Infirmities. Move along, there's nothing left to see.
I have found that recently, my life has been comprised of only a few elements.
I have spent much of my time being quiet and in my head, like I've been starved for these moments of quiet solitude on my own. It's day dreaming, but it's not either. I have been sitting down abruptly and wondering what I'm doing with my life, and wondering if I have enough time to stop and think about the path that it is taking, and whether or not I'm handling that wheel that steers me down the path, or it is set on cruise control.
Too much of our lives are spent filling the air with talk that is meaningless. I have realized that it is a uniquely Western thing, this thing we call phatic communion, and have been wondering about the value of words as due course of this abuse. I mean, the greatest moments I have shared with some have not involved words. Or sex, just as a clarifying aside.
I had all these worries at the beginning of the week, about money, school, friends who serve as their own worst enemies, performance, lack thereof...and I've found that they are no longer here, which is the biggest worry. I feel like I'm looking at a busy horizon, like I'm displaced from it, and all I'm doing to participate is widening my eyes blankly, though never wide enough that I can fully take it all in. Pure unadulturated apathy. I feel like I'm just around too many people, and that it is becoming something forced to be involved in the daily fracas of what we do. It doesn't mean I love anyone less, it just means that I'd rather be at home walking around in the woods by myself right now and getting away from this overpopulated dirty mess of a place.
And then there is the contradiction to the whole thing. The rub. I have not been touched, like truly touched, in a long time. I have my odd instillments of hugs from Bento, which shouldn't really even bear mentioning, but the fact that I have not been just held by anyone in a long time is weighing on me. I have good friends who love me, but no one here that I could just sit quietly and rest my head on their shoulder
with. Although, it isn't incredibly strange either. I've never had friends that see eye to eye with me on physical comfort levels.
I've found that the longer I sit down and stare at the details in any given spot where I am standing, on a visual level, the more I need to remove myself from what stresses surround me. This attention to detail, always feels like I'm trying to lose myself with visions and knowlege I don't need to know-- it serves as some very strange escapism, to fill my head with an intricate picture of a cracked and muddy sidewalk, over say, the elements of classroom management.
I'm in love with Com Lag right now, which doesn't help much. All it makes me want to do is blot out and watch the world go by with a beautiful soundtrack-- without me in it.
The screening was tonight. Our movie was extremely beautiful, continuance errors and all. People seem to be concerned about minimal visuals of Elaugh, but really....it doesn't matter to me. She had a fun day. That mattered. The barn scenes were beautiful though. For the whole week waiting to see the final product, I kept thinking about that footage in the barn, with the flecks of dust and straw floating in the sun shining through the slats. It was quite an amazing place.
I think I've been in a weird place lately. Hence no posts, and no real good people skillz, or great moments of Emerson-isms lately. I'm beginning to be exhausted by all of this.
Problem? I think.
So, I being the egotist as usual, went to go check my blogpatrol stats today:
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In all seriousness though, the buzz of people searching for information on Golden Hars is just getting louder. I am going to start working on this as a side project, but I'm wondering if someone could ...actually no....I can do this, because I can upload stuff to the uofa server, but I might need help at that particular stage...SO, if someone could volunteer some assistance for that time, I'd really appreciate it. I mean, it's not going to be anything glamorous, this site o' mine, but there are a few things that I'd like to do with it.
I'd like to have a professional sort of tone to it, but not professional in an unapproachable way. Criterion
*I'd like to have different aspects of Golden hars (traits/symptoms, background, related sites, etc....) as pages, so I'm not just lumping everything I know into one page of horribleness.
*I'd also like to have a commentary page/guestbook (so nineties...)and another link to serve as sort of the beginnings of an online support group. Because obviously, there are people out there that aren't knowing much, and are probably as alone on the subject as I am.
*And...this is something discussable, (whether it's a good idea or bad), I'd like one page at least of my own personal story of what it has been like for me to have GH.
Of course, the other thing is, is that I go and revamp "Because Ghandi Says So" into something that is simply just a data page with contact information. This would be easier, but I want something that could be kept more organized, and thus seem more authoritative with the knowlege I've gathered in the last ten years about it.
If anyone is interested in actually getting in on the action of putting this together, past helping me upload it, let me know.
They'll like you better if you wear pants.
It has come about that no longer is it relevant how much you actually know about the world, or care about the students, but rather, whether you can estrange yourself from them completely. And if you don't do it via your clothing and sardonic condescending attitude, you will do it because you don't care about kids, since, apparently, our third year is made to weed out the aspiring teachers who do actually care about the welfare of their students, and genuinely want to be there.
I mean, I know I'm not the most stellar student in the world, but my conviction to be a damn good teacher has never waivered in the long run-- this being the only thing that hasn't in the course of almost four years. And yeah, there is something to the addage "well, if you cared that much, you'd do amazing in school", but the fact is that I am doing my damndest already.
I realized this week that I hadn't thought about any other alternatives to teaching as a life-long career either. I never saw myself as doing any different after I decided to follow this path in 2002. And after this long-haul, I all of a sudden realize it is too easy to be unsuccessful at it, for all the wrong reasons. And, given this, I have nothing to fall back on, whatsoever. I would have to start school anew, with admittedly, a fair chunk of credit in English (endeavor towards my own bachelor of useless? Perhaps) and a tiny chunk of credit in Fine Arts.
These are the things I've come up with. A paramedic. A professional photographer (ooh, the big bucks...right). A writer (HA HA HA). An artist (HA HA HA HA HA HA ...). A guidance counselor. Because really, aren't all guidance counselors just teachers who didn't make the grade and had scurvy personalities? Hmmm, now that I am actually thinking about it, I haven't got a lot of optomistic alternatives. I really like Anthropology, but it is really hard to do anything with an Anthro degree. However, I do like geology enough, that I could possibly persue that too- which would be a completely "from the ground UP" thing, as would many of these ideas.
I guess I'm not sunk yet, but I feel pretty frustrated right now. I hate this faculty. Monkeys could run it better. Yeah that's right you scurvy assfaces. MONKEYS.
Today, I have filed a complaint against my UF. And somehow I doubt that (despite the heated advocation today of doing this by several classmates and one prof) it will be recieved with any sympathy. Tomorrow, I go in and have a discussion of injustice against arguably one of the most formidable and notoriously bastardly profs in the faculty, on one count of misinformation and being an all around asshole, and another count of his TA's being incompetant, and another count of him just being a shitty prof.
The awfulness of my faculty is reaching a head, I've realized. Today I spent a fair amount of my time thinking of terrific ways to stage an uprising and a coup to remove anyone over the age of thirty from all schools and universities having anything to do with education degrees. Excluding my dominatrix of discipline, and my minor prof, of course. They rule. They alone, because they are notorious rule breakers, are the only two people in any education course that I've encountered, that have impressed me so far.
ESCHELONS BE DAMNED. TO HECK.
Jezuz H. Zeus...to think that all I wanted to do was teach kids and make some sort of difference in the world. I guess I do have to pay my dues, although I hadn't anticipated that it would be the gauntlet of ferocious old stodges doing violent things in my general direction with staples, rubrics, rulers and/or protractors.
Welcome to my jungle: a post long overdue
Ok, so some of you are in the know that I did my practicum last week. And what a joy that was. I haven't been feeling compelled to blog because we already have to do "professional reflection" on our days, and I've always had this thing about being tired and having to repeat myself. But I think it's about worn off now, so here goes, lol.
The school I went to was a junior high with about 300 or so kids in it, which was a nice size. It's also got a reputation as a bit of a tough school, which I totally didn't really find when I got there. I would have said my highschool was rougher than that school is. However, that said, I also realize there is a lot I haven't seen that goes on in said school either. Some of the stuff I did see was sort of disheartening at times though, I have to admit. A few of these teachers are seriously in the wrong place in their heads for teaching junior high kids. Grace Kelly nailed it on the head today when she said, "teachers aspiring to be highschool teachers, and not getting there yet". But I hardly think this should give much excuse to the two that I saw who were either namecalling with their students (I mean, nimrod is not a harsh term necessarily, but from a teacher in a school with kids who come from some pretty bad backgrounds...it bothered me a lot), or humiliating kids in front of class (the one I saw had a learning disability. Double your fun, double the trauma...like fuck. I noticed that a lot of them had just hit this complete level of professional stagnation in their careers, which was hella not encouraging at ALL. I vow right now, to not turn into those saggy breasted murky parasite breeding ponds.
My first day was hell. They are junior high kids, and some of them are the biggest brats you'll ever meet at first. It was just really overwhelming. Meet the teachers. Learn the rules. Make sure your mentor knows who you are. Don't break any rules. Look beautiful, etc. I had a substitute in the last class that I got rotated through also, which was hard on me too, because he expected me to be "mz disciplinary" right away, and kept shooting glares for not "stepping up" in situations. Seriously? Are you serious? These kids didn't even know who I was, let alone what I was doing there, and I was just supposed to be the disciplinary step-in? LOL. It was terrible, but surprisingly, the little that I did do, actually went well. I'm finding though, that I have to find my own way of doing things though, because the teachers sort of expect you to do it how they would do it, and .... some of those methods are completely ineffective, and some of them are just like....if you had someone say something like that to you right now-- you'd slap them. Why treat kids any different then how you'd want to be treated? Here's where the traditionalist would step in and say shit about respect and the necessary need for total authority and whatnot, but ....no, not really.
The rest of the week after that first day went swimmingly though. I got to know a lot of the kids surprisingly well, and I daresay, I might be the "cool" student teacher out of the bunch of us (I'm not going to go there).
I totally did get crucified on friday though, with the threat of the termination of my practicum...because the custodian and I were not seeing eye to eye on the whole "smoking" thing, and things were miscommunicated and witnessed, and it was ugly.
There is a teacher at my school, whom I don't have to deal with really, but she has this vendetta against me *conspiriatal tone*. She just shoots me with little lead bullets shooting out of her aqueous humor, EVERY time she sees me. S
The thing that is starting to bug me the most though, is that rather than just out and out teaching things like "smoking is bad, here's why, here's what they think you're going to do" , we have to pretend like it doesn't exist. I mean, I understand the logic of being a good role model- but it lessens the honesty level between a teacher and a student (I've been wondering, and I'm still thinking about this) if all of a sudden a teacher has to hide humanistic traits (ie- addiction). I don't know.
Meanwhile, I almost fuck over my whole practicum because I'm not allowed to smoke on the sidwalk outside the school fence. "Go further away."
Ugh, this is a lame post. More later maybe.
Asleep on the verb. God wants me to be Indie.
The comic is finished. Unfortunately, while I gazed fondly at it this morning, it looked beautiful, but the more I looked at it, the more I grew to dislike it. And this was after working until 4 am to finish it. Three and a half hours of sleep last night- was a drastic improvement from my then-state. However, it left my body assuming that any given position of stasis for the rest of the day was permission to resume sleeping. I have never taken the entire allotted time to write an exam before. It was like I sat down and magically caught every single learning disability listed on all eighty mystical chance questions. And I giggled really loud on a question about dyslexia, which was hideous. I kept bumping the elbows of the people that I was wedged between. I got clausterphobic (fratboy gym teachers intermingled with mysteriously sourced old lady smell), I got hot and sweaty, and generally rocked out to narcolepsy for the whole thing and woke up with thirty minutes left to pull my act together from question 56. Which, I did. I have a pretty fool proof way of doing m.c.'s and passing if I know I'm gonna be like this.
Have you ever been reading something (say...a question on a test worth 30% of your mark?)and had it transform to some tragically funny story about a misdiagnosed blind girl who falls down a manhole? Yeah, you think misdiagnosed would mean "not blind", but apparently not in my head. This midterm was like the most terrible "lets get stoned AND drunk" episode ever. This is not the first time this has happened, but then again...I haven't felt so perpetually in a state of "drunk" before either. Now that I've eaten some prized chocolate mint ice cream, I'll even be able to simulate the puking part.
I got hit on by a guy painted blue with a fluorescent orange wig on (and blue hardhat accessory) today. It was something akin to "hey, you could pierce my nipples with your cute buttons anytime you want to."
"Hmmm...Or I could just poke out your eyes with them."
And then some indie kid shared the largest meal he probably has in a day, and gave me about five smarties because I was laughing at him.
It's raining spit
It's funny how sleep affects people differently. So many people get alarmed about the lack of it, and so many people use it as their motif.
Sleep and I...we have a funny relationship. My body seems to need it, but my mind thrives without it. I feel more distinctly aware of things around me when I'm sleep deprived. My "left brain" becomes more in-tune (presumably because my right brain is completely exhausted, which my poor hearing when I'm tired can be attributed to). Examples of this are in those commutes that always seem so surreal to me after I've basically gone three days on ten hours of sleep. I start reading things backwards and computing them backwards. Delusional perhaps, but I see it as this poignantly intelligent madness when I'm sitting there listening to the lyrics of the songs playing on my mp3 player, and wondering why the world is moving so fast around me when it really doesn't have to. If I was less easy going, I think that the rapidity of this movement and the intense awareness I have of it would be liable to make me snap at every little thing that I found irritating, but somehow, it doesn't work like that. At some point in the night of toil, a light comes on, and you almost cease to care about everything except that one task you are focussed on. Except for your boyfriend who has been coaching you through the whole thing while lamenting his 'tanky' state, which apparently is an 'ism' for gassiness attributable to canned corn.
.skcart ffo yatS Tracks off stay.
.noitutitsorp dlihc tneverP Prostution child prevent.
.duol si toidi tahT Loud is idiot that.
So...logically, I should be sleeping so I don't sleep through my alarm that isn't loud enough to wake me no matter what calamities arise
tomorrow, but I'm feeling productive, like I am going to draw the best goddamn comic art statement ever. So I'll go do it. Procrastination doesn't even seem like an option right now, which is shocking. It's my last project of the week, aside from my introduction letter and a meeting on Thursday with my UF, and two midterms. No...I am not really studying. I realized this morning that I've been fooling myself for four years with the idea that me "studying" actually made a difference. My teacher told me so. I don't know. Things may change.
But it could all just be a trick of my mind.
Go on...ask me how my day was...I dare you! Having started out the day a little blurry-headed from last night's debauchery, I was not certain how it would go, but relatively certain that it would involve some sort of familial disaster or another. Surprise!
Today was the day of the interrment of my grandparent's ashes. It was an agreement that this would not be done for either of my grandparents until they had both passed away, I guess, so we ended up burying both of their little wooden boxes today, in my aunt's plot (I had an aunt who was killed in a car accident when she was nineteen....hence my middle-name-sake).
It's funny, though, because it was a day like this that really got me thinking about how we as society deal with death. I think most of us didn't know what to expect when it came to doing this task, although admittedly each of us, I'm sure, brought our own ideas of how to "do" things. But with my family, this is always an inevitability anyways-- that we all do our own thing, no matter how strange it is. But I realized that death and mourning as a conservative thing, is not necessarily the case after today. Well, at least that it shouldn't be.
It was sort of a bittersweet afternoon, actually. We all met at my aunt's plot (Summer...something cemetary--it's a very beautiful cemetary on the south side)in the brisk fall afternoon, milling about and being mindful of other gravesites as we talked heatedly about cat shows and other daily events, basically playing "catch-up" with everyone as we waited for things to unfold.
The day previous, my father had hired the caretaker to bore two holes about four feet in depth, into my aunt's grave. This cost seven hundred dollars apparently, and so, when we got there, there were these two very neat little holes and a small pile of dirt next to the headstone. Now, the caretaker was also supposed to be there to ummm...do the shovel bit, but he was a no-show, which later proved to be very amusing.
It was actually surprisingly emotional for all of us though, in varying levels. My red-eyed aunts, my stoned uncle and his constant reminders to everyone that he was a Catholic, my cousins trying to be mature and not be disrespectful, listening to Harlot's lecture on "cemetary etiquette", and laughing at my dad's non-chalant attitude towards the thing, my mom trying to keep the aunts calm, and me, not seeing anything that was going on, having been delegated to the back of the crowd that is my amazingly eccentric family gathering at the cemetary.
We ended up waiting there for quite a while in the chilly cold, for the caretaker to show up with a spade, and also for my tardy aunt and my stoned uncle. He with the pupils the size of pin pricks upon arriving. We passed the time with talks about the two new cats that my aunt Bird is getting, the new dog that Grace Kelly is getting, and the up and coming move to the boonies for Harlot (hence the dirt bike...her son needed a decent bribe for the malajustment that will later result from going to a new junior high school in the middle of a semester). Lots and lots of news, and of course, bantering about the dead, and how "quiet" the neighborhood was.
Again...the care taker did not show up. I imagined that he'd fallen down a grave somewhere in a drunken stupor and was confronting his own demons. It got colder, and the wind rattled the branches of the huge pine tree that shades my aunt's grave. If that tree ever needs to be pulled out, I forecast a problem with roots and rotting caskets. Finally, my father decided to get down to business, and we all huddled around the grave, and the two holes covered in ply wood with little wooden boxes perched on them. Words were spoken, and tears were shed, and I didn't see much of anything. I mean, it didn't matter, except for the fact that the lummox that was standing in front of me was my stoned uncle, being all ministerly and entirely too touchy feely sappy for my taste.
"Kumbaya your ass out of my way, and no, I don't want to talk about how I'm doing at school, if I'm working, while my grandparents are being lowered into the ground in their little wooden boxes."
I stood and held my mom's hand, which made me feel like a little kid, but in a good way, as a group decision was made about how to bury them. And it was just like that that I realized how unimportant the whole thing was right then, and that I understood how my father could be so non-chalant about doing this today. I mean, really....they're ashes. I mean, yeah, they were once people, but ashes....you're not halfway gone, you're not rotting, you're just not here period. Being cremated seems like this incredibly freeing thing to me now, because it's so --you don't even exist anymore, and you never will again. In horror flicks, people are always so reassured when vampires get hit by light and incinerate into ashes, and now I get it. There are no left-overs, you know? The formality of anything is completely eliminated if you get cremated, and I so totally dig that.
In anycase, it was with this sort of clumped chaotic bundle of thoughts that I thus started smiling as my little cousins started filling in the holes by hand. They were very industrious about the whole thing--burying their grandparents-- like it was some unfortunate pet that needed to be buried or something. I can't even imagine what was going through their heads though, as they busily pushed the dirt into the holes with their small hands, like it was the sole reason they'd shown up-- to do this for their grandparents. And it was so silly too, that I started to laugh, because the adults were just standing there watching them, giving them instruction and suggestions occasionally, like it was completely normal to have children bury the dead. But at the same time.... Our family is incredibly riotous on this side sometimes because they fight so much, but the one thing that unites us both is being able to laugh at a joke- a quality that both of my grandparents had. And if they'd been there to see this, they'd have been laughing the hardest I think, watching my tiny cousin Sean jumping up and down on their grave to pack the dirt down.
I'm sure this seems twisted and wrong by now, but it was actually quite a nice way to end things, on a light note. Afterwards, we put the flowers we'd all brought next to the head stone, and I wandered through the cemetary until I found some of the same pinecones that they'd had in their yard when we were little and added them to the bundle of bright colors already there.
When we were little, we were always climbing the pine trees in my grandparent's front yard, and it was the ritual, every time that we came over, as a result of the tree climbing, that we would have to go find Grandma and she would wipe the sap off our hands with kerosene. And she was the only one who ever did a good job of it, lol.
After this big debacle, we went over to my grandparents old house, which is now my Aunt Bird's house, for a coffee and some snacks. I hadn't been there since I moved out in April, so that was a little bit strange. It's strange because there are no pictures on the wall anymore in places where they were unmovingly for 50 years prior. I mean, the place still looks good now, but it's so strange. At the same time, it's interesting to see the house get so "used" now all of a sudden, because all of a sudden, there are kids in the house again, the Clan, of four kids, which is still not much compared to the five girls and one boy who lived there once a long time ago (my dad and his sisters). Aunt Bird and Co. just got two new cats too, which is cool. One is a bengal, and the other one is a grey shorthair tabby cat. They're both beautiful, but the bengal is absolutely fascinatingly gorgeous and interesting to me. If I were to ever buy a cat from a breeder (highly unlikely actually), that would be the one. But, maybe I'll happen upon it one day, in an adoption agency or something. The second cat, they just got today, is really cute, and has a really mild mannerment, though you can tell that already at 6 months that he's been getting spoiled a lot. He's got a lot of attitude, and he's got a lot of ribbons from yesterday's cat show to prove it. Like eight, or something ridiculous like that. As interesting as the Feline Friends thing was yesterday...I'm still not so cool with the idea of showing a cat. They always seem so mentally fragile to me, unlike dogs. Like, Cat Lady's second cat yesterday was not in good shape at all from being there. It's too stressful. Want to wreck a pet? Stick him in a cage in the middle of never ending loud noises, and have him be roughly handled by judges all day. Done.
Last on my secret blogging agenda: my parents came over this morning and put up pictures for me. The place looks quite a lot cosier now. Especially the kitchen.