Let it Snow, I Say, for the First Time Ever

I keep hoping for a snow day tomorrow because I really just want to take the day to cry and scream and get all this emotional crap out of my system.

My emotions have been rampant this week, and I'm sure part of the reason is Alexis' passing and my inability to brace myself and tear off scabs. Some kids acted up in class yesterday and today, and I just--I haven't felt so enraged for some time, fire in my blood, sharp on the outside but not overly so--that quiet, level rage breaking forth. Writing that referral felt good. But I know it doesn't mean a damn thing to him. I wasn't even embarrassed by his noncompliance--I just felt justified.

Then the teacher's been out for days and I just want to know what we're doing with my unit with the seniors so I can accommodate whatever he needs, but I get the feeling the students don't even care about what I have to say. This disrespect inflames me. I couldn't care less if they liked me--I just want their respect. But I'm a newbie, a temp, so I guess I can't really expect it. So I keep asking myself if I'm giving it to them. I wonder if everyone has different ideas of what respect looks like. I wonder if I'm not meeting their needs.

Two more solid weeks. Then a four-day week. Then another two solid weeks. God, give me patience and strength and creativity and adaptability and flexibility and understanding and authority and everything else. And please heal my teacher but give us the timing we need to work together over logistics and discussions and teachings.

And please let it snow and ice and hail so school's closed. Don't let anyone get hurt though.

I Lift Mine Eyes Up to the Hills

Strange how one text can shatter your world, yet denial keeps the fractures perfectly shielded as you blink and wonder what in the hell is wrong with Autocorrect or T9 and then--

"Alexis Monasterio is dead..."

Blank stares.
Tossing and turning.
Sleep is far,
Rise and read for yourself.

Some dickhead makes some comment about jaywalkers
So you go to bed again, this time pissed.
Two hours in and you're at stage two.

Two phone calls.
Explaining, voice fairly strong,
Twice
What's happened. (Yet, strangely, your parents haven't called.)

Miss a third phone call.
Wake up to a friend
Trying to hold it together
As she asks you what went down.

Jump into stage Depression
But try to wipe it from your face.
Still a student notices,
Asks why you're so glum.

Maybe you should've cracked,
Just told them.
But your throat doesn't work
The words too lumpy, sticky,
Burning in your gullet.

Back to denial.
Keep it at arm's length.

Then you lip-scream to a favorite song
And the cold and the lyrics and the moment
Make tears prick your eyelids.

But you have seminar
So you suck it up.
For now.

Prayers are already hard--
Now they seem impossible.
But He knows your spirit,
Knows your words
Their intentions.

So you give Him your nothingness,
Pray He makes miracles out of your chaos.

Smile because you know
You'll see her smile again.
And her cakes will taste even better
With all that nectar and ambrosia.

Where does my help come from?
My [hope] comes from the Lord--
The Maker
Of heaven and earth.

Musings in the Shadow of the Valley

I don't think I'll be remembered.

And I'm perfectly okay with that.

Seems to me like our society is big on individuals becoming legends and leaving a legacy. I thought I could have that when I left my high school, but now that I'm a teacher, I realize that no one up and coming remembers or even knows those that have left, nevermind who they were or how they acted or what they did.

Tonight I wondered where this counter-culture feeling in me started. When my friend from middle school always talked about how we'd be friends forever, I knew we wouldn't. I knew that wasn't how life worked. I knew we'd drift apart (an ominous foreshadowing of our falling out). I just...I had a realistic view of the future, I guess. And part of me was certain she'd go on to be famous and forget all about me.

I wondered if I'd ever had any thoughts like that sooner in my life, before meeting her. Not that I'm aware of.

By now some of you probably think I'm fishing for compliments or being falsely modest, but unless I'm deluding myself--which is entirely possible--I really don't put stock into being remembered. Sure, I'll be considered briefly, maybe thought about fondly, but I'm not going to impact anyone so deeply that my name will forever live on. Maybe my ideas, my thoughts, will but they'll be free-floating in this stream of consciousness that is humanity without my name or identity attached.

And I'm okay with that.

I find it difficult to believe that anyone could be radically changed by something I did. I don't believe that's possible. I think a lot of other factors come into play, and I just happen to be one of them. I'm not significant. And that's okay. 

But then I wonder if this means I'm not confident in anything I do.

A student's parent replied to a mass email I sent out, saying her daughter sang my praises. I was dumbfounded. Then I rationalized, based on the context of the email and the student and her relationship with Mr. Smith, that this girl probably already flourishes in every English class (maybe every class regardless of subject) with ease. I didn't have anything to do with it.

I listened to an hour long conversation between my roommate and her former roommate. I didn't reply, didn't say anything. Just sat there and listened. I learned much, but I realized my roommate must not have respect for me because I am light years beneath her. We've never talked like that, and she's never understood me like she understood her old roommate. Those two were on the same level of eloquence, of intellect, that I didn't even dare to utter a sound for fear of revealing how utterly poor I am. I always receive, but I can never seem to give back. Instead I concede in order to learn. How can I expect to teach?

My students don't respect me, don't respect themselves. I don't know how to reach them, to find them, to make them see. I'm not like the sub that could just chat with them about anything. "All about building relationships," he said. That's just...not me. I live in a closed-off way because I know that I will only disappoint and be disappointed. By never offering myself, I never have to let that disappointment crush me.

I keep thinking about how my teaching career should energize me and excite me, but it doesn't. I feel lost. What scares me the most is the fact that I can't back out--I have nothing to fall back on. This is all I know, all I have, and I'm so close to finishing.

But I suck at this. I'm not educated enough, not smart enough to teach, to help kids learn. I hate myself for hating this job, for fearing this job.

I hate myself in general. I keep trying to lose weight and get healthy, but I eat and eat and god then I--my roommate called me on it the other day, just joking around about how I'd be eating ever since I got back. That had been an hour ago. As soon as she said it, I hated myself and chucked my food. Then I went to bed. Because when I'm sleeping, I'm not eating, not blowing up into this fat ugly ogre that I actually am, not trying to fix that overeating with other bad habits. So I slept.

I hate how ugly I am, how unhealthy I am--mind, body, spirit--Oh, Abba, my spirit. I don't have words for You anymore, Abba. I don't know what to pray anymore.

I know this is just another valley, another low tide in the ever fluctuating ebb-and-flow of life. I know I'll climb a mountain again and rest on another plateau and inevitably return here and begin again. I know that. So I'll keep climbing, keep trying, keep hoping. Because what else am I going to do?