I'm so tired of being sick; fuck cigarettes.
I've missed five of the last seven days of school - my first sick days all year - and it's driving me apeshit. I don't feel so horrible I feel incapable of doing things, but I feel shitty, and I'm not really capable of speech. At home, I don't talk all day; when roommates get home, even five minutes of conversation was enough to send me into coughing spasms intense enough for me to vomit.
I tried to go in last week, and coughed so much I started spraying blood from my nose by the afternoon. (That will get a class quiet and terrified real fast.)
Anyway, I'm getting stir-crazy at home, though I've gotten tons of grading and things done. Today, it hit me mid-afternoon (though it had occurred to me last night) that it was my ex's birthday. I was pissed at myself for knowing, for giving a fuck, for wondering what her birthday was like.
I was pissed at myself, because I thought of the last two February 9th's. To be fair, nothing crazy happened on either; or at least, nothing that I was a part of. I was stuck in initiations in 2008, and in 2009, the Vagina Monologues were nigh. But nice things happened to commemorate the occasion; modern dance and Mediterranean food with wine and blindfolds, a crammed Manhattan cafe watching a three-piece group perform beatboxed versions of Peter and the Wolf and other things.
One of those days was two weeks before I was cheated on; the other may have been during such a time period, for all I know.
I'm so tired of thinking of all these old things, and for tying them to doubts and dark things when I do think of them, that they can't even be nice memories.
I want to ache in a good way, to feel excellent pain; to feel like I'm electrified by someone.
I dug this out of an old blog:
"I was doing laundry this morning, and it occurred to me that I want to burn. It was a way of describing it that just came into my head. Earlier I'd written about having someone to do special things with, but this is just some kind of way to put it--I want to burn. This isn't a desire as bad as the others, but this would be nice--to have a hand brush down the back of my neck and feel like there's high-voltage wires under my skin, like there's a thousand butterfly wings dancing just beyond my skin, to feel like there's a howling wind in my ears, and like much of the world's disappearing when I talk to them. Because there's little else important enough to jump on my radar. that's burning. when there is just such a jolt because you were talking to someone or you brushed by them or just looked back over your shoulder and felt your skin burn. "
Tonight, I just drove, I sat, I went and lesson planned in a gay bar with roommates.
Haha - oh man, Phoenix, you and I do some weird shit.
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Potential
(written last night at 11 with no electricity)
Football, weight training, socializing, teaching, lesson planning, ASU, writing, beatmaking, picking guitar back up - all of that seems like an impossible list.
But I want to do all of that, minus the first two, hands down. And talking to Kentucky tonight, and hearing about the first two, made it sound like a wonderful thing. Granted, I don't think he does much besides work out and play; dealing with ED kids, his life is basically crisis management, and avoiding getting stabbed (unsuccessfully - albeit with pencils and pens) all day, he doesn't really have to lesson plan. But fuck it, let's dream the impossible.
I just dealt with my last ASU classes for the semester, and went out with my cohort; life seems unimaginably free and wonderful right now. I can't imagine what it's like to teach and not simultaneously spend nights working on Master's, but it's gotta be so much better - tonight seems like a small inkling of that.
It's storming like a motherfucker in Phoenix right now, and has been for a good 14 hours - we just lost power in the apartment. It makes it kind of fun. Can't post this, have no light whatsoever in my apartment, just this glow - what a good eve. The perfectly smart decision would have been to go to bed as soon as I got back; the horrible decision would be to restring my guitar, or open up a music making program - I feel that in that case, I would be up for hours, creating.
I won't go nuts - can't download any more b-sides; I'll just sit and enjoy this beer and type up a song. I'm strangely happy and content at this moment - life seems so full of possibility and potential right now.
Football, weight training, socializing, teaching, lesson planning, ASU, writing, beatmaking, picking guitar back up - all of that seems like an impossible list.
But I want to do all of that, minus the first two, hands down. And talking to Kentucky tonight, and hearing about the first two, made it sound like a wonderful thing. Granted, I don't think he does much besides work out and play; dealing with ED kids, his life is basically crisis management, and avoiding getting stabbed (unsuccessfully - albeit with pencils and pens) all day, he doesn't really have to lesson plan. But fuck it, let's dream the impossible.
I just dealt with my last ASU classes for the semester, and went out with my cohort; life seems unimaginably free and wonderful right now. I can't imagine what it's like to teach and not simultaneously spend nights working on Master's, but it's gotta be so much better - tonight seems like a small inkling of that.
It's storming like a motherfucker in Phoenix right now, and has been for a good 14 hours - we just lost power in the apartment. It makes it kind of fun. Can't post this, have no light whatsoever in my apartment, just this glow - what a good eve. The perfectly smart decision would have been to go to bed as soon as I got back; the horrible decision would be to restring my guitar, or open up a music making program - I feel that in that case, I would be up for hours, creating.
I won't go nuts - can't download any more b-sides; I'll just sit and enjoy this beer and type up a song. I'm strangely happy and content at this moment - life seems so full of possibility and potential right now.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
3 am yummy
Been a bit since I put something up; just wanted to end my night in a sweater and boxers and a haze, deliciously writing and typing as I find myself doing lately. --Not a sweater, but boxers or nothing, naked and writing, inebriated or wrapped in smoke and curled in blankets spilling and spitting and thinking and writing.
Gotta talk about fall break, about red glows and beers; meaning to talk about poems - have a half-written post with "The Bits" in it, and need to put up the accompanying "Fuck You, Rudy"; need to talk about teaching - about the difference between rapport and respect, about the sexual assaults in the past week, about brain tumors, about inspiration and self-failure versus fucking up because you didn't try, about Seattle and San Diego and KIPP and Portland and Denver and Colorado as a place and Albequerque and Brooklyn and Southern Manhattan as wonderful places, with better salaries and resources and accountability and more fulfilling teaching experiences - and most interestingly, the talks with friends about charter schools and moving to Seattle together or Brooklyn or other amazing places, and laughing over dinner when you find out every carload of people had the same conversation en route, as we are all at similar points of frustration and success and despair and glee and desperation in life; and my most recent musical selections which are rocking my shit: Thrice B-sides, in addition to the Beggars album, which are rocking my world, poetically, thematically, and musically, the Thrice album lyrics remolding my mind in terms of their flow; Them Crooked Vultures, with Dave Grohl on drums, John Paul Jones of Led Zep on bass and keyboards, and Josh Homme of Kyuss and QOTSA and Eagles of Death Metal and whatever else on guitar and lead vocals, with absurd rhythm and melodies, full of massive pulsing purple sexual rhythms and orange-red percussion piercing it in a fabric perfect for oral sex and lyrical inspiration; Michael Buble, Paramore, string remixes of the themes from Requiem for a Dream, jazz funk, metalcore, French angst techno, Citizen Cope - with "Son's Gonna Rise" rocking my car-drive and home existence every ten minutes - all of these songs, a random melange on my current list, along with others, as well as a Thrice Christmas half-mix, with a cover of Carol of the Bells that melts every aspect of my being - all of this shit deserves a writing in this thing, and in my journal perhaps.
It's weird what I pull out a pen for and what I write on here for. Sometimes I think it's completely random (except, of course, when I type out a rhyme on here. It's such a different funk and flow, typing words from finger-taps as opposed to small-motor manipulation a pencil on a page), and other times, I think it's a mathematical progression of what I'm thinking - like this morning, stoned and walking into ASU, ready for flowers to grow from my eyes - and many times, it's just a matter of efficiency: Sometimes, I can manipulate a pen, others, the best I can hope for is hunting-and-pecking letters on a keyboard, and that determines where soemthing gets written.
Anyway, funny how it happens. Typing is faster, but feels less authentic, and is rooted to laptops at the simplest (minus one of those bigassphones), and I prefer more than anything the sweat of things scribed in my current book. As annoying as the moleskine (or whatever this thing is) may be, it's nice to have something new to remind me of the $1.29 notebooks I've burnt through, now piled in my room.
I need to pass out - writing, conversation with good people in other places - that must wait.
Good night, good luck, good love, and god bless - it's a wonderful, cold night, and I can't wait to curl up and enjoy sleep in it.
Gotta talk about fall break, about red glows and beers; meaning to talk about poems - have a half-written post with "The Bits" in it, and need to put up the accompanying "Fuck You, Rudy"; need to talk about teaching - about the difference between rapport and respect, about the sexual assaults in the past week, about brain tumors, about inspiration and self-failure versus fucking up because you didn't try, about Seattle and San Diego and KIPP and Portland and Denver and Colorado as a place and Albequerque and Brooklyn and Southern Manhattan as wonderful places, with better salaries and resources and accountability and more fulfilling teaching experiences - and most interestingly, the talks with friends about charter schools and moving to Seattle together or Brooklyn or other amazing places, and laughing over dinner when you find out every carload of people had the same conversation en route, as we are all at similar points of frustration and success and despair and glee and desperation in life; and my most recent musical selections which are rocking my shit: Thrice B-sides, in addition to the Beggars album, which are rocking my world, poetically, thematically, and musically, the Thrice album lyrics remolding my mind in terms of their flow; Them Crooked Vultures, with Dave Grohl on drums, John Paul Jones of Led Zep on bass and keyboards, and Josh Homme of Kyuss and QOTSA and Eagles of Death Metal and whatever else on guitar and lead vocals, with absurd rhythm and melodies, full of massive pulsing purple sexual rhythms and orange-red percussion piercing it in a fabric perfect for oral sex and lyrical inspiration; Michael Buble, Paramore, string remixes of the themes from Requiem for a Dream, jazz funk, metalcore, French angst techno, Citizen Cope - with "Son's Gonna Rise" rocking my car-drive and home existence every ten minutes - all of these songs, a random melange on my current list, along with others, as well as a Thrice Christmas half-mix, with a cover of Carol of the Bells that melts every aspect of my being - all of this shit deserves a writing in this thing, and in my journal perhaps.
It's weird what I pull out a pen for and what I write on here for. Sometimes I think it's completely random (except, of course, when I type out a rhyme on here. It's such a different funk and flow, typing words from finger-taps as opposed to small-motor manipulation a pencil on a page), and other times, I think it's a mathematical progression of what I'm thinking - like this morning, stoned and walking into ASU, ready for flowers to grow from my eyes - and many times, it's just a matter of efficiency: Sometimes, I can manipulate a pen, others, the best I can hope for is hunting-and-pecking letters on a keyboard, and that determines where soemthing gets written.
Anyway, funny how it happens. Typing is faster, but feels less authentic, and is rooted to laptops at the simplest (minus one of those bigassphones), and I prefer more than anything the sweat of things scribed in my current book. As annoying as the moleskine (or whatever this thing is) may be, it's nice to have something new to remind me of the $1.29 notebooks I've burnt through, now piled in my room.
I need to pass out - writing, conversation with good people in other places - that must wait.
Good night, good luck, good love, and god bless - it's a wonderful, cold night, and I can't wait to curl up and enjoy sleep in it.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Beatcraft
This shit is blowing my mind. I went online, thinking I'd find a beatmaker to put my raps to; now I could sit here for days assembling drum fills and making a percussion song. I can see why it takes so long -
"I deserve to make these numbers
Locked in a room making five beats a day for three summers"
but damn is it fun. This is a powerful ass program.
Matty P will be over later - much Coors Light and audio fills will be produced. I suddenly don't want to go back to Phoenix, at least for another day or two - I'd rather sit and produce stuff with a musical friend. :-)
"I deserve to make these numbers
Locked in a room making five beats a day for three summers"
but damn is it fun. This is a powerful ass program.
Matty P will be over later - much Coors Light and audio fills will be produced. I suddenly don't want to go back to Phoenix, at least for another day or two - I'd rather sit and produce stuff with a musical friend. :-)
Friday, November 20, 2009
Good Morning, Reasons Why I Drink
Hehe - heard that on Scrubs the night before last with Sky and it sounded so apropo.
So, Tuesday was the second day where the students took their district-wide benchmark testing, to see how they'd been doing for the past few months. The results are conclusive:
(1) Two separate bathrooms were lit on fire.
(2) A third bathroom was graffitied.
(3) Two eighth-grade girls in my homeroom drank tequila, in school, for a few hours until they got caught - by smell.
Other fun weekly happenings:
On Monday, one of my roommates had a kid chuck a rock at his head on the way back from recess.
On Wednesday, a 7th grader brought a boombox into class. While the kids were working on test review, he plugged it in, stuck it under his hoodie, and began blaring music. Hoodie or not, it wasn't hard to figure out who had it; I confiscated it. The next day they'd already picked the lock into class, or otherwise gained access, and retrieved said boombox.
Today, I spent $150 on a pizza party for the best students from each class. Way too much money. But I've enjoyed them on the last day before break, and it was a nice thing to do. They were really happy, even if they still get my name wrong.
I've come to realize taht something's gotta give. I can't keep covering $300 monthly car payments and $600 a month for rent and utilities. I've either got to get refinancing, or sell the Tiny Car.
Also, I think I will become a flight attendant. Travel, time to work on writing, people to meet, travel. And I can chuck the children off the plane when no one's looking.
But, seriously. A flight attendant? I'm blonde and perky. :-)
So, Tuesday was the second day where the students took their district-wide benchmark testing, to see how they'd been doing for the past few months. The results are conclusive:
(1) Two separate bathrooms were lit on fire.
(2) A third bathroom was graffitied.
(3) Two eighth-grade girls in my homeroom drank tequila, in school, for a few hours until they got caught - by smell.
Other fun weekly happenings:
On Monday, one of my roommates had a kid chuck a rock at his head on the way back from recess.
On Wednesday, a 7th grader brought a boombox into class. While the kids were working on test review, he plugged it in, stuck it under his hoodie, and began blaring music. Hoodie or not, it wasn't hard to figure out who had it; I confiscated it. The next day they'd already picked the lock into class, or otherwise gained access, and retrieved said boombox.
Today, I spent $150 on a pizza party for the best students from each class. Way too much money. But I've enjoyed them on the last day before break, and it was a nice thing to do. They were really happy, even if they still get my name wrong.
I've come to realize taht something's gotta give. I can't keep covering $300 monthly car payments and $600 a month for rent and utilities. I've either got to get refinancing, or sell the Tiny Car.
Also, I think I will become a flight attendant. Travel, time to work on writing, people to meet, travel. And I can chuck the children off the plane when no one's looking.
But, seriously. A flight attendant? I'm blonde and perky. :-)
Friday, November 6, 2009
Battlin'
I feel stupid about the way I acted for those 36 hours immediately after finding out, but I'm proud of myself that it was only 36 hours. I don't regret the questions asked--both answered, and not--but I do regret the way I asked them. I want the answers, but I could've been a lot more tactful and a lot less weepy. I think I was just shocked at my own stupidity.
It made this week interesting--in fact, it jacked investment in all of my own classes. I read my kids poems (that I decided to write for them, and will post when I get back), took time to tell them they were special, told them about myself, and rap battled some of the 8th graders. When I told kids why I taught, and told them I had cried over them--because I was proud of them--I had kids leave the class in tears. It blew their minds. One class, I took the time to tell every single kid a few wonderful things I had noticed about them. They went late to lunch and didn't even give a shit. I don't know if they respected it, but I have never seen any of my classes that dead silent for that long. And in just about every class, when ever the smart mouth would have a comment (in most classes, that kid was one of the ones who was shocked to find themselves crying), the other kids would shush them immediately -- "Yo, Mr. (x) is trying to speak from the heart. He's telling us some real shit!" When I told some kids how proud I was of them, they fucking lost it. It was incredible.
I told them about the kids from this summer, who were homeless and made me chug the TFA Kool-Aid; I told them about the things I knew about them; I gave them life advice. That day, a dozen kids I'd had in classes before lunch came to my room just to sit around and say hi. Not even to chat; just to be like "What's up? We just wanted to hang out." A girl who I've seen the suicidal reports on has been walking around grinning all week, and when she smiles, it's like the dawn, because it's genuine and hasn't happened all year.
As for the rap battles, I won, I lost, and both 7th and 8th graders now give me a whole new respect when I walk around. It was fun, and weird, and it's probably on YouTube at this point. I didn't really know the rules--one kid, when I started replying to him, was like "Wait, don't we just go once each?" to which I genuinely had to reply, beats me.
The school shut it down, when I tried to do it on the playground; but it was something out of a movie when I emerged from the teacher's lounge those two days, and 100 8th graders start tearing towards me from all around the playground, field, basketball courts, to come see what's going to happen. It won't happen again--they don't trust the kids not to fight, which seems nonsensical to me; they're weirded out, pumped, and enthralled watching a teacher and one of their own do this little dance, but I don't make those decisions--but it was fun, and it's something to talk about as a future potential to get the kids to buy in.
In any case, kids have been advancing, I have people at all levels moving at their own pace, grading is under control, and I found something ridiculously nice--spreading love to 250 kids only puts me in an exponentially better mood. It's a wonderful salve.
I'm going camping. :-)
It made this week interesting--in fact, it jacked investment in all of my own classes. I read my kids poems (that I decided to write for them, and will post when I get back), took time to tell them they were special, told them about myself, and rap battled some of the 8th graders. When I told kids why I taught, and told them I had cried over them--because I was proud of them--I had kids leave the class in tears. It blew their minds. One class, I took the time to tell every single kid a few wonderful things I had noticed about them. They went late to lunch and didn't even give a shit. I don't know if they respected it, but I have never seen any of my classes that dead silent for that long. And in just about every class, when ever the smart mouth would have a comment (in most classes, that kid was one of the ones who was shocked to find themselves crying), the other kids would shush them immediately -- "Yo, Mr. (x) is trying to speak from the heart. He's telling us some real shit!" When I told some kids how proud I was of them, they fucking lost it. It was incredible.
I told them about the kids from this summer, who were homeless and made me chug the TFA Kool-Aid; I told them about the things I knew about them; I gave them life advice. That day, a dozen kids I'd had in classes before lunch came to my room just to sit around and say hi. Not even to chat; just to be like "What's up? We just wanted to hang out." A girl who I've seen the suicidal reports on has been walking around grinning all week, and when she smiles, it's like the dawn, because it's genuine and hasn't happened all year.
As for the rap battles, I won, I lost, and both 7th and 8th graders now give me a whole new respect when I walk around. It was fun, and weird, and it's probably on YouTube at this point. I didn't really know the rules--one kid, when I started replying to him, was like "Wait, don't we just go once each?" to which I genuinely had to reply, beats me.
The school shut it down, when I tried to do it on the playground; but it was something out of a movie when I emerged from the teacher's lounge those two days, and 100 8th graders start tearing towards me from all around the playground, field, basketball courts, to come see what's going to happen. It won't happen again--they don't trust the kids not to fight, which seems nonsensical to me; they're weirded out, pumped, and enthralled watching a teacher and one of their own do this little dance, but I don't make those decisions--but it was fun, and it's something to talk about as a future potential to get the kids to buy in.
In any case, kids have been advancing, I have people at all levels moving at their own pace, grading is under control, and I found something ridiculously nice--spreading love to 250 kids only puts me in an exponentially better mood. It's a wonderful salve.
I'm going camping. :-)
Monday, November 2, 2009
Darkly Comical
Jesus, it's so deliciously cliched.
She won't reply, which could mean she's choosing to not speak to me.
I doubt it, since that's my idea, and she didn't want to do that.
She could simply be choosing to ignore an obnoxious question - It was Chris, wasn't it? - but I doubt it. It makes too much hilarious sense.
What a fucker. He's the opposite of me, like I already said. And it just makes sense--break up with someone, call up an ex for rebound sex. And she was in Seattle for several days before Melissa got there, so she had time when it wouldn't have been awkward for Melissa. Not to mention, several days to fuck.
And of course, it meant she went basically from my bed to a plane to his dick. Nice turnaround time.
The funniest part is that when I met her, she didn't like getting oral, didn't like the lights on, didn't even move during sex, and thought it strange that women were meant to get anything out of sex--the thought didn't occur to her, and it fucked with her when I pointed out that women ought to. And the guy who she was with before me--who presumably helped her build those ideas--is the guy she went back to. Awesome--I thought I had done something: Get her off, teach her to unwind during sex, to come from oral, and her instinct is to give those things to the asshole she'd been with beforehand. It's just funny. Him and his gauged dick.
It's like I can't necessarily get mad about it, and maybe that's part of my mood swings right now. But I'm like - "back to the biker with the tat you constantly made fun of, who hurt you and pissed you off?" Either I had no impact, (in which case, fuck it) or it didn't matter, and you loved him anyway (in which case, fuck it) or you just fell back on instinct (in which case, loss of respect, because I thought you were better than I).
It does mildly piss me off that she was sly enough to tell me to have her raw, so I would believe she hadn't been with anyone, so I got to lap up Chris' latex. And the fact that she was assuredly talking to him while she was still with me. But seriously? If keeping me in your thoughts means sending you beer in tubes, and being a dick to you most of the time we interact, then I'm not going to worry about it.
She won't reply, which could mean she's choosing to not speak to me.
I doubt it, since that's my idea, and she didn't want to do that.
She could simply be choosing to ignore an obnoxious question - It was Chris, wasn't it? - but I doubt it. It makes too much hilarious sense.
What a fucker. He's the opposite of me, like I already said. And it just makes sense--break up with someone, call up an ex for rebound sex. And she was in Seattle for several days before Melissa got there, so she had time when it wouldn't have been awkward for Melissa. Not to mention, several days to fuck.
And of course, it meant she went basically from my bed to a plane to his dick. Nice turnaround time.
The funniest part is that when I met her, she didn't like getting oral, didn't like the lights on, didn't even move during sex, and thought it strange that women were meant to get anything out of sex--the thought didn't occur to her, and it fucked with her when I pointed out that women ought to. And the guy who she was with before me--who presumably helped her build those ideas--is the guy she went back to. Awesome--I thought I had done something: Get her off, teach her to unwind during sex, to come from oral, and her instinct is to give those things to the asshole she'd been with beforehand. It's just funny. Him and his gauged dick.
It's like I can't necessarily get mad about it, and maybe that's part of my mood swings right now. But I'm like - "back to the biker with the tat you constantly made fun of, who hurt you and pissed you off?" Either I had no impact, (in which case, fuck it) or it didn't matter, and you loved him anyway (in which case, fuck it) or you just fell back on instinct (in which case, loss of respect, because I thought you were better than I).
It does mildly piss me off that she was sly enough to tell me to have her raw, so I would believe she hadn't been with anyone, so I got to lap up Chris' latex. And the fact that she was assuredly talking to him while she was still with me. But seriously? If keeping me in your thoughts means sending you beer in tubes, and being a dick to you most of the time we interact, then I'm not going to worry about it.
Stupid, Gullible Sap
I don't think I've ever felt so provinicial, simple, and boring as I did when I went through my phone ridding myself--and therefore seeing again--of reminders of her. The picture of her with a bobby pin in her mouth, hair pulled back into her fist, lips in a cocky take-on-the-world grin that she sent me while she was on the road in Cali made me feel like a teeny little ball of hick. After all, I saw that grin and felt happy for her. Now I realize that was the grin of someone who was free of me--who was on a trip that was literally and figuratively taking her away from me, of her own will and desire. And her doing something so wonderful and independent, as a literal manifestation of leaving me, feels like a slap in the face to any self-image I have as someone who is spontaneous, interesting, or desirable: "Hi, I'm leaving your boring self. This grin is me, without you, growing into myself and leaving you."
Last night, I just wrote exhausted and enraged, and then I sat and thought more about why I felt like an idiot.
It's because I thought for several months now that we separated for completely practical reasons--she'd be 2000 miles away, we didn't know when we'd see each other again, we both needed to work on ourselves, etc. All the texts, all the conversations, the whispered I love yous and the times when she seemed to be yearning for me gave me my stupid hope that she, and us, might just say fuck practicality, and be romantic--that we would take opportunities to see each other, that we would fly out during random breaks, that I would fly to Alicante, that we would meet in different cities when we had time, and we would be partners again, if ones that couldn't spend much time together.
I had no idea that we broke up because she wanted to. I didn't know that her love had faded, that she had wanted to move on.
I guess, if I wasn't such a sap, I would've read her polite euphemisms for what they were. For example, she said part of the reason she didn't want to stay together was becaus she didn't want to feel obligated to talk to me. I was so confused, because I felt like I wanted to tell her things regardless; I didn't see what a relationship status had that bore on our desire to keep in touch. In retrospect, it wasn't that she didn't want to feel obligated to talk to me. That's too specific. It was that she didn't feel obligated to me, and she didn't want to be obligated to me in any sense. She wanted to cut ties, pure and simple. Then she could stride around, and do whatever she wanted.
Second, she said she wanted to meet other people, travel, and grow. That doesn't even really need to be examined. What kind of dumbass believes that that isn't a nice euphemism for "I'm bored with you, and ready to move on?" Me, that's who.
So I could've been intelligent, and seen the signs for what they were.
I'm not, and I didn't.
I've never been left because someone actually just got tired of me. I was talking to Sky the other day about why our relationships ended.
I actually thought it was the case that my relationships have all ended largely because of distance.
Guess that's not the case.
And moreover, I wonder if I now know how Phyllis felt. Distance was an excuse, but not the real, underlying reason, as I later admitted to myself. I had just wanted someone who could be around, and so I tossed her aside.
Distance was a pleasant, polite reason for leaving me, but I was just tossed aside because I got old, stodgy, and boring. And I then spent three months making myself believe that she still wanted me, and that distance was the real reason we were apart. Hooray.
....I guess it's not quite as simple as that. She did still care some. After all, she called me when she parted ways with Melissa, and did just want to hear my voice. So she still cared some, I suppose (?). But that, I guess, is just the natural echoes of a relationship, that even the person who breaks it off must face.
After all, that probably happened after she spent time fucking someone else, so I was just a pleasant crutch to rely on--a hard ride, a hard day, and look, here's someone who desperately loves me who I can talk to make myself feel better. And if it hadn't happened after she'd slept with someone else, some of the other phone calls certainly did, because she was already back on campus. So she'd seen fit to branch out, and meet other people; she just needed a shoulder to cry on for when that got lonely.
Again, that's why I feel stupid. I'm not the person she wants. I'm not the person she loves. I'm not the person she wants to be with. I am the person that she can call when she needs some emotional support.
That's not at all fair to me, because she knows that I want her, love her, and want to be with her. I similarly lack emotional support, and get to rely on myself. The difference is that if I call her, if I reach out to her, it's reaching out to someone I wish I still had, whereas she can just reach out to an available reservoir of love. And it never seemed like an issue to explain to me that she didn't want me, that she didn't want to be with me, but that we were apart because she wanted someone else. Or everyone else, and just to be free. It was just easier to let me wallow and hope. She knew when she left Phoenix for Seattle
--Jesus, did she fuck Chris? Was that who it was? The thing that she told me she wouldn't do? I bet so. That would be just a cataclysmic perfect storm of "fuck it, I'm done with you"--she went and fucked the one person who she assured me she was no longer attracted to. I wonder if they'd spoken about it before she even left me.
Holy fuck.
I'm a stupid fucker, and I hate myself for wanting so desperately to believe that was the case that I bought all that shit. That I bought bad romantic comedy cliches as truth. I'm miserable, and I deserve to be this miserable this far out of the gate for not catching on sooner.
Last night, I just wrote exhausted and enraged, and then I sat and thought more about why I felt like an idiot.
It's because I thought for several months now that we separated for completely practical reasons--she'd be 2000 miles away, we didn't know when we'd see each other again, we both needed to work on ourselves, etc. All the texts, all the conversations, the whispered I love yous and the times when she seemed to be yearning for me gave me my stupid hope that she, and us, might just say fuck practicality, and be romantic--that we would take opportunities to see each other, that we would fly out during random breaks, that I would fly to Alicante, that we would meet in different cities when we had time, and we would be partners again, if ones that couldn't spend much time together.
I had no idea that we broke up because she wanted to. I didn't know that her love had faded, that she had wanted to move on.
I guess, if I wasn't such a sap, I would've read her polite euphemisms for what they were. For example, she said part of the reason she didn't want to stay together was becaus she didn't want to feel obligated to talk to me. I was so confused, because I felt like I wanted to tell her things regardless; I didn't see what a relationship status had that bore on our desire to keep in touch. In retrospect, it wasn't that she didn't want to feel obligated to talk to me. That's too specific. It was that she didn't feel obligated to me, and she didn't want to be obligated to me in any sense. She wanted to cut ties, pure and simple. Then she could stride around, and do whatever she wanted.
Second, she said she wanted to meet other people, travel, and grow. That doesn't even really need to be examined. What kind of dumbass believes that that isn't a nice euphemism for "I'm bored with you, and ready to move on?" Me, that's who.
So I could've been intelligent, and seen the signs for what they were.
I'm not, and I didn't.
I've never been left because someone actually just got tired of me. I was talking to Sky the other day about why our relationships ended.
I actually thought it was the case that my relationships have all ended largely because of distance.
Guess that's not the case.
And moreover, I wonder if I now know how Phyllis felt. Distance was an excuse, but not the real, underlying reason, as I later admitted to myself. I had just wanted someone who could be around, and so I tossed her aside.
Distance was a pleasant, polite reason for leaving me, but I was just tossed aside because I got old, stodgy, and boring. And I then spent three months making myself believe that she still wanted me, and that distance was the real reason we were apart. Hooray.
....I guess it's not quite as simple as that. She did still care some. After all, she called me when she parted ways with Melissa, and did just want to hear my voice. So she still cared some, I suppose (?). But that, I guess, is just the natural echoes of a relationship, that even the person who breaks it off must face.
After all, that probably happened after she spent time fucking someone else, so I was just a pleasant crutch to rely on--a hard ride, a hard day, and look, here's someone who desperately loves me who I can talk to make myself feel better. And if it hadn't happened after she'd slept with someone else, some of the other phone calls certainly did, because she was already back on campus. So she'd seen fit to branch out, and meet other people; she just needed a shoulder to cry on for when that got lonely.
Again, that's why I feel stupid. I'm not the person she wants. I'm not the person she loves. I'm not the person she wants to be with. I am the person that she can call when she needs some emotional support.
That's not at all fair to me, because she knows that I want her, love her, and want to be with her. I similarly lack emotional support, and get to rely on myself. The difference is that if I call her, if I reach out to her, it's reaching out to someone I wish I still had, whereas she can just reach out to an available reservoir of love. And it never seemed like an issue to explain to me that she didn't want me, that she didn't want to be with me, but that we were apart because she wanted someone else. Or everyone else, and just to be free. It was just easier to let me wallow and hope. She knew when she left Phoenix for Seattle
--Jesus, did she fuck Chris? Was that who it was? The thing that she told me she wouldn't do? I bet so. That would be just a cataclysmic perfect storm of "fuck it, I'm done with you"--she went and fucked the one person who she assured me she was no longer attracted to. I wonder if they'd spoken about it before she even left me.
Holy fuck.
I'm a stupid fucker, and I hate myself for wanting so desperately to believe that was the case that I bought all that shit. That I bought bad romantic comedy cliches as truth. I'm miserable, and I deserve to be this miserable this far out of the gate for not catching on sooner.
Naivete
I have been extraordinarily naive. I have spent the last three solid months pining after someone, wishing they would have me. How silly.
She was screwing people in California.
She said that doesn't include the horticulturalist, but, after all, she lied to me when she got back--Why believe her now? I would think it might include the kind 30 year old who just happened to let her crash at his place. After all, that's a bit strange.
And when I came back from Club Red, I slipped, and looked at her facebook photos. I wonder how many of those people had her.
If she could lie to me, and tell me she hadn't so much as kissed anyone, then what other lies did I believe? Not just in the last few months, but in the last two years? I mean, that's not exactly a simple lie of omission; that's a I'm-holding-your-hand-lying-in-your-bed-looking-you-in-the-eye-and-feeding-you-a-fucking-whopper. No, I didn't kiss anyone, I just fucked them. While I was thinking about how I didn't want you anymore. Sorry.
She trained for that bike trip on my bike, which she then gave me back, broken. She offered to fix it six months later. Thanks. And on my birthday, she sent me a 57 cent fart whistle. I'm glad you remembered to celebrate my birthday. In fact, I wonder who she fucked on my birthday. After all, we weren't together; but she was still sending me plenty of "I love you's" and "I miss you's" and "I wish we were snuggling" and "I miss your brain, J" type text messages. It's just heartwarming to know that the person you wanted to marry was still sending you loving text messages, and probably riding someone else's dick on you birthday.
Oh yeah, and she said I was "better." Physically, and...emotionally, I suppose? I doubt it. Why not feed the poor sap a little lie to salvage some of his ego?
I wonder what Debra's facial expression meant when she realized who I was. Probably pity; I'm sure she spent several hours laughing at my expense with E before E came over to my place.
Also, she had sex with me with no condom. Joyous. I wonder if I caught anything.
She said she's "currently revising" her opinions on hookups. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I guess I'll ask her, out of morbid curiosity. She probably won't tell me, but that's just as well. It's not as if I really need to know who she's been fucking on campus, or as if it really matters, in any case. I do wonder what her mind's been chewing on in terms of her new "stance" on sexuality, if only because it seemed like a loaded term.
Also, I wonder if she's had sex with Sean. He seems a likely candidate, and I'm actually kind of happy for him.
I wonder if she felt sparks when she fucked people in Cali, when she screwed around on campus, and if she was telling the truth when she said she did when she screwed me, but again, it (a) doesn't really matter anymore and (b) why believe the truth about the latter? I suppose I should be glad I never called her phone and heard a guy answer, but it's not exactly silly to think that there wasn't someone lying next to her. Or doing the same thing I used to do--trying to make her give away the fact that someone was pleasuring her while she was on the phone. That's a fun thought--I wonder if she's talked to me while someone else has been inside her? Why not? She's revising her stance.
Subsidiarily, I shouldn't flatter myself and think that I was pleasuring her while she was on the phone.
You know what's strange? I remember when Amelia was in Spelman talking about how they were going to have a blast in their room next year, and then she (presumably) thought about how that could be taken awkwardly by me, and she gave me a strange look and then the topic changed. That facial expression popped into my mind, and my first thought was "Well, yup. That's happening."
My second thought is to wonder if Amelia knew then that Emily would be single by the time she got back to campus. Had Emily decided back then that she wouldn't be with me? That would make sense. I don't know why she kept playing with me for so long--for a TransAm trip, dating me, taking me to Denver....
Maybe just inertia. I can't blame her. We're all guilty of that. And that just means that her thought about "I don't really need to be with him" started back then--and she alluded to that on the phone.
Okay, fuck it. I am pretty annoyed that we spent weeks going back and forth about whether or not we were going to be together, and the whole time, she knew it wasn't going to last, because she wasn't interested in me anymore. She'd already told her friends that she'd be a single chica by the time she got back to campus.
So why did you keep leading my hopeful, dumb, puppy ass along?
I wonder if you've read this far; I wonder if you'll answer. I don't expect it; you didn't reply to anything else I wrote about you, other than to mention you read this, to which I can only presume that you were caustically amused or casually nonplussed by my suffering: "I read it. I'm surprised you're still friends with me." Did you enjoy knowing that I was still your lapdog, even after I'd felt all that? Did you give a fuck at all after reading the poem I posted last week?
If you answer, can I believe you?
She was screwing people in California.
She said that doesn't include the horticulturalist, but, after all, she lied to me when she got back--Why believe her now? I would think it might include the kind 30 year old who just happened to let her crash at his place. After all, that's a bit strange.
And when I came back from Club Red, I slipped, and looked at her facebook photos. I wonder how many of those people had her.
If she could lie to me, and tell me she hadn't so much as kissed anyone, then what other lies did I believe? Not just in the last few months, but in the last two years? I mean, that's not exactly a simple lie of omission; that's a I'm-holding-your-hand-lying-in-your-bed-looking-you-in-the-eye-and-feeding-you-a-fucking-whopper. No, I didn't kiss anyone, I just fucked them. While I was thinking about how I didn't want you anymore. Sorry.
She trained for that bike trip on my bike, which she then gave me back, broken. She offered to fix it six months later. Thanks. And on my birthday, she sent me a 57 cent fart whistle. I'm glad you remembered to celebrate my birthday. In fact, I wonder who she fucked on my birthday. After all, we weren't together; but she was still sending me plenty of "I love you's" and "I miss you's" and "I wish we were snuggling" and "I miss your brain, J" type text messages. It's just heartwarming to know that the person you wanted to marry was still sending you loving text messages, and probably riding someone else's dick on you birthday.
Oh yeah, and she said I was "better." Physically, and...emotionally, I suppose? I doubt it. Why not feed the poor sap a little lie to salvage some of his ego?
I wonder what Debra's facial expression meant when she realized who I was. Probably pity; I'm sure she spent several hours laughing at my expense with E before E came over to my place.
Also, she had sex with me with no condom. Joyous. I wonder if I caught anything.
She said she's "currently revising" her opinions on hookups. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I guess I'll ask her, out of morbid curiosity. She probably won't tell me, but that's just as well. It's not as if I really need to know who she's been fucking on campus, or as if it really matters, in any case. I do wonder what her mind's been chewing on in terms of her new "stance" on sexuality, if only because it seemed like a loaded term.
Also, I wonder if she's had sex with Sean. He seems a likely candidate, and I'm actually kind of happy for him.
I wonder if she felt sparks when she fucked people in Cali, when she screwed around on campus, and if she was telling the truth when she said she did when she screwed me, but again, it (a) doesn't really matter anymore and (b) why believe the truth about the latter? I suppose I should be glad I never called her phone and heard a guy answer, but it's not exactly silly to think that there wasn't someone lying next to her. Or doing the same thing I used to do--trying to make her give away the fact that someone was pleasuring her while she was on the phone. That's a fun thought--I wonder if she's talked to me while someone else has been inside her? Why not? She's revising her stance.
Subsidiarily, I shouldn't flatter myself and think that I was pleasuring her while she was on the phone.
You know what's strange? I remember when Amelia was in Spelman talking about how they were going to have a blast in their room next year, and then she (presumably) thought about how that could be taken awkwardly by me, and she gave me a strange look and then the topic changed. That facial expression popped into my mind, and my first thought was "Well, yup. That's happening."
My second thought is to wonder if Amelia knew then that Emily would be single by the time she got back to campus. Had Emily decided back then that she wouldn't be with me? That would make sense. I don't know why she kept playing with me for so long--for a TransAm trip, dating me, taking me to Denver....
Maybe just inertia. I can't blame her. We're all guilty of that. And that just means that her thought about "I don't really need to be with him" started back then--and she alluded to that on the phone.
Okay, fuck it. I am pretty annoyed that we spent weeks going back and forth about whether or not we were going to be together, and the whole time, she knew it wasn't going to last, because she wasn't interested in me anymore. She'd already told her friends that she'd be a single chica by the time she got back to campus.
So why did you keep leading my hopeful, dumb, puppy ass along?
I wonder if you've read this far; I wonder if you'll answer. I don't expect it; you didn't reply to anything else I wrote about you, other than to mention you read this, to which I can only presume that you were caustically amused or casually nonplussed by my suffering: "I read it. I'm surprised you're still friends with me." Did you enjoy knowing that I was still your lapdog, even after I'd felt all that? Did you give a fuck at all after reading the poem I posted last week?
If you answer, can I believe you?
Monday, October 26, 2009
Silly Bitch, Happiness Is For Kids
(Yes, the "bitch" refers to me)
Well, hey. Bluntness always solves the matter. It came in regular Espeak, but the upshot of the words was
Yes, I still love you the same way most of the time.
No, I don't want anything with you. I miss some things from our relationship, but I don't miss the basic elements of how I felt as a person with you.
Also, I still think of you and feel love for you, but onlyy in old stale places where we used to be. New things and new contexts push that away.
(Gee...those lines I wrote about her seeing me as static rather than dynamic ring sucker-punch to the nuts-true right now, I must really seem like a fucking lunk if I seem that inadaptable)
--Whereas, new contexts make me burn for her. Not this daily trudge which constitues much of my time; I like the emotional independence I didn't have before, which I gain from dealing with that shit on my own, from building my own emotional reserves. But a beach, a concert, rock climbing--they all make me miss her, and appreciate her for the things I could see her adding to the situation. I miss her in new contexts for the chance to share that experience with her, to build and grow together. I love trying new things, but I just witness people in them and have the consistent realizatioon that she would be phenomenal in that context--and that I wish we were partners for that ride.
I gained the knowledge in college
that no sea of willing p
could help me to be
can give me what I need to have
your eyes your smile your laugh
your breath your touch
I miss 'em so much
your spirit your smell
lost both and I'm caught in hell
sobbing and drunk sober and bitter
planning pointless pathetic plots on the shitter
now I'm a brokenhearted shitty ass poet
I'm a dumbfuck ugly fuckup and I know it
Is it better to have loved and lost
than never to have loved at all?
I don't know I can't and I won't make that call
I'm so glad for what we had
but now you've left and I'm feeling so bad
I've heard that ignorance is bliss
and now that I know what life is like with you
what the fuck am I supposed to do with this?
It's already happened
I know your kiss
loved and lost? I've met you
I can't forget you
I refused to say you're lost
want to believe that you're just taking your time
wandering footloose before you come back to be mine
But I'm stupid for thinking that
By now I should've learned
that you're never coming back
I was silly for thinking such things
living in another stupidfuck hick dream
one i've reached before and got shot
once again, what I thought it was, it was not
that we're in different places
could give me a small hope
but that's just another length of rope
to hang myself and choke
different places is what proves we're done
because i've been there before
took the route of fucking till sore
trying to get someone out of my system
it never really cured the pain of missin' em
she said before she left that it felt good
to bear someone's weight again
and it cut because "someone" could be any of many men
and there's no need for me to be a single one of them
it was nonchalant but it cut deeper than I can find
because I hadn't known I wasn't what she wanted in her mind
I don't think passion ever completely fades
but what separates it from love
is that it dims through the days
and she told me straight to my face
that's what would happen to our feelings
said it after, as I'm lying staring at the ceiling
said it had already started, even before we parted
not the first time she laid a bomb on me
after she hopped off me,
left me empty and broken-hearted
she realized it wasn't me when I was fighting for her
that's when she knew I wasn't the one
guess that's what you get for trying
---bad move, son
and I shouldn't've held on, I should've let go
I hadn't figured it out then, and now I know
she thought my reactions were forever
thought I was static that I'd always be the same
but I'd sat thought, and independent of her, had already begun to change
back she came pleasantly surprised
but my chance to shine in her eyes
has passed, that's how time flies
so it was ever really there
it's not now, our future we wont' share
so while I'm growing up and
shedding my need for affirmation
I get to learn about giving up
and accepting dissatisfaction
Fuck.
I'm screwed. I think the shittiest part was hearing that new things help her forget, and comparing that to how new things remind me. This can only end in shit. How silly is it to want to see her over Thanksgiving? How drastic is it to not, and ensure that I go a year without seeing her outside of a New Jersey news segment (immediately post being partners and definitely during still being in love with her)?
Well, hey. Bluntness always solves the matter. It came in regular Espeak, but the upshot of the words was
Yes, I still love you the same way most of the time.
No, I don't want anything with you. I miss some things from our relationship, but I don't miss the basic elements of how I felt as a person with you.
Also, I still think of you and feel love for you, but onlyy in old stale places where we used to be. New things and new contexts push that away.
(Gee...those lines I wrote about her seeing me as static rather than dynamic ring sucker-punch to the nuts-true right now, I must really seem like a fucking lunk if I seem that inadaptable)
--Whereas, new contexts make me burn for her. Not this daily trudge which constitues much of my time; I like the emotional independence I didn't have before, which I gain from dealing with that shit on my own, from building my own emotional reserves. But a beach, a concert, rock climbing--they all make me miss her, and appreciate her for the things I could see her adding to the situation. I miss her in new contexts for the chance to share that experience with her, to build and grow together. I love trying new things, but I just witness people in them and have the consistent realizatioon that she would be phenomenal in that context--and that I wish we were partners for that ride.
I gained the knowledge in college
that no sea of willing p
could help me to be
can give me what I need to have
your eyes your smile your laugh
your breath your touch
I miss 'em so much
your spirit your smell
lost both and I'm caught in hell
sobbing and drunk sober and bitter
planning pointless pathetic plots on the shitter
now I'm a brokenhearted shitty ass poet
I'm a dumbfuck ugly fuckup and I know it
Is it better to have loved and lost
than never to have loved at all?
I don't know I can't and I won't make that call
I'm so glad for what we had
but now you've left and I'm feeling so bad
I've heard that ignorance is bliss
and now that I know what life is like with you
what the fuck am I supposed to do with this?
It's already happened
I know your kiss
loved and lost? I've met you
I can't forget you
I refused to say you're lost
want to believe that you're just taking your time
wandering footloose before you come back to be mine
But I'm stupid for thinking that
By now I should've learned
that you're never coming back
I was silly for thinking such things
living in another stupidfuck hick dream
one i've reached before and got shot
once again, what I thought it was, it was not
that we're in different places
could give me a small hope
but that's just another length of rope
to hang myself and choke
different places is what proves we're done
because i've been there before
took the route of fucking till sore
trying to get someone out of my system
it never really cured the pain of missin' em
she said before she left that it felt good
to bear someone's weight again
and it cut because "someone" could be any of many men
and there's no need for me to be a single one of them
it was nonchalant but it cut deeper than I can find
because I hadn't known I wasn't what she wanted in her mind
I don't think passion ever completely fades
but what separates it from love
is that it dims through the days
and she told me straight to my face
that's what would happen to our feelings
said it after, as I'm lying staring at the ceiling
said it had already started, even before we parted
not the first time she laid a bomb on me
after she hopped off me,
left me empty and broken-hearted
she realized it wasn't me when I was fighting for her
that's when she knew I wasn't the one
guess that's what you get for trying
---bad move, son
and I shouldn't've held on, I should've let go
I hadn't figured it out then, and now I know
she thought my reactions were forever
thought I was static that I'd always be the same
but I'd sat thought, and independent of her, had already begun to change
back she came pleasantly surprised
but my chance to shine in her eyes
has passed, that's how time flies
so it was ever really there
it's not now, our future we wont' share
so while I'm growing up and
shedding my need for affirmation
I get to learn about giving up
and accepting dissatisfaction
Fuck.
I'm screwed. I think the shittiest part was hearing that new things help her forget, and comparing that to how new things remind me. This can only end in shit. How silly is it to want to see her over Thanksgiving? How drastic is it to not, and ensure that I go a year without seeing her outside of a New Jersey news segment (immediately post being partners and definitely during still being in love with her)?
Friday, September 18, 2009
Mountains
I broke down on Tuesday. Cried. Tons of kids saw me. I had the brutal realization that I am not a teacher. I feel like I'm not connected to many of them, don't have good procedures, and they're not learning. Also, I don't know how to plan, grade, or do really anything.
And to top it off, I had lost my rhymepad. Everything in it--from tattoo sketches, to rhymes from immediately post-Phyllis to now, to vacation details, to Scion quotes, gone. And for the last month, it had been keeping me sane.
And to top it off, I had lost my rhymepad. Everything in it--from tattoo sketches, to rhymes from immediately post-Phyllis to now, to vacation details, to Scion quotes, gone. And for the last month, it had been keeping me sane.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Losing
Shit. We talked for the first time in about two weeks on Saturday, and I was happy during. Then I just cried. Saw her fam last night--took Adam with me--and it was great, but I felt ripped before I left, because I'm one of the ones who leaves now. Not that I wouldn't have to leave anyway, because I would have to be back in Phoenix to work, but it just reminded me that I'm not someone who stays anymore.
Survivable--but now I think I've lost my rhymebook. I've had it since the start of junior year, and now I don't have a clue where it is. I called Pinnacle people, checked with Fi and the roommates, and it's not in my car. I don't know if it worked its way out of my pocket somewhere somehow, or what. But I feel like I"m going to lose it--it's been my therapy, and it's got a year's worth of thoughts, and a month full of heavy rhyming effort. I need to find it. I don't know what I'll do otherwise.
Survivable--but now I think I've lost my rhymebook. I've had it since the start of junior year, and now I don't have a clue where it is. I called Pinnacle people, checked with Fi and the roommates, and it's not in my car. I don't know if it worked its way out of my pocket somewhere somehow, or what. But I feel like I"m going to lose it--it's been my therapy, and it's got a year's worth of thoughts, and a month full of heavy rhyming effort. I need to find it. I don't know what I'll do otherwise.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Changes
A musing on whether we can split our personality and still maintain it (coming).
In other words, is the fact that I spend most of my day being uptight going to change my personality--can I keep it up? I spend my whole day being strict, and it means that by the time I get home I have to sit and scratch myself for a non-stop half hour just to make up for lost time.
In other words, is the fact that I spend most of my day being uptight going to change my personality--can I keep it up? I spend my whole day being strict, and it means that by the time I get home I have to sit and scratch myself for a non-stop half hour just to make up for lost time.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Thanks, Pandora
Sunday night was one of the best, soul-healing conversations in my life. Last night was rougher. Do you move on? What happens now? I don't know--I was going to write some stuff later, but I was sitting here and Everything Changes came up on Pandora. Trying to tell me something? I hope not, but maybe I do--so I can breathe sometime again. Either way, this song is not the best for my headspace. I'm going to sit and rhyme during homeroom; this chorus is stuck in my head:
It was so beautiful
Remember how in love we were?
So in love.
So in love.
Once.
So in love.
Once.
Everyone’s got stories gone
About a love we once knew
So high in the beginning
Until the world cuts through
And then everything changes
Nothing feels the same
Piece by piece it falls apart until
All that’s left is blame
That’s right, baby
Next life time
Yeah, ain’t that what they say?
Check it out
Love don’t hate
I got love for you
Always
It was so beautiful
Remember how in love we were?
So in love.
So in love.
Once.
So in love.
Once.
Everyone’s got stories gone
About a love we once knew
So high in the beginning
Until the world cuts through
And then everything changes
Nothing feels the same
Piece by piece it falls apart until
All that’s left is blame
That’s right, baby
Next life time
Yeah, ain’t that what they say?
Check it out
Love don’t hate
I got love for you
Always
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Hob Nobs
I would say the school week ended well, but as it always seems to be, it was a mixed bag. My classes all made it through their second week's prompt--tell me about a time and place you were terrified, in order to get them used to the basic notion of coming up with ideas--and most kids turned their stuff in Friday, so I could fill them in on next week's task (district diagnostic benchmark testing), and have the weekly candy raffle.
In short, a theoretically easier day, and one that capped off a mostly successful week, both in school and personally. But, it being a Friday, they were much antsier, and I had to do a lot of disciplining. Plus one student assaulted me, so I had a whirlwind lunch with dealing with that, and then jumping out of class later to speak to the police. Getting someone suspended, and pressing charges: Not the sort of thing I enjoy doing/dealing with.
I've realized that the fact of how little I enjoy disciplining kids, and therefore how ineffectively I'd been doing it, was the reason behind a lot of my classroom management problems. Well, that one won't be around for a while, which sucks for him, and for me, as much as it would benefit the classroom.
When I gave my statement to the police, I said I wouldn't press charges. I didn't know how to respond, how one ought to act in that sort of situation; I just felt lost. I got advice from several people, though, and I let it stew in the back of my mind; I have to remember to call the hotline later and have them put the paperwork in to start the process of pressing charges.
That kid aside, like I said, the week went well. I left work each day tired, but happy. That, in and of itself, is a massive triumph over the first three weeks. I connected with more kids, learned more names, and felt more in control of the classroom. I participated in the staff meeting (and accidentally skipped the professional development I was supposed to attend on Thursday), hung out with kids at lunch, made dozens of good phone calls home, and had another workshop Thursday after school (which was why I forgot about the professional development), where a lot of the kids who've been rocking zeroes showed up to get missed work and help with their essays.
My own window of non-school life expanded, too. Wednesday I hit the Fair Trade Cafe, to find that the slam had been cancelled, so I just worked, bullshit with Melanie and Brad, and went home to write a bit and pass out. Thursday I didn't hit Club Blunt, because I had a cohort meeting I'd forgotten about--a.k.a, sangria and homemade burritos with a dozen other teachers, to tell jokes and stories (rather than bitch) about our jobs, and in the last five minutes of hanging out, get a bunch of usable resources for our jobs. Last night, I hit the Agua Fria high school football game with a bunch of fellow teachers who'd been there for Institute, saw one of my students, and got to watch a ridiculously good game; it was a grudge match between AF and Desert Edge, and the teams kept exchanging drives, and it wasn't decided until the last minute. AF won the game on the most absurd desperate pass play--the cornerback faltered on the five yard line, giving the receiver the extra two steps he needed, and the QB just lofted it forty yards into the receiver's hands, getting it there just as the corner caught up and rolled the kid over. Grabbed grub, gas, and 40s on the way back, and decided to hit Shelley's for a pool party with no swimsuit--just strip to boxers and jump in with malt liquor in each hand.
Today, I'm torn--I could go chaperone a dance at Bidali's school with a bunch of other people, and meet some new people to go drinking with tonight. On the other hand, my stomach is still not happy with me, and it's already 1, so I won't get much done if I head out to chaperone at 5. I could go see Inglourious Basterds with Carey and spend my night rhyming instead, which sounds like a pretty excellent experience right now. I'll decide later.
One other thing--expressions of anger aside, I'm still an idiot. Wednesday morning, my phone rang on the way to work, and I caught myself grabbing at it. I know why, and I realize I've done the same happy grab for my phone, when it buzzes with a text or rings, a couple of times in these past few days. Thursday, Emily actually called during my cohort dinner. I spent the drive home, and my trip through Safeway, debating whether to call back, how to act, how to speak, what to say. I'd almost settled on calling, and hoping that she wouldn't pick up, so I could just be "Yeah, I called, your turn," in the non-existent game that we're not playing that I keep in my mind.
I called, and we talked for a half hour or so. It was nice, it was happy. She told me about her past couple days, I filled her in on mine for a few, and then she had to go, because Matty and his girlfriend (I assume) came back. She said that she would call back later, and I told her not to worry about it. I guess because I didn't want her to feel obliged to speak with me, to have to keep in touch, because that's not what she wants. Just me making sure she's okay, stupid sappy me.
Thing was, I didn't necessarily want her to call back, because I didn't know what else to say. "I still love you?" "I jump at the phone in the hopes that it's you?" "I hate you because I love you and you don't want me?" I'm sure it would have devolved into something shitty, so it's probably for the best. She's coming through town tomorrow, and I'm not sure if we should hang out. I realize I'm setting myself up to be available, but I'm guaranteed to be let down--she'll want to hang out with her family, and still won't want me.
I think the phone call was cheery and happy for me for two reasons. One, I got to talk to her, which I guess I ultimately wanted to, and it didn't involve bitching or angst, as it easily could have. Two, it showed me what could be--a very easy relationship, one where we don't have to talk all the time, busy as we both would be, but keeping in touch, and trying to see each other when we could. After all, I'm sitting here with Audrey and Danny in Hob Nobs, and that's the sort of thing Audrey's doing.
But such thoughts are stupid, wasteful, childish, grasping, pointless. I'm going to push them away, buy a coffee, refill my cranberry cocktail, and crank through some grades. :-)
In short, a theoretically easier day, and one that capped off a mostly successful week, both in school and personally. But, it being a Friday, they were much antsier, and I had to do a lot of disciplining. Plus one student assaulted me, so I had a whirlwind lunch with dealing with that, and then jumping out of class later to speak to the police. Getting someone suspended, and pressing charges: Not the sort of thing I enjoy doing/dealing with.
I've realized that the fact of how little I enjoy disciplining kids, and therefore how ineffectively I'd been doing it, was the reason behind a lot of my classroom management problems. Well, that one won't be around for a while, which sucks for him, and for me, as much as it would benefit the classroom.
When I gave my statement to the police, I said I wouldn't press charges. I didn't know how to respond, how one ought to act in that sort of situation; I just felt lost. I got advice from several people, though, and I let it stew in the back of my mind; I have to remember to call the hotline later and have them put the paperwork in to start the process of pressing charges.
That kid aside, like I said, the week went well. I left work each day tired, but happy. That, in and of itself, is a massive triumph over the first three weeks. I connected with more kids, learned more names, and felt more in control of the classroom. I participated in the staff meeting (and accidentally skipped the professional development I was supposed to attend on Thursday), hung out with kids at lunch, made dozens of good phone calls home, and had another workshop Thursday after school (which was why I forgot about the professional development), where a lot of the kids who've been rocking zeroes showed up to get missed work and help with their essays.
My own window of non-school life expanded, too. Wednesday I hit the Fair Trade Cafe, to find that the slam had been cancelled, so I just worked, bullshit with Melanie and Brad, and went home to write a bit and pass out. Thursday I didn't hit Club Blunt, because I had a cohort meeting I'd forgotten about--a.k.a, sangria and homemade burritos with a dozen other teachers, to tell jokes and stories (rather than bitch) about our jobs, and in the last five minutes of hanging out, get a bunch of usable resources for our jobs. Last night, I hit the Agua Fria high school football game with a bunch of fellow teachers who'd been there for Institute, saw one of my students, and got to watch a ridiculously good game; it was a grudge match between AF and Desert Edge, and the teams kept exchanging drives, and it wasn't decided until the last minute. AF won the game on the most absurd desperate pass play--the cornerback faltered on the five yard line, giving the receiver the extra two steps he needed, and the QB just lofted it forty yards into the receiver's hands, getting it there just as the corner caught up and rolled the kid over. Grabbed grub, gas, and 40s on the way back, and decided to hit Shelley's for a pool party with no swimsuit--just strip to boxers and jump in with malt liquor in each hand.
Today, I'm torn--I could go chaperone a dance at Bidali's school with a bunch of other people, and meet some new people to go drinking with tonight. On the other hand, my stomach is still not happy with me, and it's already 1, so I won't get much done if I head out to chaperone at 5. I could go see Inglourious Basterds with Carey and spend my night rhyming instead, which sounds like a pretty excellent experience right now. I'll decide later.
One other thing--expressions of anger aside, I'm still an idiot. Wednesday morning, my phone rang on the way to work, and I caught myself grabbing at it. I know why, and I realize I've done the same happy grab for my phone, when it buzzes with a text or rings, a couple of times in these past few days. Thursday, Emily actually called during my cohort dinner. I spent the drive home, and my trip through Safeway, debating whether to call back, how to act, how to speak, what to say. I'd almost settled on calling, and hoping that she wouldn't pick up, so I could just be "Yeah, I called, your turn," in the non-existent game that we're not playing that I keep in my mind.
I called, and we talked for a half hour or so. It was nice, it was happy. She told me about her past couple days, I filled her in on mine for a few, and then she had to go, because Matty and his girlfriend (I assume) came back. She said that she would call back later, and I told her not to worry about it. I guess because I didn't want her to feel obliged to speak with me, to have to keep in touch, because that's not what she wants. Just me making sure she's okay, stupid sappy me.
Thing was, I didn't necessarily want her to call back, because I didn't know what else to say. "I still love you?" "I jump at the phone in the hopes that it's you?" "I hate you because I love you and you don't want me?" I'm sure it would have devolved into something shitty, so it's probably for the best. She's coming through town tomorrow, and I'm not sure if we should hang out. I realize I'm setting myself up to be available, but I'm guaranteed to be let down--she'll want to hang out with her family, and still won't want me.
I think the phone call was cheery and happy for me for two reasons. One, I got to talk to her, which I guess I ultimately wanted to, and it didn't involve bitching or angst, as it easily could have. Two, it showed me what could be--a very easy relationship, one where we don't have to talk all the time, busy as we both would be, but keeping in touch, and trying to see each other when we could. After all, I'm sitting here with Audrey and Danny in Hob Nobs, and that's the sort of thing Audrey's doing.
But such thoughts are stupid, wasteful, childish, grasping, pointless. I'm going to push them away, buy a coffee, refill my cranberry cocktail, and crank through some grades. :-)
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Flip It
Today was a blast for 7/8 of my classes. I just pushed ahead, and moved them onto a details-for-setting brainstorming game, and one of my two problem classes just moved like clockwork. D calmed down in my before-lunch period, and by the time I got to lunch, I was practically dancing. Not only was it the first day where I hadn't thought about jumping off of a large building by lunch, but it was actually going swimmingly.
It was a fucking blast. Ultimately, Sunday went well; I got to go swing dancing. Monday, I made it through five and half hours of grad school, then went home and updated behavior anecdotal records and things until 1 am, while watching the rest of season 3 of Weeds, related special features, and downing a variety six-pack. And it wasn't I'm-stressed-and-drinking, but relaxed, enjoyable, watching TV and enjoying some microbrews and working through some papers and things. It was excellent; what I've hoped to do for awhile now.
Today, I got through all those classes. 10th period rolled around, though, and that was a shitshow. Still, nothing happened. It's infuriating. I cannot reach them. I've been holding off on the advice I've been getting from veteran teachers, but it's time. I spent an hour and half after school dealing with a staff meeting, and then calling 20-odd parents whose kids had behaved appropriately during 3rd period (usually a problem period). In between I dealt with the idea that certain kids ought to remain in my class, because their motivation is to be able to be in general ed, and not special ed.
Fuck that. If that's your motivation, you shoulf have to work towards it, not simply receive what you desire irrespective of effort and behavior. So, tomorrow, I take the advice I've been getting. The classroom will be rearranged according to grades and efforts. Those kids who have turned something in, displayed effort, etc., will sit in the front of the room. Those kids who do not respond to zeroes, calls home, disciplinary action, etc., will sit in the back. On the board will be written "Sink or Swim," and I will not repeat directions. It's as easy as that. I felt like tearing out my hair at these kids, and the continued chances offered. If you're thirteen and haven't turned anything in for a month, you're capable of understanding there may be some kind of consequences.
Anyway, that drove me nuts. And so did pondering Emily for a second. I thought about her text for a second, realized she'd texted me to let me know she'd been traveling at literally half-pace for a few days, and my wonderful, obliging mind filled in the sordid "truth": that she'd traveled like she normally did, but had a run-in with a sexy gargantuan-dicked long haired blond Californian and spent a day or two fucking him senseless. (Perhapse he reminded her of a Humboldt County horticulturalist.)
Dumb ass shit; but it made me realize there's not much point in giving her headspace. At all. There's just sadness and misery there. I'd spent three mostly happy days busying myself; thinking of her just made me feel shitty. So fuck dealing with it. What it made me wonder is what that means about grief. Is that why I have trouble getting over people, because I don't just work through the pain--because I just try to move on without working through emotions?
Is that an emotional immaturity on my part that I haven't dealt with yet?
Or is that normal? I realize I'm using grief in a weird melodramatic way, but it's the end of something, and I think it's an applicable concept. So for a few moments, I thought about the difference between grieving the end of someone and the literal end of someone in your life. Maybe no one really moves on; it's just that when someone you care about is dead, they're gone, so you don't actually have awkward run-ins later. Which is why exes are scary, and dead relatives and lovers are a different matter. This isn't a profound concept; I just had wings and beer with the guys, and I'm a bit tipsy; I thought about ghosts--they show that you're not really over the dead, either, the dead just aren't there to prove your self-esteem wrong. Ghosts fuck with that. hence, Nancy in Weeds being fucked sideways by the potential that her husband is actually appearing in her house. Anyway, that's what I get for wondering if a Showtime special has life meaning.
What's cool is that I just decided "fuck it, not worth pondering," and my day improved. We found a bar with a wing special, that served Miller Lite and Alaskan Amber, and my mood
(haha--she just texted me, to tell me that it only took her "two days." Not the case. We spoke Saturday morning, and she was leaving Santa Cruz; this morning, she left San Luis Obispo. Saturday, Sunday, Monday--three days of biking. Not two. Not worth analyzing for the bullshit I'm being fed? (Or replying to?) That. Back to South Park and blogging about a good day.
(Jesus, again. I'm just realizing how much blogging for me is just stream of consciousness bitching and thinking. How much of this makes sense?)
Anyway, my mood has been good. Golfing, swinging, pleasantly grading with drinks by the boob tube. Today could have been Incubus, but I didn't want to go alone. It could have been swinging, but I was at school too long, missed the lesson, and needed food. Solution? Wing night. Fuckin' A. And tomorrow? Fair Trade Cafe, and slam poetry (and hopefully freestyling) time. Thursday, if I'm still conscious, Club Blunt for underground hip-hop, and Friday, we hit Sedona again. Hooray for starting to make myself have a grip on teaching, and for my first overall good day of teaching and life in a month.
Maybe I can do this. Hell yes.
It was a fucking blast. Ultimately, Sunday went well; I got to go swing dancing. Monday, I made it through five and half hours of grad school, then went home and updated behavior anecdotal records and things until 1 am, while watching the rest of season 3 of Weeds, related special features, and downing a variety six-pack. And it wasn't I'm-stressed-and-drinking, but relaxed, enjoyable, watching TV and enjoying some microbrews and working through some papers and things. It was excellent; what I've hoped to do for awhile now.
Today, I got through all those classes. 10th period rolled around, though, and that was a shitshow. Still, nothing happened. It's infuriating. I cannot reach them. I've been holding off on the advice I've been getting from veteran teachers, but it's time. I spent an hour and half after school dealing with a staff meeting, and then calling 20-odd parents whose kids had behaved appropriately during 3rd period (usually a problem period). In between I dealt with the idea that certain kids ought to remain in my class, because their motivation is to be able to be in general ed, and not special ed.
Fuck that. If that's your motivation, you shoulf have to work towards it, not simply receive what you desire irrespective of effort and behavior. So, tomorrow, I take the advice I've been getting. The classroom will be rearranged according to grades and efforts. Those kids who have turned something in, displayed effort, etc., will sit in the front of the room. Those kids who do not respond to zeroes, calls home, disciplinary action, etc., will sit in the back. On the board will be written "Sink or Swim," and I will not repeat directions. It's as easy as that. I felt like tearing out my hair at these kids, and the continued chances offered. If you're thirteen and haven't turned anything in for a month, you're capable of understanding there may be some kind of consequences.
Anyway, that drove me nuts. And so did pondering Emily for a second. I thought about her text for a second, realized she'd texted me to let me know she'd been traveling at literally half-pace for a few days, and my wonderful, obliging mind filled in the sordid "truth": that she'd traveled like she normally did, but had a run-in with a sexy gargantuan-dicked long haired blond Californian and spent a day or two fucking him senseless. (Perhapse he reminded her of a Humboldt County horticulturalist.)
Dumb ass shit; but it made me realize there's not much point in giving her headspace. At all. There's just sadness and misery there. I'd spent three mostly happy days busying myself; thinking of her just made me feel shitty. So fuck dealing with it. What it made me wonder is what that means about grief. Is that why I have trouble getting over people, because I don't just work through the pain--because I just try to move on without working through emotions?
Is that an emotional immaturity on my part that I haven't dealt with yet?
Or is that normal? I realize I'm using grief in a weird melodramatic way, but it's the end of something, and I think it's an applicable concept. So for a few moments, I thought about the difference between grieving the end of someone and the literal end of someone in your life. Maybe no one really moves on; it's just that when someone you care about is dead, they're gone, so you don't actually have awkward run-ins later. Which is why exes are scary, and dead relatives and lovers are a different matter. This isn't a profound concept; I just had wings and beer with the guys, and I'm a bit tipsy; I thought about ghosts--they show that you're not really over the dead, either, the dead just aren't there to prove your self-esteem wrong. Ghosts fuck with that. hence, Nancy in Weeds being fucked sideways by the potential that her husband is actually appearing in her house. Anyway, that's what I get for wondering if a Showtime special has life meaning.
What's cool is that I just decided "fuck it, not worth pondering," and my day improved. We found a bar with a wing special, that served Miller Lite and Alaskan Amber, and my mood
(haha--she just texted me, to tell me that it only took her "two days." Not the case. We spoke Saturday morning, and she was leaving Santa Cruz; this morning, she left San Luis Obispo. Saturday, Sunday, Monday--three days of biking. Not two. Not worth analyzing for the bullshit I'm being fed? (Or replying to?) That. Back to South Park and blogging about a good day.
(Jesus, again. I'm just realizing how much blogging for me is just stream of consciousness bitching and thinking. How much of this makes sense?)
Anyway, my mood has been good. Golfing, swinging, pleasantly grading with drinks by the boob tube. Today could have been Incubus, but I didn't want to go alone. It could have been swinging, but I was at school too long, missed the lesson, and needed food. Solution? Wing night. Fuckin' A. And tomorrow? Fair Trade Cafe, and slam poetry (and hopefully freestyling) time. Thursday, if I'm still conscious, Club Blunt for underground hip-hop, and Friday, we hit Sedona again. Hooray for starting to make myself have a grip on teaching, and for my first overall good day of teaching and life in a month.
Maybe I can do this. Hell yes.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Bachelor
Nothing deep--I just burst out laughing when I came home, because I got back before 6 with a pile of papers, finally ready to sit around grading and drinking. I looked at my desk, and it already has a pile of papers, beer bottles, coffee mugs, a water bottle, a stack of pens, and a bowl with the crusted remains Cinnamon Toast Crunch that had been eaten with applesauce rather than milk. Oh yeah, I'm an adult now. A young professional. And my desk is proof of a life lived the way I want. Hehe.
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