The wrong exit

Once, when I was young (about 13) I had a good friend named Jennifer. Jennifer lived across the street, was a Lutheran, and had good things to eat in her pantry, a giant tree house in her backyard, and an older brother I had a crush on. She preferred to be called Jennifer, not Jenn or Jenny. Our birthdays were around similar days in the year, and I remember one year when we both got Nike gym bags, except I liked hers and she liked mine, so we traded. I still have that gym bag, it is sitting in a closet in Texas, and I still like it better than the one that my parents gave me for my birthday. We both liked the first Goo Goo Dolls album, and she was the first person to show me the hidden track on that CD. We grew close quickly, and could talk to each other about anything. But, even at the age of 13, this made me uncomfortable. And I remember one day when I looked her in the face and told her that I thought we were getting to be too close of friends. That I thought we shouldn't spend anymore time together. That is honestly what I said. I thought we were too close friends.

This, I would say, is the ugliest part of my personality. It is something that makes me ashamed. But it is something that I have known for so long that I am not readily aware of how to get rid of it and replace it with something better. When I told Jennifer goodbye, I didn’t really want her to go away forever. I wanted her to be torn apart. I wanted her to need me. I wanted her to beg me to remain her friend forever. I jumped in the fucking river and I wanted her to save me. And that is the hardest truth I have ever had to say.

Well, fuck me. I am sorry. I am 22 now and just starting to be able to realize that I need to change that. I don’t know how, and I don’t know how long it will take, but fuck me all the while until I get there. I apologize. I think this is the point where I need to switch it into reverse.

Something I wrote 2 days ago

I wish I could just stop dreaming about teaching. Every night it has been something different, but every morning I wake up feeling emotionally drained and stressed. When I am actually in Texas, I don’t think I dream at all. By the time I hit the mattress, I am so exhausted that I black out immediately and don’t waste energy on thoughts or dreams. I guess these dreams are coming up now because my mind actually has the time and the comfort to start digesting some things that have happened over the past few months.

It is snowing again. I have pulled back the curtain so that I can watch the flakes fall on the poinsettias, Christmas lights, and Adirondack chairs. A while back there was a cat sitting on my lap, but I think he has gone upstairs to investigate what is happening there.

This is where I come to feel comfortable and content. It is not my home, but I think I have made a place for myself here over the past few years. This is the best place for me to reflect and really dig deep into myself and the things and people that surround me.

It's like when you're making conversation
And you're trying not to scream
And you're trying not to tell 'em
You don't care what they mean
And you're really feeling fragile
And you really can't get home
And you really feel abandoned
But you want to be alone

LMS

My cart, feeling the Christmas spirit



















Some of my classes, feeling the "get out of school soon" spirit

Humorous advice from my horoscope

"Postpone all thoughts of math and politics and communicating with other people..."

How the hell am I (as a current math teacher, former international relations major, and lover of communication) supposed to do that?

Friday Night

This has been an(other) emotionally draining week for me. Basketball ended and I feel like a big part of the joy I had in my life is gone now. Our last game went to double overtime and we lost by a free throw. All my girls cried and were angry with me and each other, and I didn't know what to say. I held it together until M. (who I teach, coach, and often see around my neighborhood) told me she is moving away next week. After that I let all the girls clear out of the locker room and I sobbed with my head in my hands.

S. Guerra and her mother came in to speak with me on Tuesday or Wednesday. I can't remember if I have written about Guerra before or if I have just thought about writing about her, but she certainly causes me a lot of trouble. I don't think I have ever seen a person who has as much hate and anger in their eyes as S. has in hers. During the beginning of the year I tried to break that wall down, but she just got out of control so often that my patience wore thin and I gave up on her. Well, the meeting this week broke into to a shouting/swearing match between S. and her mother, and I now understand that poor girl much better than I had before. I should have said that I hadn't seen that kind of hate or anger in anyone else's eyes until I saw the way the mother looked at the girl. I think in most cases parents really do live with the monsters they create themselves, and this experience was living proof of that for me. I had to call security to get the mother out of that room so that I could actually talk to that girl like civilized people talk to each other.

Much of this week was devoted to fund raising and getting huge amounts of paperwork together so that I could take the basketball team to see an NBA development league game tomorrow night. That has been a stressful ordeal, but I think I finally managed to pull everything together, so I am proud to announce that I will be spending my Saturday night watching the Rio Grande Valley Vipers face off against the Colorado 14ers :-)

I am at a weird split in how I feel about my classes right now. I have completely given up on one class, and am out of ideas on how to get it back together. However, the rest of my classes are really going quite well and I am starting to enjoy my job. My kids are great. They regularly and sincerely tell me they love me, which is a weird sentiment coming from a middle schooler to one of their teachers, but I appreciate and reciprocate it. To tell the truth, I could see myself teaching for a while after this...I am starting to look into what I need to do to get certified so that I can teach in almost any state. I could really see myself finishing off my two years in Texas and then moving back to Colorado and spending a few years teaching there. I am just starting to realize that teaching is something that I am naturally inclined to do: I feel passionate about my students, I get to have a lot of fun at work, and I get the summers off. The only question I am struggling with is whether I should teach math or English. Teaching math has many advantages, but English is still my first love.

Now, if I could just find a man I feel that my life would be pretty set.

A is for Armadillo

Which I saw (alive. twice.) when I went hiking along the river on Sunday.















Everything else was much more scenic.

(A shot of the thin green line that separates us from ellos)

Dilapidated Downtown Pharr

I have been wanting to take a picture of the rundown town where I live for a long time. I just managed to snap this one while I was stopped at light today.

Sometime I will have to walk around and really document all of the old fruit stands, flea markets, and going out of business signs.

I am flabbergasted by the types of behaviors that are deliberately taught to children. I think before I had always assumed that habitual bad behavior was a product of neglect, failure to correct, or else just bad example. I never would have imagined that many children are deliberately and explicitly taught to behave badly. It's not always that the adults in their lives failed to teach a lesson, it is sometimes that the adults chose to teach the wrong lesson.

Arg...I am too frustrated to construct this line of thought so that it makes any sense. Suffice it to say that sometimes people suck, and in new and ever surprising ways.

Today

I was supposed to do work,
To give attention to those piles of papers
And long neglected e-mails;
big, fat monkeys on my back.

Today
I did not want to do work,
So I did not. My attention was given
To more frivolous things, ones
Even longer neglected.

Today
I settled into a peace
And a comfort, I created for myself.
I practiced feeling at home,
Practiced constructing my home.

Today
I went diving through the past.
Found memories so dear, they still grab my breath,
Leave me stoned, empty, lost,
But kiss me awake at night.

Today
It was the perfect mixture
Of past and present that helped me remember
Who I am. What I do. What
I think. How I feel. I feel.

For me writing has always felt like praying, even when I wasn't writing prayers....You feel that you are with someone. I feel I am with you now, whatever that can mean...

--Marilynne Robinson in Gilead

Dia de Dar Gracias

Today's Thanksgiving turned out to be much better than I had expected it to be. I was originally planning to try to leave the country because I was afraid that if I was around here for the holiday it would throw me into some spiral of deep depression. Unfortunately, the fact that I was fighting a cold and had a couple of other obligations around town forced me to stay planted at home and left me to face the two-fronted attack of being alone on the holidays coupled with seasonal angst and ennui. Fortunately, I was armed with a good game plan.

I woke up early this morning and immediately began baking. By 10 am I had made 4 pies. My spirits were lifted by the creation of these delicious confections, and also by the fact that it was chilly enough outside to actually make it feel like fall. I put on my favorite hoodie (which I thought I would never need down here) and proceeded to walk around the neighborhood. It was nice to be able to pop into two different houses and smell them baking two separate (but equally huge) turkeys for our feast later in the day. I spent the rest of the day busying myself with other minor food preparation events, and by 3 o'clock all of the white people left in the Rio Grande Valley started to converge upon Mark's house for dinner. There was enough food there to feed at least 40 people, and since there were only 20 of us, we were all incredibly happy. Generally speaking, it was all pretty delicious. The only thing that I was disappointed about was the sweet potatoes. Someone tried to make them healthy instead of with butter and marshmallows, and I thought that was particularly lame and inconsiderate on this holiday...but oh well.

The conversation at dinner (of course) turned to teaching horror stories--with each one of us trying to outdo the others in the scale of horrible things that have happened to us since we got down here. We went from category to category--starting with gang activity, followed by sexual activity, drug activity, violent activity, and then ending with just plain funny stories of kids not working. I guess these are sort of stereotypical stories given our current living and working choices...I mean, I can't get over the fact that these are the types of stories that people will expect us to tell when we come home for the holidays, but that is a random tangent that I don't want to follow at this time.

After dinner I was stuffed and it was starting to get hot inside the house, so I suggested to a couple of friends that we go outside and lay in the grass. It was so cool outside that we had to come back in to get a quilt, and I imagine that we 4 girls must have looked quite goofy lying together on the front lawn, tightly packed underneath a twin-sized quilt, but we were enjoying digesting our food in the cool air. After a while a few of the guys came outside to play Frisbee, which made our relaxing time slightly more dangerous as we were constantly dodging flying disks coming at us from all angles.

To top the evening off, a bunch of us went to see No Country For Old Men, which was uncomfortable, creepy, tense, violent, and beautiful. Those Coen brothers know how to tell stories all right. There were a couple of scenes at the US-Mexico border that were especially poignant for those of us living at the US-Mexico border.

So I guess all of that is that setting and what follows is the conclusion. I was worried that today would make me realize how alone I am and make me want to run away and never return. And actually, it made me feel similar to that, yet in an importantly distinguishable way. I realized that I am never truly alone; I am surrounded by a good bunch of people that are going through a similar experience that I am going through. I also realize that this common experience is a hard one for all of us. For me, it's like taking the hardest thing I had ever done in the past, putting that thing on steroids, having it speak another language and culture, and then locking me in a small cage with it while I try to make it succumb to my fleeting intellectual prowess. Of course it is going to be ugly. I don't know what else I was expecting.

I am also beginning to understand something else about myself. For the past few years I have had the habit of floating around quite a bit. I don't know exactly what I have been looking for. I think in part I am just looking to see the world, in part I have issues staying in one place and getting too close to people, in part I am looking for a good story to tell, and in part I am looking to give my life some meaning. However, I also think that I was under the impression that in Colorado people are narrow-minded and all think the same way--and I was looking for some mythical land where every person thinks in different ways and sits around and talks about it in cafes or something. I thought that this sort of intellectual conversation in coffee shops was what life was all about. But now I am coming to realize that although the chatter varies from place to place...if you stay in one place it is all pretty much the same. And on top of that--the chatter isn't really all that important anyway. What is important is the places, people, and things that the chatter is all about. And by putting myself in a place where I am in constant pursuit of the "intellectual buzz," I have missed what the buzz is all about.

Now, all of that is a sort of roundabout way of saying that I am ready to come home now. And by that I don't mean that I am ready to leave the Rio Grande Valley. You see, before when I was in Boston or in New Zealand or really just about anywhere else, I was always ready to leave. I was never really comfortable where I was. But that doesn't mean that I was ready to go home. I never wanted to go back to Colorado. I thought going back meant admitting that I was a boring and lame person. So I was always ready to leave to someplace new, but never ready to return to the place where I am from. I wanted to be different than all of the people I grew up with. I wanted to have a more interesting, more important life. Yes, it was very egotistical of me. But now I feel a little wiser and a lot humbler, and I am ready to come home. I am ready to find an apartment somewhere in the suburbs and be happy there. I am ready to live in one of those "little boxes" I disdained so openly. I realize that I could travel around the globe, but until I can be comfortable with myself at home, I won't be comfortable living any place else either.

Anyway, if you are still reading this I commend you. Thanks for bearing with me. Happy Thanksgiving.

I just learned that basketball practice on Friday is being canceled due to predicted "cold weather." Please look at the weather forecast.

Chinga.

The Lady Eagles

Why I woke up smiling

Last night I dreamt that I met a few friends of mine for a Patty Griffin concert at the Boulder Theatre. :-)

I am not quite sure how this blog became just the "weekly story of my life," but, for better or worse, that is what it is. I had originally set up another blog that I planned on being the website to keep everyone informed, and I was going to continue using this site as a place for my rambling on "deep shit" (you know, poems and stuff). But now that I have found myself in a situation where I am in actual deep shit, I find that I am less inclined to produce anymore emotional shit to deal with, and I am also weary to tell people other than my closest friends what is actually happening down here. So, after that preamble, here comes another "weekly story of my life that no one reads" (other than the most important people)...



In general this week was much better than the past few weeks have been. I think this is in part due to a number of small miracles (ie, certain children transferring to other schools and other certain children deciding it was time they got their act together and actually do a couple of division problems), but also in part due to my new-found "I don't give a shit" attitude. You see, this week I finally decided to drop the idea that I was going to make a difference in the life of every child. Even gone are notions that I am failing if children are not quiet and paying attention. These days, if certain kids or certain classes are awful, I just let it roll of my back rather easily. They aren't worth me caring about that much. This week I used all of the energy that I usually spend on correcting behaviors and instead focused it on actually teaching the good kids and letting them know that I appreciate them and like them. So even though at least 1/3 (if not 2/3) of my day is chaos, I honestly don't give a shit anymore. I just gear up to go have fun with the 1/3 of the kids who do respect me. I have found that this makes me a much happier and much more energized person at the end of the day.

Coaching basketball is another thing that is giving me energy and helping have a lot of fun during the days. The girls that I coach are absolutely hillarious and, even though I really don't have a clue about how to be a coach, it is something fun (and scary) for me to think about during the day. When I agreed to be a basketball coach I kind of assumed that I would be starting off as an assistant coach and not all on my own, but I guess that was a poor assumption because there I am running the whole show. Even with my lack of coaching experience, the string of miracles continued and we won our first game against the Barrientes this week. I don't know what a Barriente is, and neither did the one girl that I asked, but even though they had matching basketball shoes and we do not, we still kicked their asses. Our next game is coming up on Monday against a team that I hear is really good, and I am nervous because I do not feel that I have prepared my girls well enough, but I guess there is nothing I can do about that at this point.

I am starting to get to know a couple of girls that I teach/coach/live in close proximity to. I am amazed at how mature they seem and some of the experiences they have had already. I guess as part of the nature of the lives of people who live here, these girls and their families have moved around a lot from country to country and state to state. I like them a lot and am glad that I get the chance to spend time with them.

Okay, I am sure that I have more to tell, but at this point I have to run off to go see American Gangster with the Sam Houston Heights crew. Nothing better than Denzel and that other guy to top off my saturday night.

At some point on Friday I got so angry that I left school. That was after I was so angry that I punched another teacher in the arm who had just pulled a prank on me. That was after I was so angry that I stopped trying to teach the whole class and just sat down at a desk and taught the one girl in the room who wanted to listen to what I had to say. That was after I was so angry because the principle told me I could no longer throw students out of class, no matter what they said or did. That was after I was so angry because I learned that a student who said some very disgusting things to me will not be punished, either by the school or his parents.

So I left the school. And, although many people thought otherwise, I was planning on coming back. And I did come back.

But before I came back I drove around in my car for an hour with the windows down and the stereo turned up. At some points I thought about lots of things all at once, and at some points I thought about absolutely nothing. In the end, though, my head was clear and I walked back into the school and a couple of teachers gave me hugs and told me it would be okay. I taught my last block of classes, I coached my team, I came home and made dinner and passed out in my bed at 8:30.

I am exhausted. I miss Colorado. I am frustrated. I am lonely. I am angry. I am lost and without a lot of options.

But, for some reason, I do not feel defeated. When I left school I was always planning on going back. I am planning on going back on Monday, too. I am grading papers, making lesson plans and game plans, doing my laundry and paying my bills. Maybe it's a defense mechanism. I have to keep going or I will lose all momentum and just crash. Maybe it's just easier to keep going than to change directions. Maybe it's because I know I only have to be down here for 2 years, and then I get the chance to do whatever I want again, so there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe it's because I want to figure out whatever the hell there is to learn from this whole experience. Maybe it's because I am hanging in there for the few kids that I feel actually appreciate the fact that I show up everyday. Probably it's a combo of all of those things. Whatever it is, I hope that after the end of 2 years I will have done more than just survive, but maybe that is the best I will be able to do.

It's Because I'm White, Isn't It?

For the past few weeks I have noticed that many of my students accidentally call me Ms. Thomas. Although I have never met Ms. Thomas, I know that all of the kids hate her and try to transfer out of her class, so I was curious about the similarity between us. Today I finally asked the kids in my last block why they kept on mistaking me for Ms. Thomas. They said, "Well, Miss, it's 'cause she's white, too." At which point I started laughing a lot and said, "what, are you saying that all white people look the same?"

And...that was the highlight of my day. (I know, lame.)

Tomorrow's highlight? Benchmark testing means I only have to teach for 2 periods!

Two Reasons Why I Am Annoyed Right Now

1) Some Harley Davidson owner has been riding his bike in circles around the neighborhood for the past 1/2 hour. His engine is so loud that he sets off all of the car alarms as he passes by.

2) I can't remember number two. The sound of car alarms keeps on echoing in my head and driving out all other thoughts.

The answer came like a shot in the back
While you were running from your lesson
Which might explain why years later all you could remember was the terror of the question.
Plus, you weren't listening
You were stockpiling canned goods
making a bomb shelter of our basement.
And I can't believe you let the moral go by while you were soaking in the product placement.
And where was your conscience?
Where was your consciousness?
And where did you put all those letters that you wrote to yourself but could not address?
I'm a good kisser, and you're a fast learner
And that kind of thing could float us for a pretty long time.
And then one day, you'd realized you've memorized my phone number
And you'll call it and find it's a disconnected line.
Cuz I got tossed out the window of love's el camino
And I shattered into a shower of sparks on the curb.
You were smoking me weren't you, between your yellow fingers
You just inhaled and exhaled without saying a word.
and where was your conscience?
Where was your consciousness?
And where did you put all those letters that you wrote to yourself but could not address?
There's a smörgåsbord of unspoken poisons
The whole childhood of potions that are all bottled up
And so one by one I am dusting off labels
I am uncorking bottles and filling up cups.
So go ahead and have a taste of your own medicine
and I'll have a taste of mine
But first let's toast to the lists that we hold in our fists of the things
That we promised to do differently next time.
Cuz the answer came like a shot in the back
While you were running from your lesson
which might explain why years later all you could remember was the terror of the question.
Cause I'm not listening to you anymore.
My head is too sore and my heart's perforated
And I am mired in the marrow of my "well ain't that funny?" bone
Learning how to be alone and devastated.
and Where was my conscience?
Where was my consciousness?
And what do I do with all these letters that I wrote to myself but can not address?

I like this song for many reasons. But really, any song that uses the word 'smörgåsbord' is okay with me.

Writing About Nothing

I have 4 insignificant things that I would like to record tonight:

1) I had a very enlightening discussion today about the definitions of the words "taco" and "burrito." You see, I was getting confused because down here they call anything in a tortilla a "taco," no matter what the size or the contents of the stuffing are. I was confused because it seemed to me that in Colorado we call food made with small tortillas "tacos" and things made with big tortillas "burritos." Well, all the people here seem to think that a "burrito" is something small and fried. I told them they were wrong, but then they reminded me that they invented the tortilla, so the conversation stopped there.

2) Back at my parents' house, all of my brothers and sisters (except the 12 year-old) are gainfully employed now. One brother is busing tables at a Chinese restaurant, another brother is at Best Buy, and my sister is a "lube tech" at a Dodge dealership somewhere. I think all of these are fine jobs for each of them, and I would also like to add that this actually quite a momentous occasion. I mean, I knew they would all have to work sometime, I just didn't quite seem likely or possible. Good for them.

3) One of my co-workers told me today that it looked like the kids were driving me "violent." That is a problem. I think I need to practice yoga or zen meditation or something. Maybe I could just go the Seinfeld route and start shouting "serenity now!" in the middle of class.

4) I would also like to say congratulations to the Rockies. I wish I could be in Colorado for the World Series. Kick Ass!

I finally made the big plunge and bought a set of pots and pans so that I can actually cook. It is nice and relaxing to come home at the end of the day and throw something together that is delicious and healthier for me than all the crap I have been eating lately. Tonight I experimented with Pad Thai not made from a box. The success of the meal was that I made a kick ass sauce with pretty good balance of oyster sauce, crushed chilies, lime juice, and a little bit of sugar. The trouble spot was those damn rice noodles. They were a little more crunchy and sticky than they should have been, but they were still edible when coated in delicious sauce. All in all, I think it was a good test run.

While I cook and wash dishes I can look out my window and watch the big, fat, Southern sun set over the fence.














I think I already said something like that here, but now I have a picture.

I am burned out, frustrated, and tired of being a mediocre teacher. The good news is that I stayed after work today to fill out the necessary paperwork to send the boy who deemed me the "fucking white devil" to alternative school for the rest of the semester. I have also contacted the parents of many of my students and invited them to come to class to sit with their children. Many have made plans to come next week, so I hope that will make an impression on some of the kids who do not seem to be able to keep Spanish obscenities from coming out of their mouths while I am trying to teach.

Girls basketball practice start tomorrow morning, so I will now get to add "coach" to my long list of new experiences for this year. Basically the only thing I know about coaching basketball is that I should teach the girls this one play that my friend Alan drew on a paper plate and gave to me as a gift of knowledge. Although I am not looking forward to how much time it will suck up, I think it will be fun and will be a good way to work with some of the kids outside of class.

After I publish this I am going to go clean up dinner and curl up in bed to watch a movie and fall asleep.

So, adieu and goodnight my friends. If you know anything about coaching, teaching, cooking, or being an adult, please send your tips to me via e-mail, phone call, or paper plate.

148

Is it too early to be counting the days left in the school year?

On Loren's Ranch

Cactus and barbed wire...we must be in Texas.

Now, I took this picture at night using my phone's camera, so the quality isn't real great, but you can still see that this is a very weird sight. I didn't know trees grew that way.

I saw that tree on my way to meet some friends for sushi. In the middle of dinner one of them (the same girl who introduced me as "cupcake" to the Houston PD) decided that it would be a really funny idea if everyone sang happy birthday to me. Somehow, she got the whole restaurant in on it. The waiter even brought us a free dessert. I think that girl thrives on being able to embarrass me in public.

After dinner I came home and wrote an outline for everything I will be teaching this week, including the quiz my kids will be taking on Friday.

All in all I'd say it was a weird night.

Before 9:30 AM this morning...

I had written more referrals than I have in the previous 5 weeks combined.

1 of those was given to a student who I threw out of class for calling me "the fucking white devil teacher."
2 were given to two boys who were fighting in the back of the class. I turned around just in time to see Deviant 1 throw Deviant 2 to the ground and hear D2's head hit the pavement.

The rest were just silly and I don't really want to talk about them.

I hate Mondays.

1 Vote For Teacher Of The Year

Some time late last week Teach For America was giving out a bunch of Daddy Yankee tickets. Never one to pass up free concert tickets, I snatched up a pair thinking that it would be a pretty good time to see Daddy Yankee in the Rio Grande Valley. However, after further consideration I realized that I did not have a date to go with, nor did I care enough to go see him by myself. So I decided to give the tickets away to one of my students as a reward for the day.

I never looked at the tickets before I gave them to her, but I figured they were probably pretty crappy since they were just free group giveaways. Well, today she walked into class with a big smile on her face and photos in her hand. "Miss," she said, "you didn't look at those tickets, did you?" I shook my head no. "Miss, they were in the 4th row. Right in the center. I was so close I could see his mole!"

Wow, I rock.

The thermometer

at the beach said 92 degrees today, but there was a strong ocean breeze that cooled it off nicely and sent unsuspecting sunbathers chasing after their umbrellas. It looked like there was a storm on the horizon, there was a powerful undertow, a lot of seaweed, and the water was lower and choppier than it has been in the past. Something in me says all this could be explained by a low pressure system sitting off the coast, but I could just be making that up.

Even with all that, the water was still warm and felt great around my body. Down here it seems like all of the elements are personified. The water is strong and smooth and it holds my hand while I tell it about my day. As I let thoughts poor out of my body, that undertow drags them all away and leaves me drained, sitting empty on the sand and talking about sea shells. Even the air is so hot, moist, and heavy that it comes alive. It puts its arms around me, surrounds me, and walks me home at night, then curls up around me in bed and whispers secrets while I fall asleep. It fills the gaps in my space and my mind where you are missing and tells me everything will be okay. You knocked the wind right out of me the first time we touched, but now that wind has come back to me, is filling up my lungs and teaching me how to be whole again.

Hooky

Fetch. Good Boy.

Kite

Thanks

I called my parents today to thank them for caring so much about me. After a series of phone calls with my students' parents (in which one lady told me to call the cops because she didn't want to deal with her son anymore), I realized I should not have taken my own parents' love for granted. We may not always get along, but they have never stopped caring about me.

I have been thinking a lot lately about my own 8th grade teacher. He met me at a very low point, but saw something in me I didn't believe I had. They most amazing thing was that he then he took the time prove to me that it was there.

Earlier today I got a phone call from a friend of mine that I hadn't spoken to or even thought about in quite some time. Although we never really spent much time together, we always saw eye-to-eye and had a real connection and interest in each other. She told me she missed me and wants to schedule a trip down here sometime this winter.

I could go on about many people, but I guess tonight I just want to say thanks to all of my friends and family who care for me and love me. You have made me who I am and I love you.

"Just remember,"

he said to me, "where you go from here is entirely up to you."

"When a body catch a body,
comin' through the rye."

Holden interpreted the line literally, imagining a field of rye at the edge of a cliff, in which children constantly wandered, and that someone had the job of catching any who might fall. Thus, he says that he wants to be the catcher, because it serves a real purpose in a world that is otherwise so often phony/trivial.

Homeward Bound

I wish I was.

This Is The Part Where I Quit My Job

I have training every Saturday (and some Sundays) for the next TWO MONTHS! That means I don't get a weekend for TWO MONTHS. Do you know how long that is to go without a weekend? Yeah! TWO MONTHS! If ever I needed a weekend it was right now. In fact, I would trade all of the other weekends I have ever had if I could just get a couple of days off now. I need a massage, and a beach towel, and a fucking pool boy holding my fucking FRUITY DRINK!

Some days are so long that you accidentally put Sally Hansen Hair Removal Gel Cream on your toothbrush instead of toothpaste.

Yup.

While every line speaks the language of love

It never held the meaning I was thinking of.

The Educators of the Future

Sitting around the team teacher's conference/lunch/work table today, I asked a question about a Spanish slang word that I had been hearing in my classroom. Well, after a couple of loose connections, that topic lead to a discussion in which one teacher brought up the idea of "female sperm." He was convinced, and had everyone else convinced, that females have sperm. It reminded me of that scene in 40 Year Old Virgin where the virgin starts talking about how breasts feel like sandbags. After a few minutes of ridiculousness, Jeremiah and I looked at each other across the table and said in unison "females don't have sperm." After everyone had left the room, I turned to Jeremiah and whispered, "he's never really touched a woman." Oh people...how funny

It's a good life...

when the colour of the night
and all the smoke in one life
gives way to shaky movements,
improvisational skills
in the forest of whispering speakers
let’s swear that we will
get with the times,
in a current health to stay
let’s get friendship right
get life day-to-day
in the forget-yer-skates dream
full of countervailing woes
In diverse-as-ever scenes
proceeding on a need-to-know
in a face so full of meaning
as to almost make it glow

0’ for a good life, we just might have to weaken

and find somewhere to go...

find somewhere to grow

Feelings

One day I woke up and here I was. I was driving down Highway 83 with the river on my right, green fields and palm trees on my left, and a million sparkling dreams in between (theirs, mine and everyone else's). I was a young, confident, 20-something with a couple of things going for her and just enough ambition to work for some other things.

I love my new house. I love that I can create my own space and surround myself with little things that I make beautiful. I can come home exhausted, strip off all of my clothes and fall asleep naked on top of the sheets. I love that (after I have put my clothes on) I can pull up the blinds up in my kitchen and watch the sun set over the trees, fields, fences and department stores of the Valley. I hate standing in that kitchen and cooking for only one person. I hate that I have no one to sit and talk with. I have never been one who really needs sexual interaction with other people (what I do need I can satisfy with a weekend of flirtation), but I have always been a person who needs someone they can feel comfortable with and confide in. I have no one to walk and talk with. I have always had someone like that before.

I love that I have a job with a salary and insurance. I put on professional clothes everyday and show up and try to act like I know what I am talking about. I love the times when I actually do know what I am talking about. I hate that I have no balance in my life. I wake up at 4 in the morning and stay at school working until 6:30 or 7 pm. Then I work some more from home. I hate the feeling that even with those long hours, I am so far behind I will never get caught up. I hate struggling when I am supposed to be leading.

Dear Texas, What If?

If my life were a movie
there would be a sunset
and the camera would pan away
but the sky is just a little sister
tagging along behind the buildings
trying to imitate their grey
the little boys are breaking bottles
along the sidewalk
the big boys, too
the girls are hanging out at the candy store
pumping quarters into the phone
'cause they don't want to go home

and I think,
what if no one's watching
what it when we're dead, we're just dead
what if it's just us down here
what if god ain't looking down
what if he's looking up instead

if my life were a movie
I would light a cigarette
and the smoke would curl around my face
everything I do would be interesting
I'd play the good guy
in every scene
but I always feel I have to
take a stand
and there's always someone on hand
to hate me for standing there
I always feel I have to open my mouth
and every time I do
I offend someone
somewhere

but what
what if no one's watching
what if when we're dead, we're just dead
what if there's no time to lose
what if there's things we gotta do
things that need to be said

you know I can't apologize
for everything I know
I mean you don't have to agree with me
but once you get me going
you better just let me go
we have to be able to criticize
what we love
say what we have to say
'cause if you're not trying to make something better
as far as I can tell
you're just in the way

I mean what
what if no one's watching
what if when we're dead
we're just dead
what if it's just us down here
what if god is just an idea
someone put in your head

I mean what
what if no one's watching
what if no one's watching...

La cocina local

Did you know that in Texas the best place to get a breakfast taco or even a lunch taco is at the gas station? Now, in Colorado that would be like asking for a lower-intestinal disorder, but here they've got little grandmas in the back making the tortillas from scratch. No joke.

Also, my favorite Mexican restaurant that I have been to so far serves green olives in its margaritas. Now, that was a little weird, I am not going to lie.

You Can Read Me Like A Book

But one that you can put down and walk away from.

Without People You're Nothing

That's his spiel.

I appreciate people who give a shit. That's my spiel.

The Best Thing I'll Ever Buy?

Living on my own is starting to look up, largely thanks to the recent purchase of this tool kit. I have already used it to assemble and fix many things around my cozy little place. Tools aside, however, things are crazy and I almost wish the hurricane would come so I could just get a day off. I have already had more run-ins with the Texas police than I care to admit, have butted heads with a few teachers that I shouldn't have, and gone through more cans of Raid than a girl should have to deal with.

It is weird being an "adult." I had always considered myself to be fairly independent before, but now there is no one else to look to when I need to make a decision, and no one else to fix things when I screw up. This is scary and exhilarating, but it is helping me grow and I guess it is what gives me enough power to buy my own set of tools.

I miss the comfort of my old life. The past couple of years were probably the best I've had. I tried to appreciate them while I had them, but now the hindsight is really making me grateful. I miss the people and the lifestyle that I had back home, it is hard to make this dramatic shift and start again from nothing. There are plenty of things and people to fill up my time, but nothing yet that really makes me happy. I hope that will come in time.

All in all, Texas is weird and I can't really say that I like it, but I think it will do me some good.

At the very least, the tools are cool.

Puzzle

I got up early this morning so that I could start to check off the long list of things I have to do. I was on a roll, until I realized that I had run out of things to do that didn't involve me paying someone else. Since that won't be happening for a while, I had the rest of the afternoon to sit around and go crazy in my place. It doesn't make any sense that a person who is such a misanthrope can get so lonely so quickly. Are there ways to meet new people that don't involve going to a bar and drinking by yourself? Let me know if there are suggestions.

When You're A Stranger

Ever since I got down here in the beginning of June, I have been trying to think of a way to describe the Valley. I have been hesitant to do so, but I think now I am ready to give it a shot. However, before I begin I would ask you to pause to put on a Doors album. I don’t think it really matters which one you choose (although “Strange Days” is titled appropriately), all you really need is Jim Morrison’s spooky voice and harmonics and his not-quite-sensical lyrics. No matter what your opinion of the Doors’ music, you will need to have it going on in the background to set the stage here.

You see, life down here is a lot like one of Jim Morrison’s songs. Nothing quite clicks. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there is something very inharmonic in the undercurrent of the daily rhythm. Although there are palm trees and tropical flowers, there is no beauty. There are estates and fancy cars, yet there is no wealth. The tropical flora is here to feebly cover up some sort of deep ugliness that seeps up from the core of the earth. The wealth that is here is very uncomfortable wealth. It is over extravagant because it points at the poverty and says, “I am NOT like that. I am better than that. I will never be like that.” It is nervous and showy because it is trying to be something it will never be. In fact, the atmosphere here is so strange not because it feels like a foreign country, but because it feels so self-consciously “American.” In an effort to blend in, I think the Mexicans are trying to out-American the Americans. The big chain stores are bigger, more plentiful, and better stocked. Olive Garden thrives. The whole world is covered in cement.

And now I understand why nothing clicks here. It is simultaneously familiar and exotic because it is a foreigner’s version of what America looks like. Living here is like looking at a reflection of yourself in one of those carnival mirrors. You know it is you that you’re staring at, but you are just distorted enough that you can’t take your eyes off yourself.

The past few nights, my friend Loren has been sleeping in my bed. And when I say sleeping, I really mean sleeping. There is something so completely platonic in our relationship, it is almost unnatural. I mean, we both like the same kind of music and neither one of us have anyone else to talk to, but the connection ends there. There isn’t anything on a physical, mental, or philosophical level, but I think we both enjoy having someone next to us to talk to as we fall asleep. We doze off talking about work, and when I wake up to get in the shower he plugs his iPod into my Bose speakers and blasts Nina Simone until it is his turn to get dressed.

I went down to Houston
And I stopped in San Antone
I passed up the station for the bus
I was trying to find me something
But I wasn't sure just what
Man I ended up with pockets full of dust

Not the Binders!

I am all moved into my new place. I have a mattress on the floor, a coffee maker, an overdrawn bank account, and three or four house guests every night who share my bed or various air mattresses on the floor in the main room. Wednesday morning we started work again, and I very nearly cried when I walked in the front doors at the Holiday Inn and saw the stacks of three-ring binders and the TFA standard font waiting for us outside of the main conference room. I have been blissfully not writing the past several weeks because I have been blissfully not thinking. Blank stares became my modus operandi as I was told (and I agree) that I strongly resembled my younger sister. I guess I am slowly starting to wake up now, and just in time to try to prevent everything from crashing in around me.

This Weightlessness, Like Sinking

From Moody Towers












To beach access point #15










I went walking by myself along a beach in Galveston. My friends were concerned because I was gone so long they thought I might have drowned. But I just picked up a rock that was smooth, flat and dark, and fit perfectly in the curve of my right index finger. I rubbed it even smoother as I watched small boys with large crab nets, large men with coolers full of beer, and people with fishing poles greedily eyeing the silver fish that would jump out of the water to tease them. I watched pelicans patrol the island and glide inches above the ocean waiting for those silly silver fish to come too close. But after a while I stopped watching and started in on that rhythm that gets me going. I rubbed my finger along that smooth edge and then let it fly above my head as I walked. Toss, wait (one-two-three seconds above my head), catch. Toss, wait, catch. Toss, wait, catch. In that time where the stone hovered between my eyes and the sun, I traveled backwards and forwards in time and space. I traveled to the asteroid belt and back, down to the heaviest parts of the ocean and up to the most weightless parts of the sky. I hovered there above my head like the stone, then came crashing down and into the sweaty palm of my present.

And then it was gone.

But I held onto that stone and then slowly brought it to my mouth and it was cool and salty on my tongue (just like you, I thought). Afterwards I brought it out and put it back in its place in the curve of my right index finger and I thought "two-toned" (just like me, you said).

Who Knew?

We got off school early today because there was a flood warning. Floods? I thought. There are floods? Well, aparantly Texas is one big swimming pool now. This makes sense because it has been raining ever since I got here, but I guess I never really connected the dots that this would lead to massive flooding. I kind of just figured it was the externalization of my inner moodiness, if that is a word. This just goes to show how completely out of the loop I am. Even if it were flooding in my own backyard, I wouldn't look up from my lesson plans.

I was supposed to be videotaped in class again today. I say 'supposed to be' because, although Anna did come in and turn on the video camera in the corner of my room, about 40 minutes into class I looked over there and realized that one of my incredibly bright students had grown tired of being on camera, so they had covered the lense with a piece of paper. Although I was outwardly angry and gave a lecture, I was secretly very grateful and kicking myself for not having thought of that plan earlier. Guess who is paying her students a dollar to cover up the video camera from now on?

My friend Jamie has also let me in on a little secret. You see, in Teach For America world you are supposed to be able to be observed at any time by anyone--fellow Corps members, Advisors, school directors, visiting teachers, local veteran teachers, etc. However, there are only 3 people allowed in the room at one time. In order to monitor this, we have three "visitor passes" that are in a pouch taped to the outside of the door. Before a visitor walks in the class, they have to grab a visitor pass. If there are no visitor passes available, that means three people are already in the room and no more are allowed in. What is so brilliant about Jamie is that he just grabs all three visitor passes and takes them inside with him when he starts teaching. Score 1 for Jamie.

Assuming that the highways are passable and my friend Shara is not sick tomorrow morning, she and I are taking off to spend a night in Austin. I have found an affordable (sketchy) hotel next to 6th street, and am really looking forward to spending some time in a place that doesn't make me want to claw my face off.

P.S. I passed my texes exam so I guess now I am legally certified to be "the instructional leader in my classroom."

I Need This

I know she wrote it for her dog, but I think I need it to come from someplace else. I need relief in the form of a smiling face. I guess relief in the form of this song will do for now.

Get Your Pickup Truck Out of My Space, Girl

In addition to all of the other pressures and stresses of institute, there is one thing that I need to get off my chest. I fucking HATE my roommate. I am currently sitting in the bottom bunk of my bed because this is the only clean place in our room to sit. If I were to take a picture of my dorm, you would notice that 80 percent of the floor space is covered in shit. Knee-deep shit. However, I can’t show you a picture of my dorm room because I loaned by usb cable to her several weeks ago and have not seen it sense. If you were able to see my room, you would probably think, “wow, those two girls are really slobs.” But I would have to stop you right there and point out that the only thing of mine that is on this floor is my school box that takes up about a 1 ft x 1 ft space. Everything else is hers: dirty clothes, empty and full take-out boxes, a fermenting styrofoam cup where she spits after she is done brushing her teeth (because she is too lazy to go to the bathroom) and puts her watermelon that she doesn’t want to eat. She browses facebook for hours at a time on my computer because she can’t find hers buried under a pile of garbage somewhere. She is out drinking right now and all I can do is pray that she comes home sober enough to climb her fucking Southern ass up to the top bunk so she doesn’t try to climb in bed with me (like she did last week) and roll over and talk to me while she tries to remember whether she got fucked by Jim or just merely fingered. She sleeps for 12 hours a day sometimes and on nights when I am only getting 3 hours that really pisses me off. She wakes up in the morning with 0 out of 4 lesson plans prepared and I can only pray that she gets kicked out of TFA. However, I don’t think this is likely to happen because we were just informed by our program director that it is likely we will both be placed at the same school in the RGV. And all I can think to myself is, “not if I don’t pick her lazy, irritating, shit-faced ass up and throw it out the 14^th floor window before we get there.”

And another thing! Would it kill us to get a little air conditioning in here!?!

Digging Deep

and hitting bottom.

Two and a half weeks seems awfully far away.

Goddamn Right It's A Beautiful Day

When I was a kid, I don't think I realized how the teachers probably looked forward to the weekend more than I did.

Let's hear it for Friday!

Boots down, bottle up...

Troutcher

On morning duty in the cafeteria today Angelica walked up to me shyly and showed me her homework. I was ecstatic, especially considering that I did not assign homework last night. Although I did not get a chance to read her essay until after I was done teaching for the day, I was so proud of her that I started to read it out loud to some of my fellow teachers who were sitting around debriefing with me. Toward the end, I had to stop reading because my voice was shaking so badly. Apparently I have to enforce legal ramifications now.

The way I grew up was harD for me mom hated me my Dad left couldnt think right. My mom alway even untill this Day that my DaD is Back my mom blemes me that is my flaut that He left us. I Love my family but some ties I hate my mom is a gruge. A gruge that I have inside and I know that it seem crazy but some time I troutcher my mom any way posible. Sometime in my mind I think wey Dont I Kill her. As I said I know it seem crazy what I think in my mind but what I heard from my Brother. My Brother told me that she was burning his hands just Because he got $10 from her purse. My brother Did get burn the thing was so hot he tought there was a scar.

It's the second day kids. I'm not ready for this shit.

Take 2

and so it begins

One Day

Today I am sick. Too sick to get on the school bus at 6:30 and too sick to get out of bed until just now. Fevered, shaking, sweating, and cold, I dream of this place.

To Troxell Hall

In the Rio In the Rio Grande Valley there are palm trees and tropical flowers lining the streets. There are 310 kinds of butterflies and 500 kinds of birds. Then there is pavement, cement, and cinder blocks as far as the eye can see. In the Rio Grande Valley the streets are paved and filled with cars and booming industry. Then you fight back tears and nausea as you rinse the raw sewage and dirt off your shoes. In the Rio Grande Valley there are bridges lined by begging hands that lead to rows of dentists and pharmacies. In the Rio Grande Valley you meet skeptical eyes asking the question, "Why the hell did you come here?" Then you meet eyes that don't yet know they're supposed to be skeptical. In the Rio Grande Valley you remember who you used to be, and who you used to want to be. Then you are just grateful for who you are. In the Rio Grande Valley you remember the conditions that make people who they are. In the Rio Grande Valley things aren't different, but you know they're not the same. You see billboards and stores just like from home, but they're not at all like the ones you know. In the Rio Valley you can feel the heat, the tension, the hope, the disillusionment, and the desperation rising from the ground. Then you forget about the rest of those things and just focus on the heat.

Lights, Camera, Action

I pulled up to Moody Towers in Houston today at about 4:00 pm Central Time. Just as I was about to turn off my car and check in, these lines came through my speakers.

I don't really know what I'm doing
Just watching myself in some play
And the actress looks like she wants to go home
And lie in bed all day
Yeah lie in a big bed all day

Now THAT is something I can sympathize with. There are so many other things that have been going on that I can't yet express, but she summed up that one for me.

I wish I had time to write now, but I am slowly eeking into the 3 or 4 hours of sleep I will get tonight and every night for the next five weeks. This is one hell of a play that I am putting on right now.

Waiting (and counting)

She was standing at the corner of commerce and soledad.
Brown skin, brown hair, blue dress, counting eyes and moving lips.
Three white, two black, one red, one silver.
Eight in all this stop, three hundred and eight so far this morning.
Light changed to green and she would start again.
One blue, one black, one green, one black, one white. Stop. Start again.

Maybe out of sympathy or camaraderie, I started counting too.
Counting things that went wrong and things that went right.
Counting time.
Miles (1315).
Songs.
Kisses.
Wishes.

Mejor

Yup, today has been much better. The highways were lined with wildflowers, the people were friendly and not at all like zombies, the Spanish markets were busy, the river walk was lush, the dancing and music were plentiful, and the margaritas were cheap (and plentiful).

I think I could take a day off the road and spend another night here.

Ugliest Town I've Ever Seen

So far, my experiences in Texas can be summed up in two words: 'da fuck?

Maybe it's just because I just spent all day driving and so have been mostly singing and talking to myself and Pikachu (whom I now just call 'achu'), but everything in this state seems to be more than a little bit messed up. I am bewildered by the acres of wind farms right next to the acres of oil refineries, the huge statues by the highway of a suffering Jesus Christ, the deer that ran into my car, the optimism in the travel literature that covers up the crappiness of the places, town names like 'New Deal' and 'Justiceburg,' and the friendly people who smile at you in a way that makes you want to curl up in a ball and cry. That description doesn't make it sound much different from other Midwest interstate towns that I've been too, and maybe it's not. The thing that scares me the most about places like this is that they seem so eerily empty. Even though there are cars on the highway, the hotels are almost full, and there are malls and grocery stores, these towns and the people in these towns seem like they are just waiting to die or get blown away. You can smell it and taste it in the air.

Also, I just got back from a disappointing trip around the city of Abilene. I was looking for three things (and I would have been happy to find just one of them), but I struck out. First, I was looking for a car wash. My poor civic is all beat up and filthy too, but I guess I will have to take care of her another day. I was also looking for the reason why Abilene is the prettiest town that one guy's ever seen, but I am afraid that he must have been talking about a different Abilene. I took a couple of pictures of my dirty car and the dirty city, but I can't find my camera cord right now so I will have to post them later. I was also looking for a decent looking place to find some food and someone to talk to, but all the places and all of the people here scare me so I ordered a pizza to my hotel room instead.

In spite of all of those things, the road trip has actually been a pretty good time for me. It's been nice to have some time to relax and be a goofball by myself in my car. I think I left most of the small voices and the stress somewhere in Southern Colorado, and now I am happy and calm. Even though I have enjoyed the time by myself, I think that two days is more than enough of that for me, and I am starting to ache for someone to talk to. I am bored and starting to get lonely. Tomorrow afternoon I will be in San Antonio and hopefully the people will be a little less like white-trash zombies.

Next Stop

Fuck

Did you know that they make air conditioners that plug into the cigarette lighter of your car? They look like this and use about 20 lbs of ice an hour. Shoot me.

Gone

I went to bed one day and realized that it was gone.

All that pain.

All that hurt, anger, insecurity, jealousy, ugliness.

It didn't happen overnight, but I just realized it one night. I actually felt like I had been telling myself I should feel all along. It's amazing when those things you tell yourself and the reality actually do match up.

The only weird thing is that I feel like I am missing something. I feel like an amputee. That gangrened limb is finally gone (thank god), but still...it was a part of me.

Don't worry, it's just the ghost pains now.

This lonesome feeling

I'd make a song of, if I knew how.
That's what JC Oates said to me.
And this empty feeling
I'd make a poem of, if I knew how.
That's what I said to you.

but instead of writing singing or crying thinking or running fucking I just maintain. sort through open bins of precious jewels, sink my fingers deeper in and choose which ones would shine when hanging around my plump neck, imagine myself like that, then put them all back and walk away. write lines and plot meter and verse, then control-a, delete, walk away. out on the street corner, pawning my eyes for a pack of hubba-bubba gum, please sir anything helps, god bless. walk away. truth is, between you and me, it's not tragic or happy or anything like that. the truth is that there are appointments to keep and to not keep, there are things to do and to not do, and everything else gets lost in between. truth is, between you and me, you aren't even there anymore. but that's okay because i think i am gone too. i wonder which one of us left first.

the sun has come out now and it's time to go.

i am leaving, clutching onto those few words and holding them close to my breast. i bring them to my mouth and gasp like a diver gasps for those first few breaths of air. those few words, unsaid, but not unknown.

what were they again?

that was a joke.
i can't forget.

Great Divide

In the canyons of the great divide
Familiar places
that we can run and hide
Are filled with strangers
Walking in our houses alone

In the great divide
Nothing to decide
No one else to care for or love
In the great divide
You won't fit in too well

On the horses of the carousel
She rides alone with you and me
She rides like she knows
Wherever she goes, we'll be there

On the carousel
Life is going well
Anyone can tell, we're in love
On the Carousel
You're gonna like the way you feel

You and I we got caught down there
In the twisted canyons
of the great divide
We walked the floor
Now we don't go there anymore

In the great divide
Nothing to decide
No one else to care for or love
In the great divide
You don't fit in too well

In the great divide
Nothing to decide
No one else to care for or love
In the great divide
You won't fit in too well

It snowed on our daffodils.
They survived.

The sun came out today and we lay in the grass in shorts and t-shirts, talking about good things to come.

Good things
To come.

The Other Side of Spring Break

There are more books that I need to read in my room and scattered throughout the house, but I was feeling too lazy to go and collect them all, even if it would have made a more impressive picture.

Good thing the weather is turning, I need to spend some time inside.

Spring Break

For the past few days I have had this song floating in and out of my head

I looked out the window and what did I see?
Popcorn popping on the apricot tree.
Spring has brought me such a nice surprise,
Blossoms popping right before my eyes!

It is a song from my Primary days at church. I am not sure if it is a Mormon specific song, but it always brings back memories of sing-alongs and animal crackers, and of later hiding in the bathroom so we didn't have to go to class. Who could blame us?

Today has been beautiful. I woke up and could smell blueberry muffins baking downstairs. I can't think of anything that smells better than muffins on a Sunday morning. Cathleen packed up and left on her trip, and I spent the morning on the back porch with a laptop, researching prices on motorcycle pants and later looking for a tattoo artist whose work I like. I found a couple of guys in Boulder who look like they've done some amazing things, so in the next couple of months I might be giving them a call. Last night I took a permanent marker and drew an outline of the tattoo I want on a couple of different places on my body. I think now I know where I want it and I like looking down and seeing it there. I was kicking around the idea of getting it done on my birthday, but I'll be in Texas then so I guess I will have to get it done a little bit earlier.

After a nap and a shower, I took my motorcycle out and rode up to Carter Lake. There were more bicycles out today than I remember seeing in a long time, and the cars were swerving all over the road to avoid the herds. This made passing a problem, but I thought 'what the heck, you're not on a sport bike, yet' so I just sat back in third gear and contemplated very important things like the sky-blue sky, the grass-green grass, the purple, snow-capped mountain majesties, and my path of travel through the gravelly turns. I did get a couple of spots of open road, where I decided to pretend like I was on a sport-bike, so I leaned forward and rolled-on the throttle. I made it up over 90 for some stretches, which on my bike is about as high as you can go.

Other activities today have included laying in the grass and reading about High John the Conker , getting caught in the cross-fire of a neighborhood water-gun fight, and going for a walk with Caitlin around the park. Later I will make some scampi and chicken for us all to eat out on patio.

I like this. I like spring and I like spring break. I like that my life is so easy and sweet and under control. I wish it could stay like this for a goodlong time, but soon a change is coming. In just over four weeks I will have a "diploma" and a few weeks after that I will have a "job" far away from all these happy things and people. I know I deal well with change and they do too, but I don't like having to think about dealing with it just yet.

I wish I could stretch this spring out and make it last.

Some things in this house, I just can't relate to

No one has ever been in love with me and so I guess it follows that I have never had my heart broken. No one else can break what you don't give away. But, I don't know what to say to those who have given it away and have had it shred apart and given back.



I was wondering today how long it takes of someone constantly disappointing you before disappointment turns into expectation. Maybe it's a defense mechanism. If you're expecting it, it doesn't hurt so much.

I am wondering tonight how long it takes of not being loved before I begin to expect that I will never be loved. Does it hurt less if it doesn't come? Still hurts now, but maybe I am still hoping.

And suddenly you're in love with everything...

Dollars spent on concert tickets: 18
Number of minutes we stood outside watching the band watch us: 30
Number of times I shook bdb's hand: 1
Dollars spent on red bulls and rock stars so that I could stay up all night and study after the show: 9.15
Number of times I thought 'this is amazing:' many
Number of times I though 'I should be studying right now:' 0
Hours of sleep I got: 2
Experience of watching one of the happiest shows I have seen: priceless (and better for my soul than 8 hours of sleep)

Dr. Dolittle, I presume

I speak over two thousand languages, including Dodo and Unicorn. I had a classical education.

After polishing their sprinkles, and training all the spring animals in team work, balance, and photogenics, we were exhausted and were left with no other choice but to eat them.

C'est la vie, circus animals, c'est la vie.

Why I have the best explorer monkey friend in the whole world

It's harder than you might think

"What can be made of atheists, then? If the evolutionary view of religion is true, they have to work hard at being atheists, to resist slipping into intrinsic habits of mind that make it easier to believe than not to believe."

Conversation with myself:
You're still left with that endemic need (that endemic hole) to believe in something. But, confined by logic and rationality, is it possible to fill that? If you can't fill it with god, can you fill it with love? no. beauty? even that is stretching it. Do you limp along with that huge hole in your side, constantly searching while constantly being disappointed? If you're not imaginative enough to fill it yourself, can you relish in the imagination of others? Is it enough to know that other people have something to believe in, even if you yourself do not? No.

Conversation with Zooey:
Yes, Zooey, you were right. Science seems to agree with you. But, tell me, what is my religion?


Silence.

Hmm...

To think, to think, to thinking I must go.

I haven't quite forgotten how it feels.

I want to feel it again.

Beauty

a quality present in a thing or person that gives intense pleasure or deep satisfaction to the mind, whether arising from sensory manifestations (such as shape, color, sound, etc.), a meaningful design or pattern, or something else (such as personality). Said another way, "beauty" is a quality of a person, object, place, or idea that provides a perceptual experience of pleasure, affirmation, meaning, or goodness. The subjective experience of "beauty" often involves the interpretation of some entity as being in balance and harmony with nature. This leads to powerful feelings of attraction and emotional well-being. In its most profound sense, beauty may engender a salient experience of positive reflection about the meaning of one's own existence. An "object of beauty" is anything that reveals or resonates with personal meaning.