Forgot to hit post on this the other day:
I wrote most of this in both of the locations in the poem. I did just about all the editing and wrapping it up over a clove and a Corona on an apartment balcony in the setting sun the day before Halloween, so this is one of the fastest ones I've blistered out lately. It's kind of silly now, but I like the imagery, the coherence, and the flow. The only thing I'm unsure of now is the kick-out (and the message of it)...but hey, a song's a song.
As the wind kicks up it lights my clove
And there I sat upon the boardwalk and strove
To bite back my tears against the pier lights
I'm lost in the rolling blues that fill this night
Flowing out from the guitar pumped by the bar
The sound thicker than the smoke curling from my char
All in all, it's a beautiful night
But something is truly not quite right
For as the lights of the pier shimmer orange upon the waves
I'm sitting and dripping ash and tears upon the page
See there's a hole beneath my arm where you used to sit
And everywhere the tide goes it takes my tears with it
This afternoon I sat and watched the ocean, peaceful foamy blue
And both times, I was just kissing a cigarette instead of you
I can sit in my jeans and put my toes in the sand
But I just want to put down my pen and pick up your hand
Now there's a silence in my day where I used to hear your laugh
Even wonderful things have an emptiness to remind me of what I used to have
That's why you're the first to hear when I pull out my phone
Because you're the one that feels like home
So everything that should be something new
Is like a bad copy of a time I already had with you
Anywhere anytime anyplace is just a clone
Of a time when I was there while your smile shone
As I sit and the smoke curls around my head
I can hear the things that you would've said
It makes it hard to be just your friend
When all day I ache to be yours again
Anywhere I go I can already feel you there
And all of my time is something I wish we shared
I sit on this beach with a clove to enjoy
And I just dream of a future where I was your boy
Knowing that life with you by my side
Should be the truth rather than this beautiful lie
It's amazing that you'll be on the coast of Spain
But here on this Cali shore I'm dying just the same
So as my thoughts fly to the town of Alicante
And my mind is filed with the chords of John Frusciante
The wind burns my clove all the way to teh embers
I push myself to forget to remember
And I try to pretend that when the sun rises on a new day
That I somehow will snap and feel okay
Even though the space where you used to sit will feel the same
And the tide takes my tears with it but not my pain
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
Still Funny, But I Belong (Some)
The other day, Barishnakov made a wonderful observation. He pointed out that his litmus test for validity was still ringing negative--said litmus test being whether he still chuckled at the thought that his answer to "What do you do?" is "I'm a teacher," and he definitely can't keep a straight face--but that he feels that his classroom is his, as opposed to being a place that he trespasses upon and dons the disguise of a teacher. I gotta agree--I don't know that I'd still laugh at the self-identification of a teacher (I think my initial reaction is still, "Yeeah, I'm a teacher, bitch!" with a sarcastic grin--close enough to laughter), but I finally feel like my room is my room, and I'm not merely an awkward interloper there.
Before the break, I finally started doing some longer-term planning, and it made all the difference. I only got 90 minutes of sleep last night, and I'm sitting in hour three of six for night class tonight, but I'm no longer miserable about my job. Even late nights no longer feel like shoving my finger in a curriculum dyke, desperately patching together a Frankenstein lesson to throw at kids the next day, with no larger point. They may get late, and I still lack a life, but I feel like I'm functioning as a teacher (I didn't say I'm even adequate yet, but I'm functioning), and my lessons tie together--and the kids can tell. My life is no longer putting out fires, but ushering kids onto the next task, the next point.
It's paying off in so many ways. Many kids see me as someone to talk to; I see a sufficient number of kids every day, so fast, that they think I'm practically omniscient. A fight goes down at lunch, and by the time my next class comes in, I've already heard who started it, who won, how long it lasted, and the order of the landed punches. When kids run to tell me about it, and I can calmly list off a couple of basic facts in response to their breathless "Did you hear about (x)?", it just makes me seem (1) even more like a person who cares (2) even more like someone who you're going to tell about it, since I'm going to find out anyway (3) a sympathetic, or at least friendly, ear for their issues and problems. Kids tell me about their relationships, and even more amusingly, they tell me about each other's relationships. All of this gives me ammo and capacity to nudge them and josh them about what they've been up to, which helps build great relationships with them that I can rely on--to have them behave because they like being in my room, rather than because I'm going to browbeat them and call their parents if they don't.
Case in point--one kid came in with a massive Band-Aid on his neck on Monday. I was walking to the copy room during my prep when I walked by a classroom with an open door and spotted him across the room; it seemed the most natural thing to pop my head in and make a perfectly audible comment for the benefit of the class at his expense, something along the lines of "What, haven't you ever heard of a frozen spoon for a spider bite like that?" The class had a quick belly laugh, and went back to work; more respect earned for me. The kid's neck is now wrapped in Band-Aids; he needs to control someone--but it's been good for diffusing class tension or energy for a week now.
These relationships come about because my lessons now contain time for them to work, which gives me time to run around, help individuals, chat with other kids, hear about their problems, etc.
All of that, plus convincing them to do more meaningful work, means I see them as individuals. They've been writing the most absurd and touching things--they write essays wishing for money so they could help their parents pay the bills; for magic to fix the economy so daddy can go back to work and be happy again; that their parents will get back together, so they don't have to miss mom/dad so much; that mom/dad/uncle/brother will get out of jail because he's not a criminal and they miss him.
(Keep in mind, they also write about how their families tell them they're too young to know about love, but they know better--they've been dating for two weeks now, and this time it's forever! Forget that their last boyfriend is laughing with the current one in a different class about how he hit it and quit it - keep in mind, these are 13-year-olds - they know what love is, dammit. Or that plenty of kids three wishes included an Xbox, games, and a trip to the local pizza parlor, for the big dreamers. But hey, you take the touching with the juvenile.)
I felt better in the last few weeks before break; I've felt near imperturbable since break. They can be angsty, loud, etc.; barring when they are so loud it gives me a quick headache, or on a day like today (where they're talking notes, I'm modeling what they're going to do this week, and therefore talking alot to each class) when sidetalking gives me a headache because I've got to raise my voice, I really am not bothered by their antics. They swear, they clean; they yell, I throw them out; I call their parents, and for many other things, I just make fun of them. I make faces at them, I laugh at them, I do awkward dance imitations of their demands to go to the bathroom--in short, I act like a nut, and frequently, they have literally no idea how to respond, which I think defuses a lot of situations.
When a teacher gets heated back at you, it's easy to escalate. When a teacher sticks his tongue out at you and makes fart noises, its hard to maintain an air of imperiousness--at a certain point, the entire class is watching the strange writing teacher make faces at you, and it's no longer cool.
At a certain point, it just hit me on a more fundamental level--they are fucking short. And they know it. Many, many problems are ended with a simple "I'm sorry, I think you have a problem, but I can't tell what it is. You're too close to the ground. Try again when you're tall."
My classroom is pretty clean most days.
Expectations, assignments, and requirements are posted everywhere.
Student artwork is appearing on the walls.
I have running jokes with different kids.
Most of the 8th grade (and the 7th grade, I'm sure) thinks I'm gay--they have noticed the hair, the piercings, the bracelets, and the fact that I don't like it when they hurl "gay" as an insult (not that I let slurs of any type slide), and filled in what to them seems the only logical solution. When fall break came around, and I went roadtripping with a fellow (male) teacher through Cali, they made the second "logical" leap and assumed that we were dating. (It doesn't help, of course, that he and I are both hippie-esque and came back with bracelets from the same hippie shop.)
I am exhausted, but I don't hate it.
And the most baller thing? I've finally gone through all of their diagnostic essays, and entered in the data on their skills at the start of the year. We worked for awhile on random, stupid shit. Then we worked on vaguely tied together shit, some of which I decided belonged in a so-called unit on fixing our sentences. They took that test--and everyone went up. Class averages, individual scores, and one ELL kid scored proficient who was practically eating his pencil in confusion two months ago.
I don't know how much it was effective teaching, how much it was just practice, or how much it was luck. But damn does it feel good to see their proficiencies grow--I just feel cool about it. And when I broke it down for them today, they did to.
I'm even optimistic about something else--my goal for the year was to push class averages to a 4 out of 6 on each of the six writing traits. 4 represents that the students have met expectations for their grade level. We've only worked on one of those traits so far - Sentence Fluency - and one of my classes has already cracked that bar, with months to go. Sentence Fluency was their single worst trait on the AIMS last year, and on their diagnostics, so I wanted to tackle it first and longest. The other seven classes are all working steadily towards that 4 as an average, and I'm hoping that the current unit on organization will push them over that barrier. The single remaining biggest problem they have is run-on sentences. Fixing those would easily push kids who score a 2 to a 3 (or higher) and could push the kids who are 3's and 3.5's over the barrier into 4 and above, because they would then be able to exert greater control over complex sentences. I'm hoping that teaching them to organize their thoughts will train them to identify separate thoughts--and thereby put them into different sentences--rather than simply run together their stream-of-consciousness writing into a mass of words where the periods are more or less haphazard.
Cracking a 4 on Sentence Fluency by Christmas? That would be piiiiimp.
Part of me wants to tell the kids that the top class will get to cut my hair. But I may let that shit grow for a long time, so I can't let 'em cut it--but oh, what motivation would that be! Decisions, decisions....
Before the break, I finally started doing some longer-term planning, and it made all the difference. I only got 90 minutes of sleep last night, and I'm sitting in hour three of six for night class tonight, but I'm no longer miserable about my job. Even late nights no longer feel like shoving my finger in a curriculum dyke, desperately patching together a Frankenstein lesson to throw at kids the next day, with no larger point. They may get late, and I still lack a life, but I feel like I'm functioning as a teacher (I didn't say I'm even adequate yet, but I'm functioning), and my lessons tie together--and the kids can tell. My life is no longer putting out fires, but ushering kids onto the next task, the next point.
It's paying off in so many ways. Many kids see me as someone to talk to; I see a sufficient number of kids every day, so fast, that they think I'm practically omniscient. A fight goes down at lunch, and by the time my next class comes in, I've already heard who started it, who won, how long it lasted, and the order of the landed punches. When kids run to tell me about it, and I can calmly list off a couple of basic facts in response to their breathless "Did you hear about (x)?", it just makes me seem (1) even more like a person who cares (2) even more like someone who you're going to tell about it, since I'm going to find out anyway (3) a sympathetic, or at least friendly, ear for their issues and problems. Kids tell me about their relationships, and even more amusingly, they tell me about each other's relationships. All of this gives me ammo and capacity to nudge them and josh them about what they've been up to, which helps build great relationships with them that I can rely on--to have them behave because they like being in my room, rather than because I'm going to browbeat them and call their parents if they don't.
Case in point--one kid came in with a massive Band-Aid on his neck on Monday. I was walking to the copy room during my prep when I walked by a classroom with an open door and spotted him across the room; it seemed the most natural thing to pop my head in and make a perfectly audible comment for the benefit of the class at his expense, something along the lines of "What, haven't you ever heard of a frozen spoon for a spider bite like that?" The class had a quick belly laugh, and went back to work; more respect earned for me. The kid's neck is now wrapped in Band-Aids; he needs to control someone--but it's been good for diffusing class tension or energy for a week now.
These relationships come about because my lessons now contain time for them to work, which gives me time to run around, help individuals, chat with other kids, hear about their problems, etc.
All of that, plus convincing them to do more meaningful work, means I see them as individuals. They've been writing the most absurd and touching things--they write essays wishing for money so they could help their parents pay the bills; for magic to fix the economy so daddy can go back to work and be happy again; that their parents will get back together, so they don't have to miss mom/dad so much; that mom/dad/uncle/brother will get out of jail because he's not a criminal and they miss him.
(Keep in mind, they also write about how their families tell them they're too young to know about love, but they know better--they've been dating for two weeks now, and this time it's forever! Forget that their last boyfriend is laughing with the current one in a different class about how he hit it and quit it - keep in mind, these are 13-year-olds - they know what love is, dammit. Or that plenty of kids three wishes included an Xbox, games, and a trip to the local pizza parlor, for the big dreamers. But hey, you take the touching with the juvenile.)
I felt better in the last few weeks before break; I've felt near imperturbable since break. They can be angsty, loud, etc.; barring when they are so loud it gives me a quick headache, or on a day like today (where they're talking notes, I'm modeling what they're going to do this week, and therefore talking alot to each class) when sidetalking gives me a headache because I've got to raise my voice, I really am not bothered by their antics. They swear, they clean; they yell, I throw them out; I call their parents, and for many other things, I just make fun of them. I make faces at them, I laugh at them, I do awkward dance imitations of their demands to go to the bathroom--in short, I act like a nut, and frequently, they have literally no idea how to respond, which I think defuses a lot of situations.
When a teacher gets heated back at you, it's easy to escalate. When a teacher sticks his tongue out at you and makes fart noises, its hard to maintain an air of imperiousness--at a certain point, the entire class is watching the strange writing teacher make faces at you, and it's no longer cool.
At a certain point, it just hit me on a more fundamental level--they are fucking short. And they know it. Many, many problems are ended with a simple "I'm sorry, I think you have a problem, but I can't tell what it is. You're too close to the ground. Try again when you're tall."
My classroom is pretty clean most days.
Expectations, assignments, and requirements are posted everywhere.
Student artwork is appearing on the walls.
I have running jokes with different kids.
Most of the 8th grade (and the 7th grade, I'm sure) thinks I'm gay--they have noticed the hair, the piercings, the bracelets, and the fact that I don't like it when they hurl "gay" as an insult (not that I let slurs of any type slide), and filled in what to them seems the only logical solution. When fall break came around, and I went roadtripping with a fellow (male) teacher through Cali, they made the second "logical" leap and assumed that we were dating. (It doesn't help, of course, that he and I are both hippie-esque and came back with bracelets from the same hippie shop.)
I am exhausted, but I don't hate it.
And the most baller thing? I've finally gone through all of their diagnostic essays, and entered in the data on their skills at the start of the year. We worked for awhile on random, stupid shit. Then we worked on vaguely tied together shit, some of which I decided belonged in a so-called unit on fixing our sentences. They took that test--and everyone went up. Class averages, individual scores, and one ELL kid scored proficient who was practically eating his pencil in confusion two months ago.
I don't know how much it was effective teaching, how much it was just practice, or how much it was luck. But damn does it feel good to see their proficiencies grow--I just feel cool about it. And when I broke it down for them today, they did to.
I'm even optimistic about something else--my goal for the year was to push class averages to a 4 out of 6 on each of the six writing traits. 4 represents that the students have met expectations for their grade level. We've only worked on one of those traits so far - Sentence Fluency - and one of my classes has already cracked that bar, with months to go. Sentence Fluency was their single worst trait on the AIMS last year, and on their diagnostics, so I wanted to tackle it first and longest. The other seven classes are all working steadily towards that 4 as an average, and I'm hoping that the current unit on organization will push them over that barrier. The single remaining biggest problem they have is run-on sentences. Fixing those would easily push kids who score a 2 to a 3 (or higher) and could push the kids who are 3's and 3.5's over the barrier into 4 and above, because they would then be able to exert greater control over complex sentences. I'm hoping that teaching them to organize their thoughts will train them to identify separate thoughts--and thereby put them into different sentences--rather than simply run together their stream-of-consciousness writing into a mass of words where the periods are more or less haphazard.
Cracking a 4 on Sentence Fluency by Christmas? That would be piiiiimp.
Part of me wants to tell the kids that the top class will get to cut my hair. But I may let that shit grow for a long time, so I can't let 'em cut it--but oh, what motivation would that be! Decisions, decisions....
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)?
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