonder Woman to be my ringtone. I've been waiting on somebody to call me just so I can have the pleasant surprise of hearing that explosion and then the dramatic choir of "Wonder Womaaann....dum de dum dum....". It's the little things that get you through the day, you know.

Since I was up so late working on getting that crucial task accomplished, I am wiped out right now. There are a couple of reasons why. First, our test scores for the whole school have come back, and they were less than we'd hoped. Much less. I don't want to say much more about that except for the fact that for three straight days, I've been trying to figure out what I could have done differently or more. It's painful and wearying. Also, I've been going full tilt all day trying to ready my self, my room, and all the various and sundry paraphernalia of education for tomorrow's onslaught of students. You can tell I have a positive outlook, no?

Actually, I think I'll be fine. Tonight, I plan to cook a big steak I foolishly splurged on, sit on my couch, and (hopefully) overdose myself on the splendid (one day, I might actually run out of adjectives with which to preface his name) Vincent D'Onofrio. Tomorrow, I'll get up, come in, and do my best. God willing, that will be enough.

When You Probably Shouldn't Write At All

Alternately titled: Why didn't I have a Mountain Dew first?

I went back over that last entry and was appalled at the simple errors I let slide. I thought I'd proofread it, but apparently, I skimmed it, spell checked it, and published it with heinous grammatical problems. Oops.

I should have had a Diet Mountain Dew this morning. I'd have been a lot more alert. Some mornings, I crave hot tea, Earl Grey or straight Japanese green. Some days, though, hot liquids and Mississippi's 100+ degree hot and muggy climate don't mix well. Those mornings, those terrible mornings where my alarm clock seems to shriek moments after I closed my eyes, I have a Mountain Dew.

I know it's not the standard choice for caffeine intake. Somehow, though, I managed to get all the way through graduate school and seven years of teaching without developing a taste for coffee. I love the smell of it, but coffee hurts me if I drink it. Besides, Mountain Dew is all fizzy and green. How can you beat that?

Well, before this becomes a hymn in praise of carbonated caffeine, I suppose I had better take myself off to bed. Tomorrow will be another long day of meetings, and if I get some rest, I might just be able to endure them without running down the halls screaming.