Nobody in Russia is really following this blog...

“There is the solitude of suffering, when you go through darkness that is lonely, intense, and terrible. Words become powerless to express your pain; what others hear from your words is so distant and different from what you are actually suffering.”
― John O'Donohue, Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom

 

I really hate whining. So everyone should just forgive me this post. I have to express this somewhere, and I'm quite sure nobody wants to hear my bullshit. At least here, you can skip it. I'll never know.I debated whether or not to even publish this, but I'm going to anyway. Writing about this crap makes me feel better. So it's worth it.

Falling into a pit sucks. I used to do it a lot, not so much anymore. So when it happens, it seems really brutal. Partly it's the weather. Days on end of gloom and cold. I couldn't even get excited and wonderous about the snow last night. Sick to my stomach, I had to leave work early yesterday, and I just came home, got in bed, and stayed there. Rarely do I just sit there with a class of kids and feel no enthusiasm. Now, much of this was the fear that I was going to have to run to the bathroom at any moment and puke. But there are things dragging me down other than just being ill.

But kids really don't get that. Children are necessarily self-centered (Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, y'all). You can't usually just say "Hey kids I'm really sick today, could you just behave?", and they do. They weren't really bad or anything, it's just when you feel crappy everything is amplified. One little boy wrote "shit" on his artwork and folded it into a paper airplane. I'm not sure if this was some sort of self-critique or if he just wanted to express some primal naughtiness. Either way, it really irritated me. First graders just don't understand that, even on the best of days, their teachers have to keep up with one million things at once, and that a little bit of mischief is very aggravating to an adult that feels like vomiting and bursting into tears at at once.

The older I get, the less I like the holidays. I'm not a total grump. Seeing people I love and gathering with friends and family is always enjoyable. But it also reminds me  of what I've always wanted and never had, which is a family of my own. People will always say "You don't need a man!" "You don't need anything!" "You are independent and creative and you should be happy!" Should be... Wow, do I get tired of being told how I 'should' feel.

As for those things people say, I suppose I don't *need* a man. If I wanted just anyone, I guess I could get that. But what I want is what a lot of people I know have, a happy loving relationship. I've always been picky, and I'm told that's a good way to be, and that it will pay off in the end. Generally, I agree. Still, I go on Facebook and people are always posting things about how great their husband is, or pictures of them all happy and smiling. I'm always happy for them but it makes me feel lonelier. Though I'm not stupid and I know nobody is happy all the time. That's another thing people tell me. Usually though, people who say that don't know what they have, or what life would be like without it.

At what point do I just give up? 

Nobody has to be me. I'm kind of a weirdo. I'm not a pretty girl. I have an odd way of thinking and saying things. I'm independent in a lot of ways. Technically, I really don't *need* a relationship. I usually get by just fine. But being independent is still quite lonely. Being sick just makes it worse. There's nobody I can ask to get me a glass of water, or to rub my back. Small things that most people who are paired up take for granted.

If I didn't have my little creatures I'd be completely mental right now.

I didn't think about it that much when I was on cancer treatment. Though I think having a supportive partner would have helped. Mom was there through a lot of it, especially the brutal first few months. I'm ever grateful for that. After I finished treatment, I experienced several months of euphoria. Nothing much could get me down. But I have since come out of that and it's a real drag. If I didn't have my little creatures I'd be completely mental right now, though the two in the photo here are looking awfully smug.

And I will probably be just fine in a few days. The sun will come out. My illness will pass. I'll be able to get out and get some exercise. Maybe the holidays will start to be more fun. Who can say.

I'm actually usually nowhere near as pathetic as this post makes me sound. But I would like to know if anyone besides Russian robots are reading this blog. So please, comment or 'follow', or send me an email if you want, just to say hi. When I started this thing, I didn't care if people read it. But now I'm not so sure. Who am I talking to? Let me know.

Humbug

Well, I said I didn't want this blog to be all journal, but I've yet to come up with anything interesting in the way of short stories. Not that I think my life is actually that interesting, but I want to keep writing so I have to stay in the habit.

Right now, the holidays have me down. Not only is it the turn in the weather, but the ill that this season brings out in people. For a few months now, I've been thinking I'm going to make a lot of my Christmas gifts. For one, people usually appreciate that more. Two, I really have to watch the money these days. Yes, I realize that's no help to the economy, but it's the reality of the situation. Third, the rabid consumerism I'm seeing everywhere is deeply distressing. People getting pepper sprayed and/or shot over flat screen tvs?

No. I'm sorry. I just want no part.



I think the kids are the ones I usually spend money on. If I do, it will be spent on outings, not things. And, as all my god children will tell you, Auntie Meg almost always gets educational toys. That's not to say I get lame gifts. I don't. But whatever I do get, by golly they're going to learn or discover something from it. These kids all already have enough useless crap. I won't waste my money adding to the pile.

A lot of money has been spent these days on my elderly pets. Three of my five four-legged children are senior citizens. Olivia, in particular, is in decline. She is 18, has high blood pressure, blindness, viruses, anemia, etc and all have hit her quite suddenly since this summer. I simply cannot afford all the treatment the vet wants to give her. I'm not one of these people who is going to keep her alive for my sake, so I can feel good about myself. When it is her time, she will tell me, and it will be her time. She's being treated for the high blood pressure. The blindness is just something we cope with. The anemia treatment is an injection and I cannot afford it. I feel a little bit guilty about that. But what can really be done? Nothing much.

There's an indescribable tiredness I've been feeling lately. It's hard to explain. It's not even really physical tiredness. It's just, like I said, indescribable. I try not to let my moodiness spill over onto people. But then I end up just not talking about things that bother me. That's no good either. I've yet to come up with any sort of solution for that problem. I don't even really want to blog a lot about what bugs me because then this would just be a bunch of whining. There's enough of that on the internet already.


Ramble ramble ramble. I don't really have an ending here.

Happy holidays.

Racing sunset...

Trying to deny the time change it's cruel glory, I set out on the bike today. Running away again, though the skies threatened rain and the wind was strong. If I really want to deny the darkness it's glory, I suppose I'll really have to try to get out on a weekday after work. But today was fine for a start.

Made it through the whole blue trail for the first time. The trails really feel like they are my temple. really, anywhere in nature, away from noise, traffic, concrete, and walls could be my temple. I never feel so peaceful as when I'm out there. If only I'd fully discovered and accepted this years ago...

I'd call it a secret place if there weren't
so many other cyclists.

Also, I am really miffed at the poor quality
of the camera on my new phone.

There is something really special about the blue trail in the Lucius Burch area. The tree tunnels are a big part of it. This is not a great picture. It does not really convey the sense of shelter I feel going through it. Sounds silly, but it's like the trees are hugging me.
















The greenline closes at sundown. I was cutting it close. Once I got back onto the pavement, it was a smooth and fast ride back.

One of the best things about fall is the sunsets...










Escape is so simple in a world where sunsets can be raced"
(ok, ok, so this song has little to do with my story here except for that one line. Still, I love the song.)





I raced the sunset all the way home.

It was a good ride. My knees are sad, but my mind and soul are blissful.

Every one was a 'En-er-y

I posted this on Facebook, but I wanted to put it here too, just because.

Last week, I was teaching about texture to my classes. This print of Henry VII is what I was using to talk about visual, or implied texture. In one of the first grade classes, the conversation is going normally. I tell them that the painting is about 500 years old. They ask what they ALWAYS ask, "Oh, is he dead now?" (Seriously, they ask this every time I show them a print of a person)

"Well darling, the painting is 500 years old. What do you think?"

The class decided that, yes, he is probably dead.

This is when is one of the precocious ones speaks up. She gets this trance-like look, and says "He was a very nice man. He died, and God took him straight up to heaven because he was a very nice man and fought for his family."

One of those moments where I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I mean, you can't really tell first graders about beheading wives, can you?

My sweet girl is very bright. But maybe not so perceptive in the character-judgement arena.

Things that make me really sad...

I probably shouldn't even write about this. But I have to vent somewhere. 

The worst thing about my job... There is a beautiful child in my class. Something is a little off about this kid, I can't really say what. But she's still pretty sweet, and maybe sort of shy. She wrote her name on the floor with a crayon, and when I asked her why, she looked down at the floor with surprise on her face, as if she didn't even realize she'd done it. This is not the normal reaction for a child caught doing something naughty. 2I had to write a note home, even though I don't care that much about crayon writing on the floor. If I let it go with one, there will be all sorts of things written on my floor and they won't be just names.


There are several kids at my school who are quite obviously not well cared for. They come to school dirty, with ill-fitting clothes and messy hair. They fall behind and struggle socially. The idea that school uniforms make children equal, that nobody knows who is rich or poor, because everyone is dressed the same, is total bullshit. Kids know, and dirty, unkempt kids are often outcasts. It doesn't help that MCS chose white as the school uniform color. These white shirts become grey or brown when they are not washed regularly. That kind of thing stands out. You can't get parents (or "guardians") on the phone. This is a constant source of dismay. Actually, dismay is the best case scenario. It's usually more like disgust and outrage. I'd say that this particular child fits into that category. But until today, I hadn't really taken much note (I have about 400 students, so it's tough sometimes). When I was writing the note to go home, she didn't even seem to realize she was in trouble. She politely spelled her name for me, and didn't argue anything. I usually get at least an "I didn't do it!" or two. Her teacher says she is kind of spacy. Makes sense, I suppose.

When she went to sit back down, she stretched her arms up above her head. Her too-small shirt rose up, and I noticed a series of mystery marks all over her midriff. Since I can't call her up to the front of the class to investigate, I told her teacher about it later. The teacher says that she has trouble getting the guardian on the phone, and that last week when the child was sick, couldn't get anyone to come pick her up. I don't have a lot more to say about this situation, except that I will follow up, and I will pay closer attention to this kid to see if she needs help. It's about all I can do, other than cry. 

What makes me sicker than sick about this is really just a purely selfish thing. I've always wanted to be a mom. It's not really looking like that's going to happen. I may be able to adopt, or maybe not. It all depends on if the cancer stays away, and finances.  Right now, every thing looks good on the health front. Not so much on the financial front. Some people have so much and never know it. They take it for granted, as if the blessing of a child is not so special, more of a burden than a gift.

The point is, if I had a beautiful little girl like this child in my class, I'd love her and take care of her even if it meant great inconvenience and hardship, even if it meant I never had another chance to go on a social outing with friends again, even if it meant every last dime was spent keeping her clean, happy, and healthy. This is a whole life, a real person that is being pushed aside and, maybe, possibly, abused by no fault of her own. This isn't the first such case I've run across in my job, it's just the latest. There are other stories even worse than this. Right now, I just can't think of anything more morally bankrupt than intentionally neglecting or abusing a child.

Childhood should be filled with great moments
of wonder and bliss.

Childhood should be filled with great moments of wonder and bliss. That's not to say that I'm so naive that I think it's all candy and sunshine, I know it's not. But I clearly remember a certain wild freedom of heart as a child that I have never been able to duplicate as an adult. The memory of it often sustains me and reminds me that life really isn't so crappy after all, and that adventures are worth trying, even if the outcome is risky. When someone neglects or abuses a child, they do violence on only to that child, but to the entire future of everyone. Who knows, maybe this little girl was going to be the one to find a cure for cancer, or solve world hunger. Or maybe she would simply grow up to be a wonderful mother herself. Maybe she still could, but what chances does she really have when nobody is there to nurture her?

This stuff just makes me beside myself with despair sometimes. I'm not sure how long I can be a teacher, because my skin has not gotten any thicker to this, and it is so common (especially in such a high-poverty city as the one I live in). I bring this stuff home with me. I let it haunt me. The day I stop caring really should be the day I quit. But how long can I keep the strain of what I know from eating me up?

Man, it's just been kind of a bad day.