Be Incomparable

Roar...

2012-03-01T12:05:00.002-05:00

In like a lion, eh?

I could've used a bit more heart behind this roar of a storm. Boy, oh boy, was I ever yearning for a snow day. It was pretty while it was snowing, but didn't amount to much trouble after all was said and done. And my body is having a devil of a time adjusting to being back to work. In the beginning of the year they ease us into it, you know? the first 'week' of school is only like two days. Then the next week is probably four. Then, when we've finally adjusted they begin with the real work weeks.

I could've used a little of that toe-in-the-water approach this week. A snow day would've been a great little reprieve from what has proven to be a rather punishing week.

But here I am.

And this week we're working on personal narratives. The kids are flailing. Their schooling thus far has been so singularly focused on standardized tesing that they've forgotten their imaginations. They don't know how to just WRITE. These are personal stories; non-fiction, but in story form. And the kids are asking me: What should go in my first paragraph. And: how many paragraphs is this supposed to be?

Sigh.

It's been tricky trying to undo this slavish adherence to formulaic, strictly-constructed writing. And it feels so rushed and half-assed, too, because right after we get done with this is when we move on to strict MCAS prep, as they take the exam on March 21st and 22nd.

But this week has actually been somewhat enjoyable. Talking about descriptive writing. Imagery. Dialogue. Making the story come alive!

Makes me want to sit and write, myself. ;)

One of the kids said to me, as I was giving an extemporaneous example of descriptive writing--describing in graphic, juicy detail a scene from a horror film--: You got a big imagination.

She said it almost as if it were an insult, or as if it were something for geeks, or as if it were a weird trait. I thanked her. I do have quite the imagination.

I only wish theirs hadn't been drilled out of them.

Well, keeping the old fingers crossed for a snow day.

D.F.R.

2012-02-25T18:44:00.002-05:00

Is there anything more cathartic than really, really cleaning the bathroom? I mean a down dirty, every-nook-and-cranny kind of clean?

Oh, but there is. Taking down the Christmas tree that's been up since Christmas 2010!

I did both today, and laundry, and made bread, and cleaned the living room, and I'm still going!

No writing still.

No school work still.

But godammit if I didn't finally match all the socks in the giant laundry basket o'socks! You would just fall over to see me so adorably domestic! I mean, guys, I hung curtains! I mean, I did it with thumbtacks (reminded me of being like 9 years old and deciding I wanted a canopied bed with curtains come hell or high water), but they look adorably bohemian!

Ind the good news is that the living room is now clean and tidy and after some sweeping and wipe downs with the clorox wipes, it'll be ready for me to grade all the papers! Woohoo!

XOXO donna fucking reed

Maybe

2012-02-23T20:14:00.002-05:00

The old excuse isn't cutting it. See, I've caught myself saying: "If I had more time..." Well, jeeze louise, but I've had nothing BUT time this week and nary a word has been written.

So you wanna be a writer? Write.

And I haven't. It would seem I'm broken. Or at least temporarily out of service.

I've been reading and reading my stuff, trying to find a place to jump in and continue, pick up some thread and run with it. But I'm getting editor's disease. Now that I'm learning more and more about grammar rules and comma functions and bullshit like that, all I can see are my glaring errors. And if I'm not noticing those then I'm fretting about the mundanity (mundaneness?) of my pitifully pedestrian storylines, characters, word choice and what the fuck ever.

Just not fun. Not a great headspace for a writer.

And I have been avoiding, like the fucking plague, all the papers I have to grade this week. And the lesson planning for unit three! And yadda yadda yadda.

AND been tossing the old idea ball around. The idea ball of : What should I be when I grow up? Scratch writer off the list, as I can't seem to do that.

Aaron tells me: "Of course you can write! You're a very competent writer. You're just as good as plenty of people who get published."

Thanks for the ringing endorsement, I tell him wryly. D'you think that's what Dan Brown's family told him?

Aaron: That's about the best he could hope for. Dan, you're very capable of stringing sentences together. Good job.

Me: I feel great. Thanks for the pep talk.

Anywho. So writing is out. So what else?

I've been racking the noodle all week, trying to devise a plan for the future that doesn't involve me killing myself trying to be something I'm just not: a teacher.

Another mediocre performance review is making me very nervous about my job prospects. How wrtched to need a job you don't really want and aren't especially suited for! (for which you are no especially suited...)

But I've been taking my meds. I've been trying to be optimistic.

And tossing out ideas to see if anything sticks.

~~Open my own starbucks~~
~~Open my own Marylous franchise~~
~~Open an artisan, independent coffee shop~~
Open a liquor store!
~~Open a vegetarian restaurant~~
~~Open a kitchen store--where I sell kitchens~~
~~Operate a high-end salvage business~~
Real estate
~~Tutor (bleck.)~~
Voice over work
Sound design for tv videogames and movies
~~bakery/confections shop~~
~~Florist~~
~~Something like a funeral parlor that isn't a traditional funeral parlor.~~
~~A book nook that actually specializes in digital readers instead of actual books?~~
~~Wine shop~~

The problem with opening a shop is that I can't secure a loan. Well, that is one of the many, many problems with opening my own business. But of the shops I could open, I think a liquor one is the most recession proof, don't you?

So then there's real estate. Except I'm terrible at being a salesman. But I love houses. But I hate math. And business. And paperwork. But I love houses and trying to figure out what would be a good fit for people... but I think I'd hate the rest of it.

Voice over work is a side job at best. Its something that I really should have done already and have been dragging my feet for no good reason. I've comitted to get a reel together and out there by summer. But it isn't a game changer. I'm hoping it may lead to a game changer--I'd like to produce voice work, be the one in the control booth. But I'v gotta start somewhere.

Holy god get me out of my life!

Ok, sorry. Moment of panic.

Kids, house, dreams? Maybe someday, right?

2012-02-15T12:36:00.003-05:00

Do your middle schoolers need another excuse to be over-dramatic, moody, sexually over-charged, and ridiculous: VALENTINE'S DAY!!!

Sheesh.

Luck?

2012-02-11T07:12:00.001-05:00

I survived another week. I survived another parent-teacher conferences night. I survived another surprise evaluation--this time from the Principal herself.

I started an anti depressant yesterday.

And our streak of rotten luck continues. With ne car down for the count and an expensive repair just done this week on White Thunder (our Buick), she up and dies on Aaron in the middle of an incredibly busy intersection at 6:45 pm last evening.

He was coming to pick me up at work.

So naturally I had to call my mother. To go get gas in one of those gas cans, bring it to aaron (who thought the car ran out of gas. Our gas guage is super broken, so it was the logical conclusion.)

Aaron spends like, at least a half hour with his hazards on in the middle of a ridiculous intersection, with assholes beeping and swerving and ...ugh. He has to call the police to help because, as I mentioned, it is a pretty major intersection. The police come, help him coast the car out of the road; my mum comes and they put the gas in. No luck. Won't start.

So this AM, borrowing my Mom's car, we are headed out in the light of day to see if we can't get her started. If not? We are pretty fucking screwed.

~Beth

Rah!

2012-02-05T20:25:00.002-05:00

I am a New England Girl, raised in an Irish Catholic Household--so naturally I'm rooting for the Patriots.

But I am not actually watching the Superbowl or partaking in any of the overblown festivities.

My husband is more of a Madonna fan than I am (his Bi side reard its head in such peculiar ways. Like, I like Madonna, but he pretty much knows her discography. Its pretty adorable to watch him singing along in the car. He knows all the lyrics and I just stare at his bearded majesty sing 'pappa don't preach' in hearty falsetto, and shake my head in wonder.) so we aren't even really bothering with the half-time show. We don't have TV, so we'd have to find a live stream, and hell, we didn't even bother with that for the State of the Union this year (we have in years previous), so I'd feel pretty guilty...

I babysat today whilst my brother and my SIL went looking at houses. Had fun with the neices. Maggie told me: "I like you Auntie Bess." (She can't form the 'th' sound, she isn't comparing me to the radiant Queen Elizabeth the First.) She said it like it was a discovery, like she'd just decided this and needed to share. I thanked her and told her I loved her to pieces.

I'm looking down the barrel of an all-nighter. So much work to do. I swear, I look at my paycheck every two weeks and despair. There is no WAY I'm getting paid NEARLY enough.

This week we need to somehow pull together persuasive essays. Plus there's a fucking half day this week so that I can endure the ridiculousness of Parent Teacher conferences.

But guess what? Then there's onbly one more week to FEBRUARY VACATION! What?!? I can hardly believe it!

And much of that week will be spent on the Unit exam, so... YAY!

Well, yay for me. Not so much for the kiddies. heeheehee.

We're down to one car and the one car has to go to the mechanic tomorrow. Gross. Aaron's carpooling with a friend, which will be nice, but we don't want to make a habit.

And I have to depend on my mother again. She tricked me this weekend. TRICKED me. And used my lack of car against me. Tricked me to come over and clean the bird cage, when I THOUGHT I was going over for a quick 20 minute task. THREE HOURS LATER, and pissed the fuck off, I was driven home. And too furious and disgruntled to do anything at all productive.

So tonight will be a marathon of getting shit the fuck done. And a cheers season 5 marathon! woot. I love the little things-- the way they almost always dress Sam and Dianne in reds and blues (or pinks and blues). So classic. Coach is dead now, which is sad, but Woody is fanfuckingtastic.

Anyway... off to work...grumblegrumble...

Go Pats!

Ms. Reardon writes a little.

2012-02-01T21:39:00.002-05:00

So!

I took monday off. called out sick.

The intention was to get grading and plannning done.

The actuality? Far more exhilarating! I wrote and wrote and wrote like I haven't been able to write in ages! Now please understand that I'm not mistaking quantity for quality here, but at this point writing fluently and cogently for more than a sentence or two is a HUGE victory for me!

It felt good. Understatement. It felt amazing. The scenes were more action-packed and visceral because they were from two very climactic sections of the tale. The climax of present day and a climax from back in the day that sort of sets everything else in motion. I think it was important that the two were pouring out of me simultaneously, because they really have to work in tandem for the balance of the story. The one depends on the other, it is reciprocal.

I like the echoes. I like the repeated language and imagery.

I also wrote the same events from different character perspectives, which is a thing I enjoy doing. It feels like real synthesis is going on.

It was frustrating, at first, trying to write. My fingers were clumsy, my prose sluggish and stiff. I felt dull and moronic and uninspired. But you have to understand that I live with these characters 24/7. When my mind is not completely occupied with pressing and immediate matters, it wanders to one of only a few places.
1st: Sex. Sex with Aaron, sex with women, other pepeople having sex. Sex. The character of my stories having sex...
2nd: Regrets. I spend far too many minutes ruminating and mulling over my various and sundry regrets. Loves lost. Friends gone. Mistakes made in my career. These thoughts are legion. They are, however, blessedly less compelling than the other two cetegories, and so while I frequently default to thinking about regrets & 'should haves' I do not spend long periods at a time at this hobby. Recurring but brief.
3rd: The book. Is it a book? The narrative. The fiction. The story. The project on which I am working at present. In this case (and the case of the last, what, year? two years? who can recall) it is Cedar Falls. Before Cedar Falls it was Henry & Eleanor, before that the lesbian fairytale. There is always a 'before that there was' and I am coming to expect that when I tire of or move on from CF, there will ever be an 'and then there was'. But I spend the majority of my thinking on whatever my current creative project is.

I live with these characters. I breakfast with them, I bathe with them, I dine with them I drive with them I walk and talk and think with them. I cook dinner with them, I daydream with them, I fuck them I fall asleep with them. They are always there, always waiting to be picked up again, toyed with again, tinkered with and tweaked and experimented upon. Not always with the computer! Most of the time just in the old noodle. Or spoken aloud; a scene performed by one actor improvising all the roles. Trying out dialogue. Workshopping the plot, the characterization, the feel, the jokes.

So they are all around; withing without, saturating my brain, sometimes so clamorous and suffocating that I can ahrdly concentrate on anything else.

Monday I was able to finally take some of those theories, those swirling scenes and get them captured, get them down in prose. And I glowed with the release. I was so excited. and happy. And proud.

No grading done. heeheehee.

I am a terrible teacher. But the glow of the writing is making the sting of that truth fairly insignificant :)

SMASH!

2012-01-28T20:17:00.001-05:00

Absolutely my new favorite thing. Doubtlessly, without a doubt. If you haven't already, watch the hell out of the preview episode.

I have watched it twice.

Official NBC SMASH page.

The list of brilliance attached to this project is stunning. I think we're in really good hands here.

Unlucky.

2012-01-24T21:43:00.003-05:00

We can't seem to catch a break.

First his car breaks. No way in the world to get another.

Today his computer breaks.

Next Peter will evict us.

But I went to the doctor's today--healthy--in body anyway.

I was supposed to go get me some birth control. Chickened out. Gunna stick with the old method my health teacher swore would fail me for sure.

Based on the novels...

2012-01-22T17:57:00.001-05:00

Procrasturbating again.

I babysat my nieces today so that my brother ans sister-in-law could go look at some houses. I would do anything for them, as I adore them and as they've been so generous to me in the past.

But it threw off my sunday something fierce.

No laundry done. No work done. Then I was all tired from playing with the girls so I took a nap when I got home.

Now I'm up and looking down the barrel of toooooooo much work!

Drama teachers hardly ever have any correcting to do. We hardly ever have essays to read. And when we do? Ffun stuff like scenes or monologues.

I have to read MCAS style drivel.

And it is super frustrating. And disheartening.

It used to be kinda funny, how awful they are at writing.

Now I'm starting to feel saddened by it as they don't improve...

and worried for their futures.

And I wish, I wish, I wish that I could give them some creative writing assignments. I have, in the past, for Halloween I challenged them with a scary story contest. But the powers that be have come down hard on me and sternly reminded me that I have certain writing requiremnts to meet before the end of the year, and 'creative' is not among them.

Sigh.

And my creative writing?

I find it so difficult to see it objectively. I like reading it. I love the characters and the stories and the soap-opera happenings. But I don't trust how much I like it.

See, I'm usually my toughest critic. On anything. I'm hardest on myself.

With this Cedar Falls stuff? I'm... I can't explain quite... I'm too smitten with it to see its faults. Oh, sure, I see they thousands of typos that I make in my haste (and sometimes in my grammatical ignorance. Being an English teacher is really educating me on some grammar rules I either never knew or had thoroughly forgotten!) I see those, and tinker with them as I re-read (and still many, many escape my notice...sigh...I need an editor like whoah.)

But I can't gauge whether or not the writing is good.

I'm beginning to suspect that it is not... But I think my therapist would tell me that this is rooted in my neuroses.

Still...

Maybe I oughtta write in dialogue only? Write screenplays, plays, and teleplays?

Because I sit down and read Aaron's writing and I am staggered by his prose. I read real, published work and I sigh and think 'yup. that's how it SHOULD be done...'

And I always believed that practice makes perfect...or at least practice makes better. But it would seem that my writing, as I become more comfortable with my characters and more certain of my plot direction, it would seem that my writing gets more banal and flaccid and rushed and weak. (Commas should go in a series like that. This is a rule I have learned. However,(comma), I prefer the impact of listing them without the interruption of commas. This is not something that new writers have the luxury of defending,(comma) however. Mamet and Labute and Palhianuk and those established stylists can do whatever the fuck they want. But new writers, green writers, must go by the book their first time out...(elipses to indicate a triling off of ideas, not an omission...)

Perhaps too much practice without a coach or mentor or guiding hand is simply... masturbatory?

I seem enamored of that imagery.

But do you see? Just diddling myself, writing-wise, with nothing fruitful ever taking root? No product to be birthed after all the self-pleasure?

I'll give some thought to the playwrighting thing. Interestingly, have you ever noticed that playwright is spelled differently than the word 'write'? It is because it isn't talking about the 'writing' like, say, a copywriter would be. It is the old form of the word 'wright' as in boatwright ; a maker or a builder.

Isn't that lovely? A maker or builder of plays. Captures my imagination, tickles my fancy, and stroked the old ego.

Aaron and I often talk of ideas for hbo or showtime (or even STARZ-right Spartacus?!?!?) original series that we should be writing and shopping around. So maybe I quit talking about it and start doing it.

Maybe Cedar Falls works better as a show?

Maybe not...

Maybe, though...

;)

2012-01-18T12:02:00.001-05:00

Kudos to google and wikipedia and any other sites protesting the dangerous new bill.

That was a non-starter, and now I have a non sequitur.

I'm lost. yeah, yeah. I'm as tired of saying it, feeling it, as you are tired of hearing it.

but it presses on my mind and body and my heart and lungs until I feel I can't breathe. Can't move. Can't think of anything else. Can't feel anything else.

Last evening it got really scary. And I should have called out today. I really should have.

But I could not.

But I really think, given how unstable and sensitive I am today, that it would have been the smart thing to do.

I go to therapy today. I plan on giving in and telling them I'll take whatever the hell they want to give me.

At this point a lobotomy sounds like heaven.

I need to get well.

I must.

because the other option is no longer: live with being unwell.

The other option, I firmly believe, will be fatal.

The MLK Day Exception

2012-01-17T12:02:00.000-05:00

We're in a spending freeze.

And I've given up all forms of junk food.

But Yesterday, as a treat, we broke both these rules in spectacular fashion.

Buy buying an enormous, a ridiculously sized SNICKERS.

This is the "Slice and Share" snickers.

Oh, America...

Intrigued by the novelty size and the joys inherent in the old adage about bigger being necessarily better, we went ahead and purchased the sucker.

We were in CVS buying necessities, which are allowed by the rules of the spending freeze after sufficient discussion and debate.

So, whilst scouring the store for enough maximum strength midol to hold the crippling menstrual aches at bay, is it really any wonder that I lost all willpower and nodded and enthusiastic and definite YES when presented with this monster of choclatey, nugaty, caramel-peanutty goodness?

And slicing a snickers, as though it were the holiday roast of a candy high holy day? Sublime.

And aaron pointed out that snickers is one of the few candybars that seems immune to the size/ratio problem that most candy treats suffer. Giant reece's pb cup? nasty because too much peanut butter, not enough chocolate. Big Kat? (I happen to love them) not even the same thing as a regular kit kat any more!

But snickers, in classic, king, funsize or now in "Slice & Share" size-- snickers is always reliably scrumptious in any size!

Today: back to spending freeze. Back to swearing off junk. But I'll always have the memory of consuming an enormous snickers with my husband-- MLK day 2012 ;)

Little known fact: MLK dreamed about unnecessarily oversized snackfoods that could be sliced and shared among people of ALL races, nations, and creeds.

2012-01-16T22:02:00.001-05:00

Practically a week.

No time. Nothing new to say.

Thinking seriously about taking the drugs afterall.

Having trouble getting rolling on the new year's resolution.

Having trouble with most things.

Except love. I can love fiercely and powerfully and selflessly.

No myself. Never that.

But others.

With the only passion I have left anymore.

2012-01-10T15:18:00.004-05:00

Coward is a strong word.

Don't you think?

I'd sooner call someone a bitch than a coward.

What is it about corage versus cowardice that goes right down into our viscera?

Have you ever been called a coward?

And being afraid, while certainly related, is not necessarily the same as being a coward.

That's an aspersion, that once cast, does some real pyschological cartwheels--doesn't it.

Let each of these resonate and see which sticks in your craw.

"You're crazy."

"You're a bitch"

"You're an asshole"

"You're wrong."

"You're a coward."

Whoosh.

Especially if the accusation is made in earnest. If someone has assesed who you are and decided that this is the sum total of your existence. "You're a coward."

Does it rankle because there's truth to it? It must. If someone called you a republican, say, and you weren't the least bit right-leaning, then I don't think this is an insult that carries much weight.

So perhaps you haven't a cowardly bone in your body. Perhaps, then,. being called a coward simply doesn't resonate with you.

But my gut tells me it does. Humans really really really get their hackles up at accusations of cowardice. An entire fiction and film genre seems entirely based on this concept, as well as all the major decisions of Marty McFly in the back to the Future series.

The Old West: Watch your tongue, stranger, or find yourself out on main street at dawn defending your honor.

My favorite was in BTTF2 when the girl bully says: "What's the matter, McFly? Ain't got no scrote?"

and, the natural marriage: Marty McFly as 'Clint Eastwood' in the olde tyme garb. "Nobody calls me yellah"

And is it different for men and women? I realize I joked, above, about the 'scrote' line in back to the future. But from what i understand it certainly impugns a guys, well, manhood, to be termed a coward.

But women can certainly behave as cowards. In fact, I'd say they do it more regularly. Choose the safe path over the adventurous one. Make the expected or condoned choice rather than take a leap. Nothing wrong, technically, is there? Some argue that it's just plain smart. But how many doors went unopened. How many experiences passed up. How safe, and comfortable, and predictable, and completely unchallenging their daily routine. Is this the role of women?

Why, then, am I so very bothered by being thought of as a coward? And why do I harbor such disdain for those I've judged to be cowards? Frightened of their feelings, or too afraid to go after their dreams, or happy with their routine even if it is completely unfulfilling, even if they aren't growing or evolving in any way? Why am I so tortured when I evaluate my own existence and see that yellow streak a mile wide? why am I so sickened and repulsed.

I have no balls, so I shouldn't be impugned if someone tells me I need to 'sack up', and yet my nostrils flars and I have a boiling gut reaction.

I've done both the adventurous things and the shamefully safe. So it isn't as if I always defer the risks.

Ah. and the language we use to qualify bravery, to contextualize cowardice.

Shame.

Risk.

Hero.

Loser.

Danger.

Selflessness.

routine.

boring.

exciting.

thrilling.

strong.

weak.

and the imagery. hollywood, storybooks, all of it. The coward, skulking in the shadows of great men; the coward: a timid little mouse; the follower; the one who needs to be saved; the one who gets eaten or left behind because they didn't have the courage or the wherewithal to get through.

The movie's not about the coward.

Heroes aren't cowards.

Sure they feel fear. They grapple with self doubt. but in the end they take action. when it comes down to it, they 'sack-up'. They have within them something admirable.

And the coward sits at home and reads about it almost wistfully.

Can people tell if they are cowards?

I can tell.

Like Masturbation

2012-01-08T21:24:00.001-05:00

Procrastinating.

Hours and hours have dragged on.

I'm battling my zillionth illness of the schoolyear and wishing like you wouldn't believe that I could just call in tomorrow.

But I can't. For a whole host of reasons.

So I need to lesson plan.

And you may be familiar with my issue: I fucking suck at lesson planning.

You don't even understand. This weekly lesson planning BS has made me legitimately question, ALOUD: "Hey, what was so bad about working at Big Lots! . . .?"

It occurred to me that every employment that I've had other than Big Lots! (discounts and closeouts retail) (the exclamation point is part of their name. Just as it is a legal part of the title for the beloved musical by Rogers and Hammerstein: OKLAHOMA!) Every single other piece of work I'v had to do has demanded a great deal of creativity from me. A serious amount of OUTPUT. Like, I cant just show up at my job tomorrow and get to work. Can't just go FILE or whatever. I have to CREATE all the time.

I'm thinking I'd like some time spent at a job wherin I fulfill tasks that require no creative exertion whatsoever.

Yes, yes, this all seems contrary to who I am. An artist. A writer. A performer. A director. A dreamer, etc.

And I must say: indeed. It IS contrary to who I am! But perhaps that's the ticket! Maybe the next step to a healthier ME is finding a career that doesn't demand so much time creating all the time. I need a DOING job.

But what on earth could that be?

I'll think on it and get back to you.

Right now I have a unit to develop, a week's worth of lessons to invent, materials for said unit and lessons to pull the fuck together, and how many hours left in which to accomplish this herculean feat? Yeah.

Plus I see my department head tomorrow. For which I will have to prepare right after I'm done slogging thorugh all the other bullshit. Fun times ahead.

Focus on the positive: The house smells like warm, fresh bread. Thank you, Aaron, for the wonderful christmas gift!

Oh, about the post title. My friend Julia once wrote on facebook or somewhere:

Procrastination is like Masturbation: Fun for a while, but in the end, you're just fucking yourself.

2012-01-05T21:19:00.001-05:00

Coffee with dear friends = some of the best therapy I'll ever get. Thank you :)

2012-01-02T23:36:00.001-05:00

Resolutions:

To get well. Inside and out.

Grateful to be here.

2011-12-25T07:43:00.001-05:00

...

Merry Christmas, you wonderful ole reason to live!

Christamas Carol Roundup-as in round them up and shoot them dead...

2011-12-23T10:11:00.001-05:00

I thought today would never come!

Now just counting down the hours till I am FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Would that it were for good, and not just a week.

Sigh.

So I thought I'd mention that while I ADORE Christmas songs and am one of those sickos that eagerly awaits the radio stations that begin pumping out the carols WELL before it is at all appropriate to do so, yes, there are, nevertheless, certain Christmas songs that I absolutely abhor!

They are as follows:

Elvis Presley singing Blue Christmas. Holy hell. I want to punch him right in his pretty lips and his bedroom eyes when I hear that hillbilly/bluesy shlock.

Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band in their rendition of Santa Claus is Coming' to Town. Seriously fills me with enough rage to strangle a puppy. Can't say precisely what it is, but good grief it makes me postal. The fact that it is live SHOULD go a long way toward humanizing the man, but he just sounds so fucking smug and full of himself. Every time I hear him chuckle I have a visceral reaction akin to blinding rage...

Travellin Strawberries-- Long Time Ago in Bethlehem. Ok. Maybe it is because I cherish Bing Crosby-esque Christmas with an It's a Wonderful Life sort of aesthetic, but something about this hip, saccarine, happy happy yet religiously saturated Christmas song makes me want to vomit sugar and sparkles. On certain days I will actually catch myself boppin around to the infectious beat when it comes on the radio-- those are the days where I worry about my mental stability. Because, apart from some lovely harmony in the opening section of the song, this song is a disgusting overly sentimental chipperly christian anthem that makes my skin crawl and my teeth grind together in an instinctive distrust for the falsely bright carolers who are forcing their christian joy down my throat with glee. And their vaguely ethnic accents are supposed to-what?--make me feel guilty about my priveleged white american lifestyle? No thank you. i reject the premise entirely.
but dammit if that ain't a catchy beat...

Speaking of shoving sentimentality down my throat: I DESPISE all those modern super-sad and supposedly poignant Christmas songs that are intended to evoke in my a feeling of bittersweet sympathy. They miss the mark utterly. What they evoke in me is rage and scorn. I'm talking about things like 'the Christmas shoes' and "Merry Christmas Darlin'"and shit like that. I can't even tell you all of them because i stoutly refuse to give them a listen when the radio station peppers them in among the REAL Christmas songs. Gross gross grossy grosserson mcgrosspants. if i want to ACTUALLY tear up, if I want to REALLY experience a nostalgic, bittersweet longing for the days when Christmas was simple and pure i will listen to Ms. Garland singing 'Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas" or perhaps a nice simple version of "I'll be home for Christmas", or a very traditional version of "The Little Drummer Boy" (makes me weep like a bitch!)

It's Christmas (baby please come home). Sung by various artists with little variation and no improvement. The parenthetical should be a good indication that this song will suck big time. Theres even a version of Bono (not even sure if it is all members of U2. I think Larry Mullen may have taken one look at this shitcake and declared: 'bloodyfuck, no.") but not even my favorite living artist could imbue this travesty with any semblance of redeeming qualities. It think it is supposed to be pop/Blues? I don't know about that. It sounds like drivel to me. And is it Mariah Carey who sings the most popular one? Gag me. I don't need your vocal olympics and your masturbatory runs for christmas, thanks.

Speaking of masturbatory. ANYTHING BY JOSH GROBIN AND MICHAEL BUBLE. And a fair chunk of sinatra too. Good Christ. "But they have such great voices!" you will exclaim. And I cannot argue on that point. yes. they do. they have very lovely voices. And I feel absolutley NOTHING when they commence to singing, because itis almost as if I can hear their inner monologue: "Yeah...I asound sooo good. Listen to how incredibly talented I am with my golden voice. I am so incredibly talented..." ets. I also imagine that Sinatra's internal monologue goes on to mention how much pussy he'll be getting later and occasionally wondering when his assistant will be popping itno the studio to refill his scotch. As a musical theatre performer and lover, I really can't abide talented singers who have no connection to what they're singing. With these gentlemen I get the impression that they'd sound exactly the same and give the same dead-hearted performance if someone switched the words of 'oh holy night' to 'oh moley flight'. They are robots programmed to sound melifluous (or croonery-cool), and look good while doing it. i say to thee: Meh. I'd rather listen to those perky fucking strawberries.

Any 'cute' or 'clever' version of the twelve days of chritsmas. ESPECIALLY the one with the lady who gets sloshed while singing about all the booze. One hearing only. Seriously. These have ZERO replay value. NONE. One time through and you might have earned a mild chuckle, a nod of vague appreciation for your effort, and that's about all you can expect for one of those gems. PLEASE, i'm really begging for my sanity here, and for the lives of others around me, PLEASE don't replay these abominations over and over and over. Especially the ones that get so wrapped up in their cleverness that they aren't even tuneful anymore. I don't need to listen to the man and his damned christmas lights over and over and over!

And, last, but absolutely not in any way least, the song that I hated so much that I have actually begun to love in a bizarre way; the song that I never ever ever fail to hear whenever I am (and I mean absolutely WHENEVER) out driving between thanksgiving and Christmas: DO THEY KNOW IT'S CHRITMAS - Band Aid.
I mean sweet bleeding jesus. Really?! Like, which of these artists sat down and said: Oh, I have a great idea for a christmas song! and then preceeded to include lyrics like: The only water flowing is the bitter sting of tears?? Oh, and let's not forget my personal fave: And the christmas bells that ring there are the clanging chimes of doom. The clanging chimes of doom?!?!?!

Well tonight thank god it's them instead of you! (oh Bono. I love you. I really do... sigh...)

Talk about hitting us over the noggin with white guilt, eh? It is so, so, so awful. And it isn't even a good song! All that talent in one room and it really just isn't a particularly well done piece of music! i blame sting. Mostly because I'd like to blame Sting for most things. But really, as a fundraising tool? I think they might have, as my mother always tells me, they might have caught more flies with honey than with that awful vinegar of righteous indignation, finger-pointing, and guilt tripping so extreme it even made jewish mothers crings and avert their eyes. i mean sweet mary! instead of inspiring a generation, you really just made us roll our collective eyes and groan. The greatest gift they'll get this year is life? Ok, well, good. No need for me to send anything then, right? Give it up, Sting! i know it giot record numbers and all, but...really?!? really.

But the funny thing that's happened with that song, is that it is so spectaculary awful, that it is now kitschy! And is a pretty ridiculously fun time if you sing along at full volume with a friend as though you were singing something perky and whimsical like jingle bells or the most wonderful time of the year! I urge you to try this. It makes you feel a lot less homicidal!

So that's my big list. I'm also not a fan of anyone who slows a christmas song down to a crawl for no apparent reason. I mean, if it was already a sort of slow song like "oh holy night' or 'silent night' or whatever, do we really need to do it even slower? And then, if it was a peppy song, was there a aprticular statement you intended to make by pulling it back like that? I just don't see any deep or resonant message in a slow-dance version of 'rockin around the christmas tree' or 'rudolph the red nosed reindeer'. I just feel a pressing impatience for you to pick up the tempo already!

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate. And may I say that the few hannuak songs I know (aside from the dreidel song) are enchantingly and hauntingly beautiful, and I'd love to hear more.

BTW, my Dunk donuts crush was wearing a little headband with mistletoe. Oh you perky, sweet little tease, how I love thee!

The Bright Side...

2011-12-22T11:56:00.000-05:00

O.......
M.......
G......

! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

It is getting so close I can taste it.

And it is gunna taste sooooooooooooooooooo sweet.

Speaking of sweet-- the hubs promised me an orgasm a night for this entire week. He's turning out to be a little more like that 12 days of christmas song though: One the first night, missed a night so then FIVE golden rings of shuddering pleasure on the third night, then already this morning I was treated to two more delightful little deaths...

Sigh. Happy girl. Looking forward to more pleasure this eve!

One more english class today and a drama class and then I'm off and then ONE MORE MUTHAFUCKING DAY!

Jimminy Christmas am I getting amped!

Also, have i mentioned that I swoon over anything Bing Crosby? My standard pandora station is "Bing Crosby Radio". The more popular pandora radio station is "Bing Crosby Holiday", which is waht I've been tuning into each morning here. Bing, Louis, Ella, Frank, Deano, Sammy, Fred, The Great Durante, Judy, ahhhhhh, how I love them all!

The only thing I'm not super psyched about is having to do last minute shopping when my paycheck comes in on friday. Eeeeek. I'm no good with crowded shoppping places, but a friday paycheck means no way to avoid it. Hopefully I don't go postal with consumer rage.

The wisdom of the husband

2011-12-21T07:41:00.000-05:00

"I told you so" might as well be on Aaron's official coat of arms.

Not that he ever says it like that, precisely. Usually it is more of a: "See?! I knew it!"

Yes, folks, I married a perfect genius. I mean that in all sincerity, not being facetious. He is pretty fucking brilliant. He has this knack with people; this uncanny ability to understand people and situations and motivations and... he's fucking perfect.

What I'm getting at is that he was right; He was right-on-the-money that I should speak directly to my boss in a completely open and honest way.

I really think it cleared the air. I left feeling practically fucking bouyant (especially compared to how leaden and doomed I felt before the meeting!).

And three more days till break? no problem.

Well, excepting this fucking sore throat that cropped up out of fucking nowhere! I chugged airborne when I first felt the tickle of it yeaterday, but to no avail. Fiery, sore, scratcing, raw agony.

I am a bit over-dramatic about sore throats. Have I ever mentioned that before? Total baby. Complete drama queen. I wandered around the apartment this morning whimpering pitifully, like a two-year-old who needs a cuddle and a nap. Aaron was about as sympathetic and kind as a half-asleep man can be when his adult wife is behaving like a whine-bag. I adore him. And tonight he will be roped into making me teas and soups :)

Meanwhile, to get through the day I have taken Tylenol Sore Throat Liquid (no better product on the market--take it from this drama queen), as well as a dose of the ALEVE D for all the other issues (leaking, running, pressure, etc.,) ALEVE D is so fucking powerful for an OTC that you actually have to ask for it by name at the pharmacy counter and produce an ID.

I debated the wisdom of mixing my meds, but ALEVE doesn't have acetaminiphin (sp?) and Tyleno doesn't have NSAIDs (whatever the fuck those are)-- so hopefully I'll be free of stomach bleeding and whatnot.

If not, well, that's a legit excuse to miss work, right? Sorry, can't come in today, got the old stomach bleeding---yeah, it's going around this time of year...

So anyway. Not all of my problems are solved, not by a long shot, but I at least feel secure in the knowledge that they do not want to fire me!

Now forward march to the holiday break!

The pinky promise.

2011-12-20T13:46:00.001-05:00

So Aaron convinced me to talk to my principal. "keep the lines of communication open" he said. "be honest." he said.

He was really convincing, and had brought me 'round to his way of thinking after a good long talk, and subsequently made me pinky promise.

So i sent her an e-mail. As i pinky-swore I would do.

And we have a meeting this afternoon.

No I am freaking the fuck out about it.

Why had i ever imagines it would be a good idea?? She is a tough, no-nonsense type of person, and I can imagine me putting my foot in my mouth a hundred different catastrophic ways.

She is going to hate me.

This was the worst idea ever. I really don't think I can do it. I'm going to look like a whiny pussy who can't handle her job. I'll look like that because that is pretty much what I am.

Somehow, when Aaron framed it, it all seemed so smart, so pro-active, so professional.

but I have this forboding feeling that when I go down there it will come off as me making excuses, me looking like a fucking moron, me being pathetic and gross.

Not to mention that I caused a big to-do this morning by asking to have my kids skip specialists to complete their unit exams. Jesus. I followed the advice of my co-teachers and it landed me in some pretty hot water, and I am not the principal's favorite individual right now. So this won't be stressful, akward, or awful at all.

Kill me.

My heart is clenching and choking in my chest right now. I honestly don't know what I'm going to do, or say. holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck.

I hate this so much.

Please let my heart burst in my chest!

Fragility Personified.

2011-12-19T12:49:00.001-05:00

Phoning. It. The fuck. In.

Kids are finishing an exam today so I was allowed to sort of zombie through the day. Tomorrow will be a different story. and after that. This is going to be a hell of a long week.

Nearly left my husband last night.

Among other things.

Still here.

And morover, still HERE. at this job. In this skin.

Ok. Enough. Or I will start crying in front of eighth graders.

TLDR

2011-12-18T17:32:00.001-05:00

So I'm having major problems, and the worst, the stupidest thing in the world is to whine and cry about them on a blog, I realize this; but I honestly don't like the alternatives right now.

Yes-- I am actually paying for therapy once a week, but no I don't feel like airing my issues there right now.

Yes-- I have an incredibly supportive and wonderful husband who listens, offers wisdom, and a shoulder to cry on; and NO I definitely don't feel like airing my issues with him at present.

Yes--I have a mother and dear friends who would likely be willing to listen, to give advice, to be there as comfort and support.

But I am so so so so so very very sick of airing my burdens to friends, loved ones, and even the fucking therapist, that I think I just need to try some of it out here.

In solitude.

In the white-blue hum and glow of the internet.

I am crippled with depression. Ok? I said it. It is beginning to look like going off those chemicals was maybe not the smartest. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and I think I made a prudent decision, but look; it isn't working. I am not well.

Do other people, normal people I mean, do other people think about suicide hourly? I doubt it. And yet it feels so completely second nature that it is hard to believe other people don't live like this...

You have no idea how much I despise myself for the thoughts. For the feelings, the impulses. I don't like weakness in others and have trouble tolerating any in myself. And yet.

So it looks like I may be trying to schedule something to get on birth control, because I really don't think that will be happening in my life. "Not any time soon" Aaron is in the habit of saying. Well, if not soon then when? Likely never. So fine. Pump my body full of hormones. Then add on top of that all the chemicals to fool my brain into thinking everything is ok.

Just to get through the days. Of the career I chose and hate. Of the bills I racked up and now am indentured to. Of the hole I dug myself into from which there is no staircase, no rope, no ladder, and no tunnel out from. Look at all the prepositions ending those sentences unabashedly.

I want out. Reasons to stay are dwindling.

I feel guilty every single minute. The guilt and the shame is heavy. Crushing. Paralyzing.

I don't deserve the man that has been infinitely patient and kind--not just these past two days, but always. He tells me he loves me and all I feel is guilt. He asks how he can help and all I feel is grief.

I woke up hating today. Sundays are forfeit for me lately because they are harbingers of mondays. I waste the day in a funk because all I can think about is the pending workweek.

Dread.

Misery.

And then I feel guilty about complaining about having a job that is (almost) paying the bills. A job I fought for tooth and nail. A job I can't give up and AT WHICH I need to get better (grammar fairy is pleased).

Guilt guilt guilt, shame shame shame, and then apathy. Because feeling this much pain cannot be endured for long without going insane or giving up. I wish I could go insane. Instead I shrug, And tend toward cold, miserable apathy. Self destructive, relationship-killing, job-forfeiting apathy.

God, this is bleak.

My therapist will tell me to get a new job. She is sweet, and I suppose from the outside it looks that simple. But in the real world of debt and responsibility we all know that it isn't that easy-- is it?

I don't want to let Aaron down. He would never let me down.

But I wonder if the band-aid ripping suddenness, the fast & quick, would, in the long-run, be the better option that the slow, painful, drawn-out miser and descent into this awful pit that I am putting him through now.

And has anyone seen that show Once upon a time on like ABC? Christ. And I'm not a writer for a living? seriously? My fault, I know. My choices, my lot in life. My insec urities, my failures.

But really?

Whatever.

(apathy)

A few words about family.

2011-12-17T23:16:00.001-05:00

Aaron's observation:

"I've never met anyone more awkward around their own family..."

Family party today.

Waste of fucking time.

I don't think I actually believe too much in family; not in the way we're taught to do. I believe in choosing those dear to you. I choose my sisters (but only barely), I choose my brother and sister-in-law; I still choose my parents-- but beyond that? No thanks. I see you all once a year and I'm expected to feel something?

I choose my dear friends and consider them family. I consider Aaron's grandmother family--but none of the rest of them (well, I suppose Eric, despite how all that ridiculous shit went down when he lived here with us...)

Forget the rest of them. I wish them no ill will, but I feel nothing for them; no stirrings of kinship; no well of emotion or bond.

Best. Morning. In a while.

2011-12-16T15:24:00.001-05:00

Sick Day ;)

2011-12-14T15:14:00.000-05:00

Tired. Bone tired. Weary. Drained. Tapped. Over it.

Helping a sweet, sweet kid prepare for some audition she has on staurday in boston.

She is a doll. I am being helpful.

But it only serves to reinforce how completely over that industry I am.

And I have this drama class that I teach in the afternoons, last period. I am sooo over it.

The things a middle school teacher can do...

2011-12-13T21:03:00.001-05:00

Whoops!

Been a few days since my last post. My pornographic one :)

I am practically counting the minutes till vacation.

Boy oh boy oh boy oh.

Tomorrow is wednesday. Insightful, I know. But that's what teaching does to a person. My brain is mushifying daily.

Next week I may or may not be able to name the days of the week. But I certainly COULD remind you to walk in the halls, not run; remind you to please take the pass if you are leaving the room; Remind you that there's no food or drink except in the cafeteria; and tell you in forty different ways to be quiet, stop talking, turn around, focus on your work, stop tipping in your chair, stay on task, and wake up.

So. I've got that going for me.

PORN!

2011-12-09T17:52:00.001-05:00

The internet is for porn. Or so says one of my favorite broadway songs of the last two decades.

Yes. It is. It is for porn, porn, porn!

So you may have gathered that it has been a long, long, looooonnnnng miserable awful no good terrible horrible no good very bad week for me.

Earlier in the week I came home and rewarded myself for surviving the day by givining myself many orgasms.

Yesterday I came home and rewarded myself by indulging in several good hours of video gaming.

Today I came home and the whim to troll tumblr sites gripped me. I have rewarded myself with some intriguing pornographic imagery.

It varies, depending on the day, what will get my motor humming. Many days it is threesomes or moresomes. I love the idea of multiple people all engaged in giving and receiving pleasure. Some days I can't get enough of fellatio. Suck it, bitch! Yeah, suck that big hard cock! Still other days I am tantalized by the oh-so-innocent but clearly not-so-innocent school girl thing. And I have a real weak-in-the-knees thing for men dressed in full business attire roughly handling nude submissive women. Whoa. Makes me hotter than hell.

But today? today the thing that's been ringing my chimes? Cunnilingus and knowledge. I LOVE viewing images of women getting eaten out. Worshipped. Paid tribute. Today I can't get enough of it. Men, women, doesn't matter. There is someething so very alluring and seductive about watching a woman taking pleasure in someone kissing and licking and pleasuring her between her legs.

I won't share all the images that have caught my image this evening, but I will share a few...

Um... Not work safe--did I have to mention that when I'd entitled the blog "Porn!"?

bon apetit!

Ok, so lets first look at images that are absolutely not explicitly pornographic--in that they don't actually show anything! But they imply EVERYTHING. I adore images like this. A woman's imagination, they say, is her biggest and most powerful erogenous zone...

I fucking ADORE this one.

Tantalizing

Women dressed in full male business attire is NOT one of my turnons, as it reminds me of Dianne Keaton, but I rather enjoy the gentleman burying his nose in her femininity...

Ok. Now, for fun, let's look at illustrated carpet munching!

What a lithe and obedient houseboy!

Isn't the discarded lollipop in the foreground just a delicious touch?

Old-timey girl-on-girl! I heart this! Stay classy, turn of the century lesbians!

This one cracks me right the fuck up! She was going to commit suicide, and was literally saved by oral sex!

Heyyyy, how's this ode to cock get in here? It earned its way to honorable mention for being ridiculously amusing, that's how! I feel like some guy was sitting arund doodling one day and his pen birthed this insanity..,

Ok. Lets take a look at some slightly more exposed stuff. I'm opting NOT to show some full-on graphic shots of pussy here or the more intense cunnelingus because I don't need to nbe an oversharer (lol) but anyway... YUM.....

And lastly, I'm on this 'knowledge' is sexy thing. Sounds lame, I know. I don't entirely get it either, but ours is not to reason why. Check out these adorable images and maybe you'll get me....

"We're reading a book...together...in a state of semi-undress...isn't that scrumptious of us?"


You nknow I love me some pin-up lookin girls. And this one's got a brain! maybe...


And of course. The apple. From the tree of knowledge. Sigh. Note how this one doesn't even show anything explicit!!And yet so fucking erotic.

And my sentimental fave. Geeks beware: she's curvy, she's pale, she's a starwars nerd and an old-school gamer. If I were a guy, I'd have come in my pants.

And are those boyshorts?!?! A-fucking-dorable!

2011-12-09T17:15:00.001-05:00

Holy hell. I thought this day would never come. Really truly. Holy god.

holy moly.

ho.

phew.

When i think about you I...

2011-12-07T11:51:00.001-05:00

So...

yesterday, inspired by my early-morning nocturnal emission, i decided to leave work earlier than usual (I trypically stay until 6pm), head home and specnd a little time racking up some O's.

What a lovely way to spend an afternoon.

It was as if my body was primed and ready to go after that episode in the AM, because achieving the first one took no time at all, and the subsequent ones were just as simple. It felt good to indulge!

and boy am I glad I took matters into my own hands rather than waiting for Aaron to get home, because as it turns out the monthly visitor arrived just as he was getting home, so Id've been thwarted had i waited for his expertise.

so. Sigh of ease. Brought myself to orgasm a good five or six times before deciding I was plenty pleasured and took a much-needed nap.

So now I don't mind the period so much.

Oh, well, plus I woke aaron up in the middle of the night last night for some serious Anal fucking. So, came again there. yay all around to that aspect of my life.

The work front? Sheesh. let's just say I realllllllly fucking needed those orgasms. Orgasms or suicide. Like Eddie Izzard's cake-or-death. Ummmm cake please.

Also, on the financial front I am pretty well fucked. i am broke till friday and bills to pay. jesus. How can I be making practically double what I was making last year and still be so financially strapped? Mo' mone mo' problems, right?

And christmas looming. I just don't know.

there is really no concievable way for me to juggle another job, not at the rate I'm going. I'll burn out before june. Nope. What I need is some way to reduce the debt.

run away to india and disappear?

we'll see.

hitting students when they misbehave doesn't sound a bad as it once did... j/k...or am I?

Talk about the power of positive thinking!

2011-12-06T07:57:00.001-05:00

I decided to sleep in a little this morning.

I usually wake up pretty early, crawl out of bed, stagger around with a glower, take my pills (if I can remember) and trundle off to work-- aiming to arrive just as the janitor unlocks the building at 6:30 am.

This morning, instead of getting up super early, I cuddled up next to my husband and stole some extra warm, languid sleep.

I was rewarded for this decision with what can only be described as the female equivalent of a male's wet dream.

The dream was highly realistic, borrowing from my present circumstances (feeling my husband's warmth and ... well... you get the idea... pressed to my back), and in the dream instead of lying there I mounted it and rode it to bliss.

And I actually came. From IMAGINING a cock inside me. From dreaming about clitoral + g-spot stimulation. I fucking orgasmed in my state of half-sleep/half-waking. Moaning, whimpering, breathless.
It woke Aaron up and subsequently woke me up, the wonderment of feeling my femininity snapping and pulsing.

It was wonderful.

Not a bad way to start a morning.

I then cuddled with the hubby a while more and wished we didn't have to go anywhere, or do anything more than relish the soft, tenuous early morning gift I'd been given.

But here I am at work.

Far, far away from orgasmville.

And only tuesday-- so far from the blessed and cherished weekend.

but i give myself a ghost of a smile when I think about that strange and wonderful little happening this moring, beneath the sheets, between layers of consciousness.

Subsistance, Sorrow, and Sensibility

2011-12-04T13:41:00.001-05:00

If Sylvia Plath and Virginia Woolfe had written about Miss Bennett and Mr. Darcy?

Survived another week. By the skin of my teeth.

Three more till christmas break.

Tick tock tick tock tick

They tell me that if a new teacher makes it to Christmas break that she'll make it the whole year.

Meanwhile I'm looking into pie-in-the-sky ideas. Googling the hell out of jobs in other industries, researching online degree programs, yearning for a life spent doing what I want to do when I want to do it and how I want to do it and getting paid handsomely for it.

Aaron, a pragmatist, tells me as gently as possible that there is no such thing. Fantasy. Myth. Fiction. He isn't saying it in a soul-crushing way. He's being really kind, and very careful about it, but essentially he's helping me step out of my little-girl dreams and into the reality of adulthood.

But he is ever supportive. Steadfastly supportive. And encouraging.

And he is also trying to help me work through the trauma of working for a living. He's been working jobs since high school. And he's great at working. He's really good at wading through the bullshit, at being agreeable, at not taking things personally, and getting through the day.

His advice is to "find all the things you DO like about your job; focus on them." He maintains that if I continue to get worked up about the other stuff, continue to stress and focus on the negative, that I will go insane.

And I can't quit this job.

And I can't check-out.

So I'd better find some way to manage. To get by.

And actually get good enough at my job so that they don't fire me before I can make arrangements for my next (to be failed) career venture.

The problem with wanting out of this job? It pretty much seals the deal on the whole kids debate. If I don't have a steady job and steady income there will be NO CHILDREN. That's just the way it is.

Sigh.

It is shaping up to be another season of everyone-around-me-is-having-a-baby. Cousins, sisters, co-workers.

New baby a week a month ago, another a week or so ago, another baby due this week, and then both my sister and sister in law are due in the spring/early summer.

Happy for them all around.

And I love watching my baby nieces getting older. Zoe, Natalie, Maggie, Sophia. And my grown up neices and nephews too!

But there's something inexpressibly melancholy about being an aunt. I didnt want to think so. I didn't want to believe that. But there it is. A separate, spare quality.

It is sunday. And sundays hurt because monday is coming.

But waking up this sunday morning warm and cozy, loved and languid; having my dearest wish come true never gets old, never grows stale, never disappoints. I love falling asleep in his arms every night, and waking up beside him every morning. It was what I prayed for, wished for, and worked for for YEARS. And having it, it becomes more dear, never less so.

I'm a lucky, lucky woman.

Despite all my bitching and moaning.

2011-12-03T05:56:00.001-05:00

what the fuck was I thinking?

Is there another word for bittersweet?

2011-12-02T06:08:00.001-05:00

Ever miss the sound of someone's voice? I mean really miss it?

I'm not sure why, but I have been trapped in memory lane lately. The bittersweet pull of nostalgia. Confronting those haunting but useless questions... the 'what if's and the 'why's.

I'm honestly not sure why I've been strolling that lane as of late. Wandering wistfully, ruminating ad remembering.

My head knows better. I remind myself that everything unfolds just as it was destined to unfold, and that I would be better served forgetting this nonsense. Locking it up in the deeper recesses of the hall of records. Kiss it goodbye and never go looking for it again. It is the arc of the covenant in that military warehouse. File it and forget it. And fuck it!

Yet still my thoughts seem to wander.

And still I sigh, every now an again.

And look those 'what if's square in the face.

And stare down those 'why's, unable to blink, unable to back away.

Reminds me of music. Reminds me of song. These feelings too deep, and broad, and full for the written, for the spoken. This mysterious pull that lures me with the reminiscences of that voice. Always surprising--never exactly as I thought it was, or remembered it...

And so I muddle through, through the motions, through the routine. I continue on as if it is healed, pretending i don't know it is infected.

Last time I got like this I picked the scab.

just to feel the slightest ghost of what was. To hear that voice.

Not this time.

What would be the point?

And naturally I torture myself with the tantalizing question: do they ever feel this way? Do they ever pause and remember and long and sigh? Do the what ifs and the whys tug at their hem? Pull at their heartstrings, pervade their consciousness fromn time to time?

Oh, vanity. Oh, pride.

Reminds me of an exchange from one of my favorite plays.

"You never write"

"Because I thought you'd never answer."

"...I've spent every night walking every street in hell."

"That's odd; I never saw you there."

A plea to no one in particular. Ignore it.

2011-11-30T08:52:00.001-05:00

Ok.

I don't think I've ever really had a panic attack.

I've seen aaron have one or two in our time, and I don't think I'm experiencing that...

But I am teetering on the edge of something pretty perilous here.

I am sitting here seriously wondering how I'll make it through the day, and how I'll make it through the next day, and the day after that.

What the fuck am I going to do?

Aaron says happiness is something you choose.

I really don't know.

Is it acceptable to hide under my desk?

Jesus christ.

I don't want to be here. I'm such an asshole, I know, I know. I'm a ridiculous, awful person. I know.

and I know I can't quit. I know.

There are so many things I know--so why do I feel so fucking lost and clueless?

whatthefuckamigoingtodo????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

oh my godohmygodohmygod. I need to go home. I really do. Holy shit. What the fuck?

This is bananas.

It is almost comic. Sitting here typing my internal monologue in the hopes that it will exorcise some of it. Ha.

Oh my god. I can't teach a class while on the verge of tears. helphelphelphelphelp.

Ok. time to buck up. Time to pull my shit together.

8th graders, like predators, can smell fear.

They thrive on exploiting vulnerabilities.

brbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbbrbrbrbr.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

not just anybody...

2011-11-28T18:41:00.001-05:00

the last day of my vaca was sacrificed to teacher-stuff. And I resented it. Today I went to work. And I resented it.
Right now i am supposed to be doing more in the way of work obligations, and I resent it and abhor it so thoroughly that I am not doing a single bit of it.

just stressing about it and resenting it.

is there any way out?

you work so hard for something, only to find out it isn't at all what you want.

and I really haven't got another 'start over' left.

i hate worrying about sucking at a job i don't even like... worrying about losing a job I don't really want.

help.

A day late...

2011-11-25T19:33:00.001-05:00

So, in what must surely be typical Aaron & Beth style, we could not seem to get our act together in time to cook our first Thanksgiving on Thursday.

Instead we took the pressure off it. We popped in to say the requisite 'hello' to our families, came home and did some minor cleaning, then took the rest of the day off. I napped. He played Skyrim. I was a little disappointed. But Not so worked up that I had it in me to get up and do more cleaning, or prepare a huge meal!

So this morning we woke up, had some great sex, then proceeded to do some cleaning. Then I played Skyrim (It was SO my turn), and he cleaned the entire kitchen, every dish and pot and pan, and it was wonderful.

So finally, finally, it was time to make our Thanksgiving!

We'd gone to a farmer's market for some of our harvest veggies, and to Trucchi's for the rest (Just like the pilgrims did it...) for instance, canned cranberry sauce (just like the pilgrims...)

I was on my feet preparing a veritable vegetarian feast for hours! And it was so much fun! We had the harvest bake, I made a pot pie, I made a green bean casserole (first time, not sure how I felt about it ultimately. I used fresh green-beans, contrary to the directions, and suffered because of it. Needed alot more time in the oven...), I sauteed up some brussels sprouts with garlic and brown sugar (yum!), Had baked confetti squash stuffed with stuffing to which I added edamame for protein (just like the... yeah, joke gets old, right?). We had pillsbury crescent rolls because they make Aaron happy, and corn and mashed potatoes (aaron made the mashed potatoes and the were rock-your-socks-off delish!); little cornbreads, apple cider (local farms), and I think... I think that's it. We had so much food we didn't even cut into the pie. No we'll have that as leftovers!

Plus I even threw in an almond poundcake for desert and it is perfection! Even better with a touch of strawberry rhubarb jam! But we decided we were much too full for much desert, so we've sampled it, loved it, and will enjoy it over the coming week.

You know what? It was the best thanksgiving either of us have had in years. And even though it was vegetarian? It FELT like Thanksgiving. We did not miss the turkey one bit! We had a MEAL, not a collection of side dishes. And we were happy. And we were together, in our home, no pressure, no stress, just warmth and fun and love. And the Reardon China, and the Wedding crystal :) And papertowels, lol. And most things served in the same vessel in which they were prepared. Nobody to impress!

Now I'm slow cooking leftover veggies in veggie broth and heavy cream to make a delicious autumn bisque. It smells like gastronomical divinity.

I may add some rosemary on top and let it sloooooooowwwwww cook overnight.

And, when we were digested a little bit, we celebrated our private thanksgiving with a sound fucking all around. Fucking fabulous. I was rewarded very generously for my domesticity today. Positive orgasmic reinforcement!

So. Happy Thanksgiving. While many spent today in the thrall of consumer madness, standing in lines and shopping for the best bargain, I was at home, relaxed, happy, healthy, harmonious.

Hope you all found joy and happiness in your holidays as well!

:)

Wonderful Wednesday

2011-11-23T15:42:00.001-05:00

Woke up early with the intention of playing the new videogame before Aaron could get to it, but as I sat down in the gaming chair I had a powerful urge to write some scenes I'd been thinking about before bed. I got one done. One started. Not sure if they have any sizzle or value, but at least they are written! SO much of my stuff lately has been theoretical. Ideas bouncing around in my head and dying out beore they ever get recorded.

I miss being able to write whenever.

I still have a love\hate relationship with my writing, and sorta wish I would 'piss or get off the pot' as my mother would say... but what can I do? This is the longest any one idea has captivated me this long. And imagine if I branched out and wrote about other families and problems? It could be infinite. Like my addiction to the sims used to be... heyyyyyy...

Aaron and I have committed to having our very own thanksgiving tomorrow. This will be the first one we've had together alone as a couple. I am excited. But the fist thing we have to do is tackle this incredibly daunting amount of cleaning!

We now have more than a passing investment, though. We went to the farmer's market (it is fucking freezing out for a farmer's market, incidentally) and picket up a good amount of harvest-y vegetable for a heftier sum than I'd been anticipating. But the clerk was so friendly and thoroughly vegetarian and helpful that there just couldn't be that moment of: "Howthefuck much? Um, no. We're putting half this shit back!"

Nope. Instead I swallowed by blank surprise, commented on how many wonderful vegetarian cookbooks she had, and then she OFFERED TO LET US BORROW SOME. Wild. I fucking adore local business.

So. On the menu?

Still tentative. But here are the officially-decided-upon items:

~Harvest Bake~

Butternut squash, turnip, parsnip, carrot, red potato, and sweet potato baked with rosemary. (and shallots if you have 'em. I fogot about them and Aaron doesn't care for them, so whatever.) It is my absolute fave, and the leftovers can be stewed in vegetable broth, pureed, and mixed with some heavy cream to make the BEST autumn bisque!

~Stuffed Confetti Squash~

We usually do acorn squash, but this confetti squash is roughly the same shape and size, and was at the farmer's market! We'll stuff it with, well, stuffing (pepperidge farms makes a stuffing that blessedly contains no amount of chicken stock, chicken fat, chicken bones, or chicken powder. Chicken powder? True story. Try reading the back of your stuffing bags/boxes. Thanks for powdering the chicken--I really hate it when it's chicken lumps...) that has been fortified with either a bean or maybe edamame... something to give it protein.

Other than that I'm a little up in the air. I could do a veggie pot-pie, which is yummy. I also purchased spinach and green beans, for the, well, the green-ness. But no clue on what I'm going to do with them. I might go mid-western and try a greenbean casserole! Oh, and we bought a can of corn and some pillsbury crescent rolls to sate Aaron's pining for his grandmother's.

We will no miss sitting through our family's dinners. Quoth Aaron: "I can't tell you how psyched I am about this opting out of thanksgiving thing." He told me a yesterday. "I wish we could opt out of more!" You should have seen the honest glee in his expression. Priceless.

Tu-Friday...

2011-11-22T13:20:00.001-05:00

Oh, Tu-Friday, how I love thee. I love that you mean my weekend is already at hand! I also kinda love that you sound vaguely vegetarian. And sassy, like tutti-fruitti gum!

I love love love love love that my work day is almost over!

Amen Amen Amen.

Someone told me at the beginning of the year that if I made it to thanksgiving that I'd make it through the year. We shall see. Another person held the carrot a little further out--at Christmas break.

The kids today were fascinated puzzled and appalled that I wouldn't be partaking in turkey this Thanksgiving. They find the choice to be vegetarian so bizarre!

"Don't you miss chicken?!" The exclaim, disbelieving that anyone could willingly give up the delicious bird. "It tastes sooooo good!"

I sigh and shrug and smile.

And tell them that I LOVE mashed potatoes. We all agree on that.

Ms. Reardon gets hate grafitti...

2011-11-21T19:11:00.001-05:00

Yes indeed.

On the inside cover of one of the copies of the novel we're reading. I discovered it today while instructing students on where to turn for their book numbers, as today was finally sign out day for the novels.

It reads as follows:

Mrs. Reardon

sucks

Big dicks

and is a

fat ass

Bitch

I have written it out as it appears in scrawled pencil. And doesn't it almost read like poetry?

I was shocked and amused when first I beheld it.

Then I thought about it.

And.

I think no truer hate grafitti has yet been written about me!

I do indeed suck big dick (yum); I have a beautifully large curvaceous posterior (love!), and who among us has not been know to be a bitch?

So, overall, I think I'm not too terribly upset at the little gesture of rebellion. I have my suspicions on who is responsible. But nothing will come of it.

Except... except I may frame this for posterity.

I'm a sentimental gal ;)

Miss Reardon pines...

2011-11-20T08:22:00.001-05:00

The hours after I posted weren't as bad as that first one. I learned about a few things that seem like they might be really valuable! And fun.

But in the end, I have mixed feelings. I got 6 PDPs, which, I dunno, are something a teacher is tasked with aquiring for some reason or another. Anyhow, I got some of those-for free-- which I gather is a boon.

Professional development.

For a profession about which I am luke-warm right now. Tepid at best.

My heart wants OUT!

My head knows I need to stay and keep chipping away at it.

Aaron says I've never had any job very long and that this is my normal pattern. He tells me that I hate working. ANY job, and always try to find a way out, always begin to look at alternatives. He thinks I generally end up liking my jobs after this phase of push-back and wanderlust.

We'll see.

I have found myself resenting how much time and energy and creativity goes into this bullshit career. I think to myself: If only this placeholder career didn't take up so much of my fucking time, perhaps I'd have time to train/prepare for my next one!

See, I've pretty much decided that I don't want to be a teacher forever. At least not this kind of teacher. Maybe if I were a drama teacher, or maybe if I were a college professor (where at least I could curse like a sailor and not be afraid of mentioning anything at all remotely sexual...again, I'd be a theatre professor, so it'd be impossible not to discuss the most basic human motivation after hunger...).

But not this. Not this bizarre in-between of elementary school teacher and high-school teacher. Not this job that simultaneously requires that I be a molly-coddler and a whip-cracker.

And btw, my biggest fear when I was in high-school (besides unwanted pregnancy) was becoming a teacher... especially a fucking english teacher. Weren't all your english teachers bananas? Mine were. Crazy, unhinged, fruitloops, and very very often bitches royale!

Aaron affectionately tells me that I'm the perfect kind of crazy to be a middle school english teacher. He thinks its great and that the kids must love me. I'm not so sure. And it freaks me out that I might have been 'destined' or whatever, to be this...

I want to work in the entertainment industry. I don't want to be an actor--I left that for a whole host of reasons. It wasn't just: have something to fall back on. There was something about being an actor that felt so... haphazard. So much of that career is out of your hands. Up to the fates. The whims and arbitrary decisions of strangers. I didn not like the powerlessness I felt, even at my most empowered.

I left acting for many reasons and it is a door I've pretty well shut forever. In fact, I'm a little tired of teaching middle school drama too. Drama alltogether! (not altogether, because that would be an exciting way to teach drama! eww, but not to middleschoolers, yuck. How about them college kids, though?? yeahhhhhh..... anyway....)

I want to be someone more in the director's realm. But I'm not ready to spearhead anything. Or be in charge of too many other people. But I want a job in the creative arts industry. And I'd like to not be responsible for anyon'es learning for a while.

I mean. I was looking at the NEA and other arts + education organizations and wondering if maybe I'd be best talking about arts education, rather than actually doing it. But I'd feel like a fraud. You know? Designing lessons I'd never have to implement personally? What an asshole!

And I'm really intrigued with the idea of educational gaming. Well. Not entirely true. I'm intrigued with the idea of gaming, and getting into the gaming industry, and I guess I figure since I have all this educational background, that's how I might be able to find an 'in'.

But this is all moot.

Because I have a job. And It's the one I need to be doing. For a long, long, long, long, time.

The way I'm losing precious hours of my life...

2011-11-19T10:26:00.001-05:00

I am sitting at a technology conference, bored out of my mind.

This particular presentation is basically telling me how to do a google search. In excrutiating detail. Exceptionally slowly and with no charisma whatsoever...

Sigh.

At least it was free.....................................................................................................

FML

Have A Magical Day!

2011-11-18T15:26:00.001-05:00

I have a crush on the dunkin donuts girl.

She isn't there every single day, which makes her all the more precious to me. She is by far the most adorable and also the most effective take-out window clerk i have ever experience.

She had dark reddish\brown curls that are always a bit on the frizzy side. She's got a dusting of light freckles over perpetually rosy cheeks--the kid you just know a grandmother pinched vigorously and often.

She's perky, but not in a disingenuous way; her spunkiness is infectious! her smile is contagious! Her warmth is enveloping! Her laughter is uplifting!

And the best part?

Where most people would tell me to have a good one, or have a nice day? This girl says, and I tell you with all sincerity that it is neither facetious nor is it too saccharine; she tells me: "Have a magical day!"

I can hear her genuine, light-hearted upward inflection now as I write this.

sighhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Oh sweet Dunkin Donuts girl. I adore you.

Thanks for making those mornings so fabulously splendid. Dare I say: Magical?

Miss Reardon calls home...

2011-11-17T19:17:00.001-05:00

Making phone calls home to tell parents that their kids are fuckholes is one of the more stressful and less enjoyable parts of my new career.

And this is why I am sitting here with Bailey's in my cocoa.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Self-medicating and taking the edge off; how the Irish have rolled since the invention of spirits...

Amen.

Faith and begorrah!

Ohmygod, shoes.

2011-11-15T19:11:00.001-05:00

Things I want to say 'thank you' for!

Every now and then, like a flower blooming in a barren field, like a treasure glinting in the muck, there come things into my life for which I am grateful. Little silly things that make me unreasonably happy.

Always, thank heavens, always there are mu\y friends and loved ones. I do not deserve their continued support and love, but there it is; to buoy me, to anchor me, to wrap me up and keep me safe. They mean everything to me, and I am eternally and undyingly grateful.

But this post isn't about the big things; its about the little things that make my day, or week, or month.

For instance. THANK YOU to Savers thrift store, for giving me all my most favorite pairs of shoes! Holy Moly! I used to avoid buying shoes at thrift stores because my friend Jeff had all these dire supoerstitions that he got from his very traditional Italian grandmother. One of them was about walking in a dead man's shoes, and I guess at a thrift store you never do know, right?

But times change. Have you SEEN the price of brand new shoes? Plus, as a vegetarian I refuse to support the leather industry, so I'm forced into buying synthetics, which is fine by me, except that synthetic materials ain't no match for leather, so they wear out at an astonishingly quick rate, but the shoes are still SUPER expensive!

At Savers I can get shoes for less than $7, not worry about whether they're leather or not (we have a rule about secon-hand stuff. We're not supporting the industry, and we're being greeeeen!)--I still try to avoid leather, but often there's no real way to know! Ok, so at $7 or less I can feel free to buy on a whim, you know?! Because say they don't work out, turns out they don't quite fit right when I get them home, or that they fall apart after a couple months, or that they are actually a little too zany even for me when the sobriety of the next day hits me (this RARELY happens, I assure you, but even I, on occasion, have suffered buyer's remorse), WHO THE FUCK CARES? Because guess what? They cost me like $5.50. No big loss!

So shopping for shoes at savers can be a freeing experience!

Sure, sure, it can also be a frustrating one. I mean, there's only ever, you know, just the ONE pair of things. At a real store if you see a cute shoe but it isn't displayed on the shelves in your size there's always a chance they have one somewhere. OR you could check the website and such. At a thrift store? No such luck. A seven is a seven is a seven, so suck it, size nines! I mean once in a while you'll hit thrift store gold and they will have been donated a whole LOT of some style of shoe, and it is like HEAVEN. But this is rare. I don't know what these shoe companies are that donate entire LOTS of shoes, but keep up the stelaar charity work, folks!

But overall I'd say the exciting finds far outweigh the frustrations. Little risk, lots of reward. I now have savers to thank for all my current favorites:

The Black Wedge heels that are both stylish and comfortable like a mawfuckah! I wear those bitches to WORK! ALL DAY! And they don't hurt a bit! (another bonus for thrift store shoes: someone else has already done the hard work of breaking them in for me! Thanks, shoe slave. It makes me feel like a pampered princess to imagine petty servants walking up and down for the purpose of giving my tootsies a better ride!)

This is the basic idea, but mine have much cuter detailing. But look at that height!!

The New Dark Red wedges with the gentlest red&cream herringbone trim that feel very reminiscent of the black ones, only even more adorable because of the hint of sophisticated color, and the button off to the side. Oh, they'z so frickin cute!

Legit. How frickin' cute are these?!?!?!?

A few other styling bitches, that I had trouble finding images for, but you know they cute. The following pics are close analogues for some of my fave finds at savers...

Shimmering Zebra Shoes! Yay!

Sequined Flats! Sassafrass!

Fuckin Fire-Engine Red Penny Loafers, Bitch!

TWEED Shoes?!?! Yup. And Mine are even cuter because there's more orange tones, and theres this little flower on them... So London, So Fun!

PLUS one of my all time favorite pairs. My Neon Yellow Flats. Seriously. These babies are Safety-yellow. Simple, yet statement-making! People never fail to notice the little flash of day-glow peeping out from 'neath my cuff hem. They're conversation starters, they bring joy to people's faces, they are simple, comfortable, silly, and satisfying! I have over-worn them sadly, so they are getting pretty scuffed and ragged. I bought them, like, a year ago with my friend, who picked up a matching pair in Neon Pink! And if she's not wearing them, she could send them my way for some LOVE! :)

Goddamned Glorious.

I Absolutely adore the whimsy, the happenstance, the absolute serendipity of finding second hand shoes you adore!

Thank You Savers!

Pleasant Polly?

2011-11-14T13:10:00.001-05:00

WOW. Sinus pressure headache like a mothafucking freight train right now. Ho-ly-SHIT. I'm not the nasal allergy type, and my colds don't usually take this miserable form, so I am... whoa. I pretty much wanna rip my face off right now. I keep trying to massage the sinuses, but I need some real reflief! looks like I'll be stopping by CVS on way home (a trek i plan on making as soon as fucking possible! No staying until 6pm today!)

So if they could call a vote of confidence on me right now at work, I'm pretty sure i'd be ousted. You know, people are always like: 'Oh, ask lots of questions! People love it when you ask questions!" But I'm beginning to suspect that my initial instinct was correct in this matter: Asking too many questions makes your bosses doubt your competency.

I shoulda been sticking to the old stage adage: Fake it till you make it!

Instead I have been frank about my concerns, my inadequacies, my lack of preparation for this gig, and now I'm being very very VERY closely monitored.

As if I didn't already want to quit!

Christ.

Oh, and anyone want any cats? I'm about at the end of my patience with these boys. I have NEVER given up a pet before, but I am pretty much over having them at this point.

I will never never never never get another cat.

If I had my way, we'd never get another pet. Period.

Well. Ok, we haven't ever had a dog. Maybe we'll get a nice dog someday.

We're not having kids. Unless there's some freak accident or twist of fate. So maybe a dog. Might be nice.

My fucking head/face!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i am not a pleasant polly right now!

I was supposed to stay late and enter all my grades into the computer portal for term one. Nopes. I am going the FUCK home as soon as fucking possible.

Oh, and CVS on the way.

Absolutely.

Indubitably.

Creative Writing, Doctor!

2011-11-13T00:11:00.001-05:00

Ok.

No. It isn't 'ok'. I say "ok" alot. And it couldn't be further from the truth.

I am not OK.

Something, nay, many things are really wrong with me.

And instead of wanting to get better, I would honestly rather throw in the towel.

Survival instinct is supposed to be innate. intrinsic. inherent.

I have a fundamental defect.

And every time I try to point this out to myself I get even more disgusted and spiral even further into self-loathing.

And I don't want to be, nor can I really afford to be on pills for this for the rest of my natural life.

So.

What to do?

Aaron thinks he might study to be a paleontologist.

I spent part of this evening looking at writing degrees accross the country. It was exciting, thinking about changing my life.

And then I remembered that I've had my go. I've paid and am struggling to make payments on those years, those semesters, those course loads of self indulgence. I don't get to go to fucking WRITING school! Am I insane?!?! Yes. I believe we've established that soemthing is seriously mal-formed in here.

It is his turn. and good heavens above, the man has earned it. I don't give a fuck if he wants to go back to school for african drumming. What he wants he will get. And I will work myself into the ground-god willing- to give it to him.

I do not get to go back to school to pursue yet another ridiculous, self-indulgent, self-aggrandizing, self-delusional pipe-dream.

My sentence for those wasted years is doing what I'm doing. Struggling to make my square peg fit into the round hole. Black hole. sink hole.

For as long as he needs.

I just worry that I won't be able to hold up my end of the bargain.

That I'll surrender to the darker things before I get the chance to fulfill my sacred obligation. I owe him everything.

I wish it hadn't happened like this.

I really wish it had all been different.

Sometimes I wish we'd never met.

That's how much I love him.

Can oyu imagine me submitting my writing for admittance into a PHD program in creative writing?

The thought is enough to douse even the most persistent little flame of hope.

I suppose I could do what I did to pass my creative writing course in college... submit Aaron's work instead of my own and have adulation poured upon me...

He really is ridiculously talented.

If it weren't for me, for my debt, for my anchoring him here, he could go anywhere, be anything, and be a world-changer.

I know he sees it differently.

He says my vision is warped because of this peculiar sickness of mine.

I say his vision is clouded by some shadow of a girl he fell in love with years ago.

She doesn't exist now.

She hasn't for some time.

He's fighting for her, but she's nothing more than memory.

The woman in her place is a pale comparison. A sham. A fraud.

And I feel so guilty that everyone keeps looking for that girl.

Anyway. A PhD in creative writing? What a ridiculous thing to have a doctoral program for.

A Gamer-iffic holiday!

2011-11-12T08:26:00.001-05:00

Things that I did in the name of sanity/self-indulgence/self-therapy yesterday:

Woke up super early and dragged the hubs to SAVERS for their Veteran's Day half-off sale! I got some cute stuff, not as much as last time, but still. Plus a couple pairs of shoes I like too, and Aaron got some good stuff :)

Got Mary Lou's coffee on the way! TREAT!

Returned home from savers and tried stuff on because I was not putting myself through the bullshit of the Savers veteren's day half-off sale dressing room Nazi and her bullshit out-of-control dressing room attitude problem, rules, and restrictions. Nope nope nope. THere's only so much a quick-blooded Irish can take, and I was already at my absolute limit with the fucking shoppers, no way was I gunna suffer through that dripping cuntsicle. Could I have saved money had I tried things on in store and eliminated items that did not fit or did not look as good on my body as they did on the rack? sure thing. But remember, we're talking a half-off sale at a deep-discount thrift store. So, all told I probably would have saved 10-15 buckaroos. Me not having a toatal-fucking-breakdown and ripping the dressingroom Nazi's hair out over deep-discount thrift store merch? Priceless.

Discovered that one item of clothing turned Aaron on very, very much and had an amazing morning of fun in the bed.

Then a nap. a long, long, hearty, healthy, pleasant, worry-free nap. Sated, satisfied, sexified, splendiferous nap. We both needed it. It has been a long few weeks. Our bodies very much appreciated the recuperation!

Awoke in a cuddly, cozy, cherished sort of mood and basked in it.

Showered. An as-long-as-I-feel-like-it shower, because I didn't have to rush to work, and I wasn't fall-down-tired and about to stumble into bed.

Departed for an eveing of games at my brother's, but on the way stopped at muthafucking gamestop to buy myself a new, BRAND NEW goddamned video game. A luxury.

Had my sister-in-law's delicious cooking-- last night she went with vegetarian chili and cornbread and it was mouthwatering, filling, and comforting! Played with my neices until it was time for their bed times. Had a fun night of convo and games with my brother and sister-in-law. In fact! We played CRANIUM TURBO EDITION, which we'd picked up for 5 fucking dollars at savers, and it was mint-- never even been opened. This game would easily retail for fifty dollars, and we got it for 5. It was super fun. A definite improvement on the fun of cranium. It moves faster, it has more hilarious categories-- our favorite was the one where you have to move your partner like a marionette to get them to guess the secret word on the card (hula dancer, playing guitar, florist...) Hilarity ensued!

Came home, immediately checked out this online starwars MMORPG that I was selected to fucking BETA TEST (WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!!!!!!); also started my new xbox video game with much enthusiasms. After playing that for a chunk of time I went back to the MMORPG whilst aaron dozed dreamily on the couch.

Discovered when my cell alarm went off that it was 4:30 in the AM. They warned me MMORPGs are to gamers what booze and crack are to addicts, and holy hell are they right. Where the fuck did that time go??

Decided to take a two-hour nap to get powered up for a day of laundry, cleaning, grading, lesson-planning, and hopefully more gaming??!!??!!??!!

Aaron and I have decided to head to the laundromat, as we're so behind in the laundry sitch that it makes more sense to attack it on all cylinders. The dinky double-decker apartment sized washer here at our building will not suffice. So when I sign off we shall depart for a good chunk of time.

It is actually more fun than you'd think when you're with someone you enjoy hanging out with, and when it was your choice to go, rather than the only option you have for doing laundry (I've lived that wretched hell and will never take an in-house washer and dryer for granted ever ever again).

So!

Enjoy your saturday. I'mma do my best to both enjoy myself AND be productive. When laundry's done there's still dishes, and bullshit, and organization, and a bathroom that I would be ashamed to let a hobo use... it never seems to end and it never seems to get much better.

And I warned myself that I wouldn't be allowed to do a thanksgiving here if we didn't get this place in order. It is starting to look lik that's gunna be the case, which makes me sadpants.

But! Off to the laundromat!

Huzzah! (my new video game is all medieval-ly) and may the force be with us (the MMORPG is starwars!)

Federal Holiday

2011-11-11T16:26:00.001-05:00

I needed this day.

And am milking it for all it is worth...

What I did today/what I am doing

2011-11-08T19:55:00.004-05:00

Let's see:

I forgot to vote today.

I want to quit my job.

I indulged in hours of sub-par and fantasy-based television shows

I had a peanut butter & strawberry rhubarb jelly sandwich when I got home.

I became surly and grumpy when my husband did not wish to try the new place down the street.

I became irascible (in a passive agressive waspy way) when said restaurant failed to provide an online menu and when the woman on the phone kept listing delicious chicken dishes that they had available AFTER I explained that I was a vegetarian...

I am now awaiting fresh-baked cookies.

And I shall watch the new show Suburgatory with my husband, and we shall marvel at the sexual chemistry betwixt Jeremy Sisto (yeah) and the hot little redhead that is playing his 15 year old daughter. And I will wish that I had the balls to make my stuff into a showtime original. And I will want to quit my job some more. Even harder than I already do.

The Night Ms. Reardon decided she was done with therapy for a while...

2011-11-06T18:08:00.002-05:00

I'd deluded myself into forgetting that saying about Irish Catholics being immune to psychotherapy.

I remember it now.

With a wry twist of the lips, I remember it now.

When I think about a garden hose in the exhaust, I remember the saying.

When I stay until I'm the last living person in the building, and realize that staying all night will not buy me anything but more disappointment--I remember the saying.

When, tomorrow, I cancel my weekly appointments, I'll be thinking of the saying.

With a wry twist of my lips, I'll be thinking of that saying.

And whenever it is that I commit myself to the inevitable course of action, The one that sings a siren song too sweet to close my heart against--

When that day or evening or small hour of the pre-dawn comes?

I'll remember what they say about the Irish and psychotherapy.

I'll remember the truth beneath the jest--

With a wry twist in my smile.

2011-11-01T22:04:00.000-04:00

Gah!

So how's my promise to write something everyday?

Not so hot, huh?

I'll try harder.

The battle to stay sane, stay on top of things, and stay ....

I can't even form cogent thoughts.

see you soon?

Does anyone really imagine angels spend their days sitting around on pinheads?

2011-10-28T22:17:00.003-04:00

I had a breakdown.

Like a broken fucking record.

I'm tired of saying it, and those around me are tired of hearing it.

And I'm just plain fucking tired.Tired all the time.

Drained. And Weary. And Weak.

And I don't think I can do it.

Aaron wants me to have faith. Says its as easy as deciding. I've never had faith. He says its time to start. I don't think I can do it. He tells me I can. I've never believed in myself. He tells me its time.

All I know for certain is that I'm scared. Everyday. And Cornered. All the time. And there's no way out of this, short of a miracle or a mortal sin.

I bet I'll be the life of the party come parent-teacher conferences :)

Another Installment of Meritricious Poetry!

2011-10-25T22:02:00.000-04:00

I am a potato.

Of the couch variety.

I am a bones.

Of the lazy sort.

An ass.

Of the lard classification.

Inert.

At Rest.

Unmotivated.

Scratch That--

Motivated by sloth.

By ease.

And whim.

I'm taking the path of least resistance.

I'm bending to the compulsion for total hedonism.

And reveling in my inaction.

If you'll excuse me, there's a hot bath and a glass of red waiting for me.

And an orgasm after that.

You become a public school teacher...
and try to tell me you wouldn't do the same.

Happy wednesday, working folks. Almost halfway through.

2011-10-25T16:24:00.002-04:00

Home sick

Not homesick

In my home, having a sick day.

;)

Poem

2011-10-23T23:45:00.000-04:00

Another sunday night.

Another bleak sunday night

no end in sight.

Only grim frustration

and overwhelming pressure

and this writer's block that grips like icy iron and steel.

Firm and unshakable.

Crushing me.

Cornering me.

Killing me.

Cursing me.

I've got nothing.

And a very real deadline of live bodies looming.

I've

got

nothing
...

Masturbatory Excercises!

2011-10-22T06:36:00.000-04:00

It is early for a saturday. I'm up because I'm waiting for the Peapod delivery. I'm pretty much doe with regular shopping, and think I'll only do it out of necessity or as a fun little whim. Today I decided to have it delivered early so that Aaron could help bring the groceries in! And since he has to work later... yeah... you get me.

Leave me aone, I'm not even awake yet.

Do you like getting fucked? Like, Really hard? I love it to pieces.

Sorry.

Just on my mind, cuz, well... you know.

I just did a couple hours ago.

Like, I love to have all kinds of sex, I do, I love so many different ways and styles and moods. But sometimes a girl just wants to get shoved down (or against a wall, or over a counter or whatever) and fucked like an animal.

Ok, I'm prolly gunna wrap this up, as there is no rhyme or reason to my ramblings right now. Just writing to write. My boss tells me that "Writing with no purpose is bad writing."

Fuck that, lady. I think that's like saying "Sex with no purpose is bad sex". Listen, just cuz I'm not doing it to produce a final product, doesn't mean I'm not having some awesome sex, lady! Practice makes perfect! lolz.

I'm having fun. Ok, ok, ok, todays little entry might better be considered diddling myself. Not even full-out masturbation; just sorta idly playing with your lady parts while daydreaming or watching tv or something.

So, apologies for the display. But I just woke up and am waiting for groceries.

Deal with it. :)

Life looks better this side of wednesday...

2011-10-20T18:50:00.002-04:00

GAH! (sound of me coming up for air)

So I know I made the pledge to write each day, but jesus if my day wasn't a big ball of miserable yesterday.

I was feeling down, and blue, and fragile, and all sorts of negative. Which is probably the best time to do some creative writing, to let some of that pent-up creativity out. But I honestly couldn't keep my mind on anything other than worry and stress long enough to form cogent thoughts.

Today I was feeling much more pleasant and even-keel.

And aaron is bringing home Indian for dinner! Yay!

And I will see my bestie this weekend, YAY!

And I will breathe and get through yet another week!

And I will do alot of correcting and grading over the weekend, but I will do it in the comfort of my own home and I will do it blissfully nude! Haha!

Happy friday everyone. We've just about made it another week! Ha-chaaaaaa!

~Beth

Me & Arnie, like twins!

2011-10-17T16:14:00.000-04:00

Is this supposed to get easier?

Because it isn't getting any easier.

I'm not trying to be negative. In fact, I'm trying to be as positive as sanely possible.

But this is exhausting, exhausting and draining on so many levels.

I'm invested up to the roots of my hair, invested and dedicated and drowning in it.

I'm taxed emotionally, I'm tapped intellectually, I'm stretched-thin creatively, and physically? Forget it.

In the immortal words of former president Bush: "It's hard work!"

I realize I'm not running a country, I'm not performing open heart surgery, I'm not reinventing the wheel or curing cancer. I realize that this is a small little battle in the scope of things. But jeez. I'm so completely consumed with becoming a teacher that I don't know which end is up anymore.

A very special thanks to the ones who love me through it all; who keep trying to get together despite the litany of 'sorry, but I cants...' that I keep giving them. Really, really and trully, Its not you, its me. For serious.

And a very very extra special thanks to my amazing god-like husband for the earth-shattering he gives me on a regular basis. For the transcendence, the bliss, the ticket to paradise he delivers with panache and aplomb on the regular.

I am a lucky, lucky, lucky young woman.

Oh, and thanks to him for all the emotional support and continued patience and enduring understanding. That's nice too. lol.

Meanwhiles, this is me:
YUP

Ridonk

2011-10-15T20:31:00.002-04:00

So I got paid an unreasonable sum of dollah bills to play theatre games with grown ups today. What kind of life is this? Also, I am getting paid cash monies to babysit a yardsale tomorrow.

Amen to all the income, as I was pretty broke.

Siriusly. Paid to play theatre games. Wild.

Also, I won a mullet in the faculty lottery on friday! Woohoo! Like, a full-on mullet wig. It is pretty special. I intend to wear it at school from time to time. Go Eagles!

Aaron performed some very funny improv with it on today. Funny-slash-terrifying because he was so good at the white trash impersonation. He finally had to take it off, as he felt that it might have an adverse effect on him, like the symbiote suit from spiderman! He then proceeded to do some fancy ballet moves to counteract the over-macho meat-head character personae.

I love him.

Fall is upon us and I adore the Autumn, but I feel like I am way, way too busy to enjoy it!! I'm still trying to keep my head above water here with the teaching, and very worried about surviving the year. I have so much to do and never enough time to do it all!

Gunna chill with the hubs. Have some zucchini pizza, watch some mysterysciencetheatre3000, and keep the rest of the worry at bay for a few hours more!

Love!

Keep Talkin' Happy Talk...

2011-10-14T08:41:00.000-04:00

After much deliberation (ok, I freaked-the-fuck-out), I have made the decision to scale back the medications that I am taking, to include only the ones that would not deform potential fetuses. That seemed like the holistic, organic, naturalistic approach. "Oh, this deforms babies? No thanks you, then. I'll pass."

I spoke to my therapist and to the RN who is in charge of prescribing, and they were very supportive, which i honestly wasn't expecting. I was all geared up for a battle! I was ready to defend my rights, make my case, and it kinda took the wind outta my sails when they were like: Yeah, if I were you i would make the same decision.

So I'm going back to basics. Back to just the thyroid medicine, and we're gunna see how that goes. But I'm also going to look into the age-old treatment for mood disorder: Diet & Excersize! What a concept! lol. But now instead of looking at it as "I should..." I will have to look at it as "I HAVE to..."

Of course last night I had a bowl of stuffing for dinner. Not a stellar choice. But a very, very, very delicious and comforting one!

Work is getting more challenging every day. And I didn't think that was possible. I'm there now, as I type this, and I'm wishing I were curled up in bed with a tea and a good book.

Instead I've gotta shlepp downstairs to wait my turn at the copy machine. Eck.

And I have a super-dee-duper busy weekend ahead of me! I am doing two seminars at a conference about teaching drama! Imagine that?1 Me, teaching other teachers. Yikes.

And on Sunday there's this big town wide yard sale that Aaron's running, so that's where I'll be. Meanwhile I'm drowning under piles of papers that need to be corrected, grading that needs to get done, and lesson plans yet unplanned!

All this while going OFF the drugs. Wish me luck folks. At this point happy thoughts are about as likely to work as vitamins and st. john's wort!

2011-10-12T11:52:00.000-04:00

So i'm 28!

I feel good.

I am crazy busy.

I overslept this morning. Like for real. It was wild. We woke up at 7:30 and it was pandemonium when we realized how late it was! Aaron goes: "Is it daylight savings?!?!?" Lol. nope. We're just assholes.

But I'm another year older.

See you soon!

The Amazing Spider-Baby

2011-10-09T18:52:00.002-04:00

Ok,

So I'm on this regimen of pills that I swear, you'd look at and think I was on chemo or an HIV cycle, fro chrissakes. I mean, something SERIOUS. I'm just a little blue now and then and I've got fucking 5 or six different prescriptions and all the various rules and regulations that go along with that many goddam pills.
This pill has to be taken in the AM before breakfast.
This pill needs to be taken in the AM with breakfast.
Take ONE of these pills in the AM with breakfast, and the other one and a half before bed.
Take this pill with food, but not breakfast.
Take this pill and that pill at night. And the latter nonly id you feel like you might have trouble sleeping.

Jesus H, right?

And if you don't know, I was on kind of an all-natural kick before this all went down. I wanted chemicals as far away from my body as possible. I was a burt's bees consumer, a free-range egg buyer, an organic milk drinker. I'd be that asshole in the supermarket checking the back of any and all products to make sure I wasn't buying partially-hydrogenated crap and high-fructose corn syrup. Seriously. Geave up meat largely because of the insane chemicals, bought unbleached flour, buy as natural as possible as allowed by the fucking fda.

And her I am dependent on a slew of chemical concoctions to make me balanced and well and less-than-suicidal.

Well.

At first I told myself: Suck it up. Mental illness is a real illness. You take your thyroid pill and don't blink, because the medical doctor told you you need it. So take these pills the therapists are telling you you need.

However.

The other day, sitting in the Nurse's office at my Therapy place (the nurse is the one who prescribes the drugs), I decide to get all 'educated consumer' on her, and say:

"This isn't an immediate concern, I simply want to be informed; Out of curiosity, what would happen with taking all these pills should I get pregnant? Again, it isn't an immediate concern, but in the next few--"

"If you're thinking about getting pregnant you have to stop taking these pills immediately." she says, her face grim.

"Oh... really?" I ask, trying to look perfectly blase about it. Trying to look only mildly curious.

"Yes." She replies firmly. "Mood stabilizers are not safe for fetuses." She tells me. and further elaborates: "In fact, if you were to get pregnant while on these pills you would have to get an abortion."

Ho.Ly.Fuck.

"Holy God." I say, before I can act cool.

"Yes." She agress. "It's incredibly important that oyu not get pregnant while on these drugs." She thinks for a moment. "What we recommend is that whatever birthcontrol you use now, that you double up. So if you're on the pill, you should also use condoms..."

Eeek. So if we practice the pull-out method?

I follow up with some practical questions about coming off the medication in anticipation of trying to conceive, with questions about how people are medicated while pregnant if mood stabilizers are off the table, and then I take the prescription for more thalidamide, thank her, and depart cool as a cucumber.

But all the way home all I can imagine (of course, have we met?) are worst-case scenarios.

I am not pro-life, politically, but I am awfully romantic, and the thought of aborting a child concieved with the man I love makes me sick, guilty, and miserable. I've wanted a child (chilren) with him for more than a decade, and it is touch-and-go already with whether we will even be able to have any (i mean, nearly 15 years of the pull out method and nary a pregnancy? ummmm...). So to think that I might conceive and then have to abort because of some mood stabilizers that would turn my fetus into a monster?

Yeah. that visit did a number on me.

So aaron comes home to find me on the couch, all numb and comatose-like, and asks what's going on.

I tell him.

He isn't as perturbed.

Which, of course, vexes me.

"Look," He says, "You're getting all worked up about a hypothetical situation that is incredibly unlikely to happen." He reminds me that we've never concieved, so why do I all of a sudden think that we will now?

"Because that's how life works!" I tell him, doom-and-gloom.

"No." He tell me. "That's the way people who don't understand odds THINK that life works."

He is certain in his law of averages, and I am certain in my superstition.

I know, I KNOW, it would kill me to have to get an abortion at this point in my life.

An then, oh god forbid, what if something should go wrong and we can't ever have children and that was my one chance???? (yeah, this is how my brain works. I'm my very own soap opera plot line) How could I live with myself?

I couldn't.

So now I'm thinking very seriously about going in to my appointment this week and letting them know that I'm not comfortable with this approach to my treatment. That I'm interested in trying a less toxic approach to leveling me out. Maybe just therapy with the thyroid pills and see what happens.

But I can't help wondering if my irish catholic is rearing it's irrational, stubborn head. Immune to therapy and all that. I mean, if this was, say, an issue with my kidneys, would I be balking at taking medicine? Is this really about thalidomide babies, or is it because I haven't really convinced myself that mental illness is really a medical issue and not self-indulgent bullshit?

And will my ADD medicine mutate my babies too? Sigh.

The only bright spot about this was this discourse:

"What, so you think somehow magically we're going to have sex tonight and get pregnant??"

"No, I'm concerned that we already are!"

"We never have before!"

"Yeah, but there was cum everywhere last night!"

"There's always cum everywhere..."

"What if a sperm crawled up my leg and swam up to my egg?!?!"

"Listen, if a sperm did that, then he is super sperm, and he can withstand the toxic chemicals. He'll be all set."

"And maybe even shoot web?!?!?"

"Yeah. We'll have a superhero baby."

"Yeah!! . . . . . . . . . .But not if we abort him!"

"Jesus...." *Aggravated sigh**

Broke, Broke

2011-10-07T11:58:00.004-04:00

Yeah. How'd that happen? I've got about $10.00 in the bank. And that's after overdrafting and transferring money from my savings to cover the red. It just isn't fun to get the ole "I'm sorry, it says you've been declined" speech at dunkin-fuckin-donuts at 6am.

Thank christ I had taken out cash, and was able to cover my morning caffeine fix, and didn't have to drive away in abject shame.

But yeah. Broke.

It was a confluence of things; lotta automatic bill payments combined with my spending spree at the market bucket, combined with my binge spending at panera, combined with the online clearance event at Lane Bryant, combined with spending at least a hundred on gas for to and fro connecticut and holyoke to look at dinosaur footprints (yes, I'm being dead serious here), combined with this and that and the other. In short, I wasn't careful, and now I'm broke for another week, until my next paycheck. boy oh boy, how long a week can look when one is tired and hungry and po as shit.

In other news, lol, this is my birthday weekend. Maybe someone who loves me will take me out to eat somewhere awesomesauce.

And I look really good in this new shirt I got from the lanebryant clearance sale!

But the bummer is that I was sooooo looking forward to the savers columbus day sale!! Now no 50% off sale for me :( frowny face emoticon.

28. incidentally. is how old I will be.

stay tuned, folks, because my next entry will be about how any babies I conceive will be thalidomide monsters!

Did I mention I have ADD? True Story...

2011-10-06T22:19:00.002-04:00

My Therapist describes suicide as homicide turned inward.

This tickled me.

Because usually when I'm feeling like killing myself I'm not in an angry place, but rather a hopeless one. But she says there's anger there. Crime of passion.

I couldn't help the smile that stole accross my face. Then, naturally, realizing that such behavior was grossly inappropriate, I felt compelled to explain my mirth.

"There's an old movie, from the sixties--" I say, feeling very much as though I'm a snarky character in an Aaron Sorkin show. "--its a spoof on detective, on mystery books, Neil Simon, its a great little piece--" I say, wondering if I've been watching too much West Wing, and wishing Mr. Sorkin would please write again after the abysmal led balloon of Studio 60. "Anyway, there's this great line; They go: "This is the room where Mrs. Twain murdered herself, all those years ago..." My therapist looks bemused, but, being a well trained and exceptionally good therapist, holds her tongue and lets me ride this thought train to the station. "So the other guy goes: 'Don't you mean suicide?'" I chuckle, remembering the next line: "And he replies: 'Oh, no; it was murder alright. Mrs. Twain hated herself very much."

To the woman's credit she took it in good humor and even continued on unruffled, as if I hadn't just poked fun at a thing she makes her living curing.

And maybe, just maybe the next time I feel like offing myself I'll think of Neil Simon's droll tongue-in-cheek wit and Obiwan Kenobi as the blind butler from one of my childhood favorites Murder by Death.

Yeah...I was a weird kid...

And then, as Julie Fucking Andrews once sang: "Then I won't feeeeeeeeeeeeeel soooo baaaaaaaad!!!!"

Ms. Reardon Learns A Lesson in Brevity

2011-10-05T21:35:00.000-04:00

Aaron hates Ernest Hemingway, and is fond of retelling the anecdote about Old Man and the Sea; He asserts that Old Man and the Sea would be perfect--IF-- and its a big 'if', IF it had been a short story. See, as Aaron tells it, Hemingway had a great short story on his hands in this man-vs-fish/man-vs-himself allegory. But the deal is this: Hemingway got paid by the word. So apparently he stretched what should have been a 30 to 35 page story into one triple that length.

Interestingly, though, Hemingway actually has a reputation in literature (other than being a fall-down drunk) for his economy of words. He examplifies the very American, very masculine, very closed-mouthed modern writing aesthetic. He isn't flowery, he isn't (generally) long winded. He says what he needs to say, rather bluntly, and doesn't tend to elaborate past endurance (hem-hem, Mr. Tolkein...), or fluff it up like a big name hollywood star with a tiny dick and a nude scene coming up (hem-hem, Mr. Bacon...).

I tend to be the long-winded type. Maybe you've noticed? I use ten words where five would've done fine. I go off on tangents and focus on minutia and keep writing when I should just press that punctuation key...

And Aaron, the Hemingway hater, shared a really interesting little anecdote with me the other night over margaritas and bean dip (how appropriate to the man's legacy...). It's worth mentioning that I've been with Aaron for more than half my life at this point, so I've become well aquainted with many, if not most, of his factoids, trivia, and anecdotes. When he began this one, about Hemingway, I sorta had to resist rolling my eyes. But it turned a corner I really didn't see coming, and made a real impact on me.

It goes like this: Hemingway, known for his economy of language--almost to the point of farce--was challenged by a literary critic to write an entire story in no more than ten words.

Hemingway responds, with likely swagger, that he could do better; he didn't need more than six. And here's the story, which contains in its nearly zen-like simplicity, a full story arc;, a solid beginning, middle, and end; It tell an entire story. And a good one, at that. It has intrigue, depth, and impact. I'd like to share it with you, and leave it at that.

Here's what Hemingway wrote:

For Sale:

Baby Shoes.

Never worn.

Ms. Reardon takes a sick day...

2011-10-04T21:27:00.002-04:00

Yeah. You'd think a four day weekend would be long enough to get my shit in order. Turns out it isn't. So I stayed up quite literally all night sunday, trying desperately to get everything done, and at 5 AM finally decided that not only had I failed to accomplish all that I needed to accomplish, but also that I was so fucking tires that I was dizzy, nauseated, shaking, and pretty fucking bananas. Hell of a way to start a schoolday, right? So I took my first ever professional teacher sick day.

I slept from about 7:30 ish (when Aaron left for work) until 11:30ish, then got right up and back to work. I popped some excedrine, had several coffees, got myself all jittery and full of vim and completed several more tasks on the ole to-do list.
And even took the time to make "meat"ball subs for din-din.

Did I think seriously about quitting my job? You bet.

Do I regret taking a sick day? Nope.

I went to school today feeling better rested, better prepared, and better equipped to handle my job. I was even in better spirits than usual.

A co-worker asked after my health and confessed that she'd hoped I was out because of suffering MORNING SICKNESS! Then departed the teacher's room saying "You're BLUSHING, Ms. Reardon!!"

Nay, friends, no babe on the way, no bun in the proverbial oven. Good lord, could you imagine me trying to deal with THAT kind of bombshell in my first year of teaching? Heavens to betsy.

Anyway, as I've stated before--I don't think I'll ever get ahead. Right now I'm fighting the good fight to just MANAGE all the paperwork and the lesson planning and yadda yadda, just trying to make sure I don't fall too too far behind.

I only get so many sick days a term.

Gotta make em last... I mean, what if I actually get sick?! And I mean more than the mental/emotional sick I'm dealing with.

Speaking of, my therapist wants me to take an ADD test. Good golly.

Alright. I really do NOT have time for blogging, or anything pleasureable (well... I fucking MAKE time for a few certain pleasurable things. If I didn't I'd surely go postal...). But I don't want to stop writing! So I'm going to try to make a comitment to some kind of writing EVERY DAY. And I mean more than the stupid little notes I write to my students, or the 'context clue sentences' for their daily vocabulary and shit.

A creative paragraph a day. Does that sound fair? I ask my students to do the same for their journals. So, please look forward to the Ms. Reardon daily journal experiment. Maybe I'll even respond to the prompts I give my students!

Ok, I gotta run. This is borrowed time.

~Ms. reardon

Oh, and if anyone asks? I had a stomach bug...

Ms. Reardon Has a meltdown

2011-09-22T16:01:00.000-04:00

They say there's no one busier than a first time mother. As I've never been a mother, I can't speak to that. But I'd like to put a word in here for first time teachers.

Holy Hell, is this hard.

I feel like I can't get caught up with all the things I'm supposed to do, never mind get ahead! There's always something that needs doing, always something that needs seeing to, always something i've forgotten about or failed to do or neglected to complete. And on top of all the paperwork, there are actual living human beings who need my help, my guidance, my instruction, my support, my attention, my positive or negative reinforcement, my everything.

I am so exhausted at the end of every day that it is all I can do to eat a dinner (usually some form of takeout which is awful, but I'm way too beat to even think about cooking, let alone DO it!) cuddle with the hubs and try try try to get work done before my head crashes to the pillow.

This week has felt brutal. Right now I'm sitting here in my classroom, waiting for an OPEN HOUSE, and moments ago I was bawling my eyes out on the phone to Aaron, my number one cheerleader/coach/mentor/pillar-of-strength.

I feel unequal to the job.

I love the kids. I love them. I like them. I like being their teacher. But I am so goddamned worried that I am failing them, letting them down, sabotaging their education because I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING! and I CAN'T DO THIS JOB!!!!!

There's a possibility, also, that perhaps my meds need some adjustment. But these are real concerns. I feel like I fuck up hardcore everyday. Like I'm not able to organize my thoughts well enough to help all my students.

I can't finish this right now. I have already splashed cold water on my face and turned off the Damien Rice. I need to get my shit together and get into the right headspace to meet parents.To smile and be pert, and try to shrug off the fact that I didn't get to shower this morning because my fucking alarm didn't go off, and try to be at peace with the fact that I'm all broken out and didn't have time to do make-up (see: Alarm issue), and try to breath and quell my raging neuroses for the evening, because I have a fucking SHOW to do.

Today we had some professional development and at one point I mentioned that my perspective was that of the arts... later the facilitator asked me about it. Asked what my discipline was. I told him theatre and he asked if I was in anything right now. As if a teacher has time to also be an actor. I smiled and told him regretfully 'no, not right now', and mentioned that i'll be teaching a drama elective here soon. This is when a colleague joked that of course I was in a show, I have four performances a day! How true it is. And four shows a day folks, of improv? It's fucking exhausting.

And if i could get some applause at the end of every class, would that kill anyone?

So i don't know about first time mothers, and maybe my bestie can speak to that, as she is both a first time mother AND a first time teacher (yipes!), but this feels alot like having 90 children all at once. Ninety-uplets. Thank heavens they're potty trained. And thank Christ I don't have to make room in my apartment for them!

Wish me luck at open house.

Ms. Reardon, Room 205

2011-09-17T11:09:00.000-04:00

So!

I have officially survived a week and a half. Survived, but not quite thrived. Not a total disaster, which is, in itself, a victory.

I love these kids. honestly. Love them to pieces. Love their teen angst and their urban toughness, their glorious ignorance and their unabashed enthusiasm for life hidden behind requisite teenaged disinterest!

I am happy to be in my job. A week ago at this time I was trying to figure out what I would do when I quit. I suppose I'll have many such highs and lows. Later today I will correct their first writing assignment and likely blanch with grief and woe.

But I am surviving.

Keep you posted on the thriving.

In other news, I just had Peapod deliver my groceries! More expensive than the bucket, but well worth the fact that I didn't have to take time out of my day to go to the fucking supermarket!

Only downside I've noticed so far is the four cartons of white mushrooms that found their way into my order, unasked for and unappreciated. I am going to give them to my sisterinlaw, as she eats mushrooms and I do not.

Ms. Reardon's Big Debut

2011-09-06T23:02:00.002-04:00

Today was long and rather overwhelming. And that was with no kids! Tomorrow they all come back to school and it is sink or swim for Ms. Reardon, first year english teacher.

Jesus Christ.

I am feeling like I don't have a fucking clue. Or, well, more accurately, like I have several assorted scraps of clues, but that the mystery is still very puzzling and no clear picture is emerging. I feel like I'm being pulled in a hundred different direction, I feel underinformed, underprepared, underqualified, and under a hugely crushing amount of pressure.

Boy will I have a lot to talk about with my therapist tomorrow afternoon!

My loved ones are assuring me that I CAN do this, that I will succeed, that I will learn as I go and that I will not only survive, but thrive.

I wish, I really really really wish I had their confidence in me. God, I feel like I'm stumbling blind. I just don't feel ready. I tried to prepare, I really did, but as the day approaches, I just don't think I prepared adequately!!

EEEEEEEK!!

And don't even get me started on how this job\career HAS to work out. Goodness. Talk about pressure. I don't really have the luxury of deciding this isn't for me and starting some other career. I quite literally can't afford to suck at this and get fired.

So it's time to suck it up, learn mighty fast, and fake it till I make it. God help me and god help those kids.

2011-09-05T00:32:00.002-04:00

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I start my CAREER in just a few days! AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

I am so, so, so, so, so, soooooo nervous! and Excited. But mostly freaking out!

AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I feel like I'm cramming before a huge test. Wading through site after site of how-to guides to teaching, sifting through online lesson plans, grappling with the curriculum required by the nation, the state, and the system. I am trying, struggling, to incorporate what feels like a thousand different strands, and somehow form a cohesive unit plan, and then ALSO try to figure out a way to teach it that is engaging, exciting, alive, and effective.

I just may be grasping at something well beyond my reach.

Oh heavens. I have this image of me floundering before a sea of skeptical, disinterested, unenthusiastic or openly hostile eighth graders. Of every lesson bombing. Tanking. Of standing in front of them and not knowing what the fuck to do with them.

I really need this job...

And they really need an English teacher capapble of guiding them to success!

Christ almighty.

What have I gotten myself into?

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Through a Glass Darkly

2011-08-30T14:55:00.000-04:00

We lost power for more than 24 hours due to IRENE. We are fine, thank the fates, no major damge or anything, but it was a strange interlude.

It made me grateful tenfold that I married the man I did. That I married my best friend. A resourceful man, a clever man, a kind man, a patient man, a man that makes me laugh, that makes me feel beautiful, that can cook and can continue to surprise me, amaze me, delight me, and inspire me.

It was difficult adjusting to the power outage at first. Especially when night fell. It was somewhat adventurous, but largely frustrating because Aaron was supposed to be starting work the next day. His last day of freedom and we were technologically crippled.

Crippled, but not paralyzed. He went right on doing what he had wanted to do, slowed, but not deterred. Her built things without powertools. It was amazing to behold his patience and his determination. I kept rather quiet, having grown up with a man who could be irascible and unreasonable while building things, especially when tools did not work the way they ought, or when some problem presented itself in the form of a setback.

But Aaron? He remained pleasant. Even tempered. It was... nice.

We hung these amazing new bookshelves, which are not really bookshelves, but simply books seeming to float on the wall.

Like This!

It looks great, and it looks even better because it is flanking the new BRIGHT YELLOW bookcase aaron has just completed! It is a bookcase on wheels, behind which is my entire IKEA wardrobe unit, and the door to the laundry! It is a secret bookcase! Well, not so much a secret, but a multi-purpose, awesomesauce bookcase dreamt up and executed by my favorite person.

I'll have to take pics sometime.

It is wonderful, and all is perfect with it, excepting that I almost crushed the cat's head between it and the wall. Curiosity would have literally killed my cat, had he not pulled his furry little face back at the last second. Phew! I shall have to endeavor to watch out for sneaky little kittens near my incredibly heavy, solid, secret bookcase door unit!

"Put...The Candle...BACK!"

Anyway, whilst I was reorganizing books and reshelving them and generally finding new homes for everything, I came accross a big ole book I had purchased at one of those library sales where everything must go!
I purchased this novel based on title alone. "Through A Glass Darkly". Great title, right? I have been meaning to open it and peruse it, see if it'd catch my attention. So I open it, begin reading, expecting literature, and what do I find? Why this enormous, well titled, behemoth of a book posing as literature on my shelves for years is actually no more than an historical fiction romance! Aha! With the power out and boredom setting in, I am hooked by the scandal rocking the first pages. The eavesdropping, the broken engagements, England in the 1700s! An within a few more pages I am even more intrigued by the prospect of a fifteen year old girl marrying a 42 year old man--who may or may not have secret homosexual secrets! YUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!

I tell yyou, I read this 743 page tome cover to cover, stopping only to eat, fret about how I ought to be lesson planning, make love, and go the bathroom! It absorbed me. And this is saying something, too, because it was AGES into the book before there was any actual sex. Usually the holding-out of a romance novel frustrates me, angers me, and makes me petulant. But nope, I was hooked. I was actually hooked on the story, on the characters, on what might happen. It was WELL WRITTEN. Honestly. I mean, obviously I can tell the difference between literature and, well, this. But nonetheless. It was good. Really well written.

Now, I thoroughly enjoyed what few sex scenes the author gave me. And I loved that most of them weren't between the main heroine and her hero. I loved that the ones she did include were often kinky, dark, and salacious. I especially loved and appreciated the one between our Hero and his handsome friend from the war... yum yum yum yum yum. If only she had been more graphic... but don't fret, my imagination works very well, thanks.

Oooh, a detail of a renaissance style painting, like Girl with the Pearl Earring! It must be goooooood.... Since mine was a hardcover long ago separated from whatever dust jacket it may have been born with, I had no such itriguing luxury as this damsel in the oh-so-popular-these-days Tracy Chevalier novel style....and yes, I have read each of Ms. Chevalier's dissapointments after Pearl Earring....

Anywho. It ended up being something less predictable than I imagined, and I have this unsettled feeling now that it is over. It was headed right to classic romance novel resolution, when it took some really interesting and point-of-no-return corners. And. Well. Incase you want to read it (you probably won't) I won't spoil it, but... I just feel unsettled. All morning I've been rushing to finish it so that I can get on with my life, do the things I need to do, do the things I want to do, and instead I feel all weird and my mind keeps wandering.

I'm writing this in the hopes of exorcising some of my unnameable frustration. It was good. It was a good book. It didn't end happily ever after, and yet in a way, it kinda did. It ended on a hopeful note, at any rate. But.

And of course this makes me think of my writing. So many similar elements, familiar themes. Some main characters even had violet eyes. And then of course there was the whole 15year old with a 42 year old who'd known her since she was a little girl, who felt particularly paternal toward her... yeah.

But I haven't time to write much anymore, and when I do I struggle with how to end it, how to make strings come together, how to resolve situations that seem like they cannot possibly resolve.

And I have more important things to worry about. to occupy my mind. My mind, which seems too dense and slow and clumsy to manage all that I will have to manage in the coming days, weeks, month, year.

At the root of all my procrastination is this gripping fear. That I don't know what I'm doing. That I will fail. Fail the kids, fail the people that hired me, the people who put their neck on the line to get me hired, fail my husband and my family, fail fail fail.

I sit down to plan and nothing comes but flittering ideas and vague concepts. I keep thinking: If this were a drama class, I would not have this problem. And others keep assuring me that I'll be great! Not to worry. THat I can do it.

But in my hear of hearts, I tell you, I am scared shitless, and feel like I am up against the hardest thing I'll ever have to do in my life.

Become a real teacher. Without the proper training. Without a clue as to what I ought to be doing. Or how I should go about doing it.

I need to survive, survive until I can get more training, but in the meantime? How well can I tread water? Can I do it well enough to convince on-lookers that I know how to swim? And can I keep these kids, these kids who are already struggling, who need someone strong and capable and confident, can I keep these kids from sinking along with me?

The historical romance novel is done. The power is back on. Sure, there are dishes to be done, cleaning to be seen to, laundry piling up. But my first priority is sitting down and really, really truly, planning some fucking lessons.

Holy good god.

Prayers.

2011-08-26T17:00:00.000-04:00

Another day spent in my classroom. Simultaneously excited and terrified.

Holy God.

This needs to work out. It really, really does.

Please.

Please?

Please!

The Doctor Is In...

2011-08-24T20:24:00.000-04:00

We went to my classroom yesterday! And rearranged and tidies a bit, and looked at all the possibilities.

Boy, am I daunted.

I've moved out of excited and am really starting to freak the fuck out!

I'm worried about discipline nightmares. I'm worried that I won't be a good enough teacher to help these kids succeed. I'm very concerned that I didn't go to school for this, and am thus going to prove very incompetent very quickly. I am stressed that I seem to have a mental block for lesson planning right now. I am stressed that I've let so much time elapse and have very little to show for it.

Also, I'm feeling a ton of economic pressure here, at the end of August, when my paychecks have all dried up and my new ones won't start coming for weeks and weeks. I need things for the classroom, I need to buy things, and I just flat-out CAN'T do it. Nevermind a new wardrobe! that is right out the window.

My mother, god bless her, is trying to help by buying me 'teachery' outfits, but oh-my-gawd! You should see them. They're what a teacher might have worn in 1982. An 82 year old teacher in 1982. Ay, ay, ay.

And my husband has decided to build the bookcase instead of the desk he promised me--I helped him come to this decision because it is an easier all-around project, and a cheaper one too, but I'll admit I'm a shade crestfallen at not getting the new teacher desk.

So tonight the plan is to clear off the coffee table and make a serious effort to lesson plan. For real. Honestly. I mean it. Good god.

Oh, and have you ever had to tell three separate people in one week about how you are severely depressed, have suicidal urges, and once tried to kill yourself? This week has been my first week as a new patient at my new psychiatrist, and there's alot of initial interviewing happening. The first one was akward enough, but the following two? Good grief. I almost just told the woman: "You know what, nevermind, I think we're making a mountain out of a mole-hill here. Have a nice day!"

Ug. It especially makes you feel like a looney bin when they give you a card, with their personal cell number scrawled across the back, and instructions to call: "Anytime at all, twenty-four-seven, if you feel like hurting yourself." Yikes. And of course I thank them politely, and nod, and promise to do so, but in my head I'm thinking: Yeah, RIGHT!!!

Today the woman asked if I had ready access to firearms. Jeez.

I don't, incidentally, so don't stress.

Anyway, point is: it's been a draining sort of week and time is fucking flying away from me. At least languishing in the waiting rooms this week has given me time to finish the novel we'll be reading in my 8th grade class 1st semester!

2011-08-22T21:30:00.000-04:00

Hope.

I know alot of the times I'm a cynnic. Alot of the time the glass is most definitely half full. Of fuck it, the glass is empty, the glass is craked and there's no water to be had anywhere!

I know. I think, on some level, I'll always have a bit of that. I'll always have a healthy skepticism, a snarky undertone, a bitchy streak, a certain something dark.

But there's the other side of me. The romantic. The imaginative. The idealist. That side of me that gets swept up in love, or sits down to watch a princess movie marathon, or believes she can make a difference, one student at a time. The one who falls in love without regret, the one who is committed to friends and family. The one who creates, the one who dreams, the one whose cup is not just half-full, but brimming, overflowing, filling up other people's cups with enthusiam and contagious verve for life. The passionate one.

I have existed with this duality for sometime. Only now, with a little hard work, determination, and really good medical insurance, I'm working to shift the balance a little bit more to the sunny side of my equation.

So hope. And the power of positive thinking (which I trashed a month or so back, in one of my particularly nasty bouts of negativity, and which, to be fair, hasn't helped me lesson plan a single lesson so far.... I think I can, I think I can, I... oh, some inane way to procrastinate?? Sure!!!), and love. And support.

I may have lost a friend or two or more recently. I retreated into myself, I buried my head in the sand and only kept ties with a precious few. And I regret this, but, well, I'm not sure it could have been helped. I've been going through a really awful time. I have barely remained human, it feels like. And I wish there were some way to apologize, but fear it could very well be too late in more than one instance.

Part of me is willing to trust the universe, or the fates, or chance, or whathaveyou. Part of me is too damn irish for that mystical nonsense, and wants to go knocking on their door, or alternately to turn an equally cold shoulder and say: To hell with them!

I'm not sure how things'll play out.

But I'm starting a new journey, turning a new page, and moving forward. I would love my dear friends to remain with me on the journey, would love to remain with them as they travel their roads. We shall see.

Also, guess what I'm no doing right now? Lesson Planning! GAH!!

Any efficient and clever lesson planners out there wanna give me a hand?!?!?

CEDAR FALLS!

2011-08-18T16:46:00.000-04:00

YAY!

New Cedar Falls! Woohoo!

Please to enjoy The First Date; parts one and two!

Part One is from Nolan's perspective (I might or might not have a crush on this guy.)

and Part Two is from Zahra's. (I have a HUGE crush on Zahra....yumm....)

Since I was having so much trouble with what came next chronologically, I decided: FUCK IT! and am posting flashbacks! :)

These are both sort of lengthy pieces, so I'll leave it at this for a little while. Hopefully I'll post a bunch before I go back to work!!

I've been writing some scenes, and am happy to be writing again, but they are useless scenes for now. There's so much story to get to before these are even relevant!

So enjoy the lovebirds. Hearts.

2011-08-17T01:54:00.000-04:00

Yikes! A week apart! I am super blog lazy in the summer!

Also, due to a recent conversation with a friend, I have become self conscious of what I post, second guessing everything, examining it for motive and trying to see it from all angles, and let me tell you, that's one way to cripple the flow, right?!?

I'm a gal who is always going to have her foot in or around her mouth. I had better just get used to it, make my peace with it, and do my best to speak from the heart, and do some suitable damage control when necessary!

Also, I realized that I never posted any fiction in July! And Now August is halfway through and no fiction so far. I have sooooo much fiction, yet unfortunately there are some inconvenient time gaps... ah well.

stay tuned.

Sabbaticals...

2011-08-08T21:03:00.000-04:00

Where have I been?

Ay ay ay.

Busy. Sure. But I've also been sort of squirrelled away, tucked out of sight, in a self-imposed retreat from the world. I've sort of escewed anything recreation and only gone out to do the things I was OBLIGATED to do; work....doctor's....a family thing or two. Other than that stuff? I've been here, sequestered and secluded, and still, somehow, not one bit productive!

But I've been sort of forcing myself to relax, to take some actual vacation days, to fuck off any which way I choose, and to not feel too terribly guilty about it or stressed that I'm not doing something productive. Believe it or not, it hasn't been easy. And if you saw this disgrace of an apartment, you'd understand! We have so much to get done and on top of that I ought to be lesson planning, but instead I have made myself ignore all that, and just disappear. Into my writing (which, at this point would be more accurately classified as 'reading'), into one video game, and then another, and then yet another, into nostalgic sitcoms--Oh, Phoebe, you crack me right up, you wacky, off-beat minx, you!-- into long talks with my husband or long sessions of fooling around (also with husband...don't get your hopes up, heeheehee...).

But I think tonight really has to be the end of all that happy nothingness. After we make completely undeserved chocolate chip cookies and watch Ross and Rachel dance around inevitability some more, and after we test out our brand new, just-arrived-today, memory foam mattress-- after tonight I think I need to rejoin the human race, take up the burden of adulthood once more, and really set my life on the right track.

So many new beginnings on the horizon. So much promise. So many opportunities to really change my life for the better and take strides toward the hopes and dreams I'd previously turned from in my hopeless ness, in my pessimism, in my stress and dread and doubt and fear.

Watch me get hit by a bus tomorrow, lol.

Nah, I'll be ok. It's hard to get hit by a bus whilst cleaning your bathroom, right?

Oh, did I mention that Aaron is attempting to potty-train the cats? As in, use our toilet. Yes. Another reason why no one is visiting us for a while. Until we are out of the kitty litter sandbox on the toilet seat phase, the bathroom is a goddamn nightmare. Potty training your cats is not for the weak willed, nor the squeamish! I would further recommend that you have, say, a guest bathroom in your home in which to do the potty training, rather than just the one bathroom for humans and animals alike to share...

But won't it be nifty to never have to scoop again? never again pay outrageous fees for litter, to never again smell that awful ammonia stecnh or that we-just-pooped-in-the-litter-box aroma? Fingers crossed!

Day of Rest

2011-08-02T07:21:00.000-04:00

Sunday is the day of rest, but yesterday, monday? Ended up being the day of rest for me. When we got home from work we were both BEAT! We ended up having a light supper and crashing before the sun had even set. We woke up somehwere in the night to enjoy some carnal relations, and promptly fell back into our trance-like slumber.

And so I begin day two of production week more rested, perhaps, yet somehow no better prepared. Only 4 more work days until I can enjoy some summer. Fingers crossed!

I have some more durex ads to show. Maybe tomorrow. Right now I gotta run.

Ciao!

PHOTOBLOG!

2011-07-29T20:24:00.000-04:00

Photo Blog!

I have been wanting to show these to you for a while now. Have you seen them? It's a line of print ads for Durex, and it is advertising genius! Now, I haven't used condoms in more than a decade (gasp!), and when I did we were solidly a trojan couple (we had a close call with some other brand, and swore never to waver from the helmet ever again!), but these durex ads could really sway my thinking!

Enjoy:

I love images made of words, I love sexy silhouettes, so, BAM!

Also, did you note how the man's words\phrases are much simpler and one-note than the woman's? Hilarious.
Um, though, I know you're a condom Ad, Durex, but no, I bet that a wrapped cock is not TASTY, no matter how much fake strawberry you slather on it. Yicky.

Yay!

And here are some bonus pics. Aaron has always rather hated our subway map of New York, and insists that it looks like a chode and big balls. I guess he's not alone in his thinking:

And finally, best advice ever, right Danielle? :)

Don't go down without this maxim in your head!

Hope you enjoyed this first photoblog friday! It was kinda phallus heavy, but, hey, I love the cock! :)

Not a Photo Post...

2011-07-28T19:07:00.000-04:00

Nobody had any suggestions for which day of the week might be a good photoblog day, and that was cruel, folks, because I'm a libra and have a great deal of difficulty with such decisions. So I asked the Hubs, who is a Leo and has little to no issues with decision making.

He decided Wednesday, right smack in the middle.

I was going to start yesterday, but was busy having a very fun and then very busy wednesday. Yesterday was our 14th anniversary. 14 years together. Awwww. Of course we couldn't, um, celebrate the usual way because it is that time of the month, but we had some chill fun. We got some delish veggie sandwiches, we watched nostalgic sitcoms, played videogames, and then I had to work on work stuff, then we cuddled up in bed and reminisced until we drifted off to sleep.

I am very grateful to be living out our simple dreams together. No matter what else, we always said to eachother, we always promised, that as long as we could be together, we'd be happy. As long as we could fall asleep in eachother's arms and wake up beside eachother, we could live anywhere, do anything, endure everything, so long as we had eachother. Sometimes we get caught up in the silly stuff. Sometimes we get stressed about money and babies and jobs and passions that pull us away from reality. But our base, here, together, is solid and loving and understanding and strong, and I should be on my knees everyday in thanks for that. (incidentally, I am on my knees almost daily, for which he is very thankful:)

So what if I never become a writer? Or a mother? So what if I never have a big house or a big bank account? So what if my dress size always stays in double digits? I told him I'd be happy in a shack, so long as it was OUR shack and we could be there together. And that remains true. I love him more each day, I love living with him more every day, and look forward to years and years and years with my best friend, my soulmate, my lover, and my husband.

And if, for some reason, we ever have to live apart, the way we did for TEN YEARS of our lives, then so be it. We lived and loved and learned whilst living apart, and we were closer apart than most couples who live together. There is an intimacy borne from hours upon hours in quiet conversation on the phone, stretching across distance, reaching across miles. We were one, despite inhabiting separate spaces. And we longed for the completion, longed to merge and exist together in one space, but we endured, we even thrived. The friendship was solid, the love was passionate, and when we did get together, the physical? Whoosh. Mind blowing.

I'd rather not go back to living apart, ever, but I know we have the stuff to make it thorugh, should that need arise. And while we have this precious time together, I vow to stop each day or each night, to stop, and close my eyes, and say a 'thank you', then open my eyes and look at the life we have made, and smile. No matter the mess, no matter the stress, no matter the uncertain future, no matter any of that.

I am a lucky, lucky individual. And I am grateful.

And I will probably do photo post on FRIDAYS instead of wednesdays! lol. So look forward to that!

Breakdown in T-Minus...

2011-07-26T21:54:00.000-04:00

Remind me, club me over the head and chain me down if you have to, but remind me next year that I am seriously, seriously done with this job.

Still love the kids. I really really do. But as Aaron said tonight: "I don't care what they're paying you; it can't be worth it."

It isn't, incidentally, worth it.

Tonight I want to die of sore thorat and summertime head cold, and all I want\need\crave is a long, drugged-up sleep for my body to heal, but I am fighting exhaustion here trying to make fucking Aesop's fables feel fresh and interesting and not so fucking lame and we-had-nothing-better-to-give-you-so...do-fables-y......

I love the kids. I think if I didn't I might just throw my hands up and do this little childrens book exactly as she handed it to me...a children's book with middleschoolers. Going-to-be-eighth-graders. URBAN ones for christ's sake.

Oh, and don't give them a lot of lines, and do alot of unison, and basically sabotage any chance they have a being good or having a good time.

Aw. I'm mostly crabby because of the cold. I warned you. But honestly. Fables?

I'm so tired I think I'm just gunna cry and go to bed.

You Wouldn't like me when I'm... Sore-Throat-y!!

2011-07-25T21:44:00.000-04:00

Wahhhh!

I have a SORE THROAT!

I thought at first that it was a touch sore from the deep throating I had performed last night (That happens sometimes...blame the endowment! I actually kinda like that kind of soreness after... but I digress...) But NAY! The sreness stuck around, got worse, and as of right now ASPIRIN ain't touchin' this baby.

It SUCKS :(

Wahhhh.

Have oyu ever known me when I've been suffering an honset to goodness, and not blowjob-on-a-hung-guy kind of sore throat? Well, let me tell you:

I AM A FUCKING BABY when it comes to sore throats. Some people are wusses (what a silly looking word. Also, what is the proper way to write that something was all pus-y? Like, as in, filled with pus? Is it: Hey, my infected finger is all pussy? heeheehee... OWWW my Throat hurts! *pout pout whine cry:(....) when it comes to things like nausea. Not me. I'd take nausea any day over sore throat. I can handle vomiting. This? Wahhh. Some people hate cramps. They are lousy, but Hell, take some midol, grab a pint of ice cream and all better! This??? Wahhhh.

I think I got it from babysitting my neices this weekend, who both had sniffles and colds.

Bitches.

No, I didn't mean that.... not their fault... just the sore throat....

I hope I didn't give Aaron's penis Step....

Can that happen? Heeeheeehee. I hope not.

Anyway. The only thing that helps, that I have found in all my years, is TYLENOL SORE THROAT **LIQUID** The liquid part is key. Don't even bother with pill form. Drink some of the awful blue potion, and know some relief. Or suffer miserably. Those are the options. Unfortunately for me, this time of year I find that TYLENOL SORE THROAT IQUID is kinda thin on the ground. Let's hope I stocked up after the last sore throat. I don't own a fire extinguisher, but I'll be damned if I let my supply of Tylenol Sore Throat run low--- that would be an emergency!! If it has run low or os--godforbid--all gone, then we all know who to blame....

And if that's the case, then, hell, I DO hope I gave his penis Strep!!

Wahhh :(

Little Victories

2011-07-24T23:29:00.000-04:00

Today I learned how to properly hard boil eggs, without leaving an unsightly green film on the yolk. You should have seen how beautiful and golden those yolks were!

(Yes, I'm 27 and just now learning how to boil eggs. Last year I learned how to bake a potato. Baby steps, people!)

It wouldn't have mattered either way, because my plan for these eggs was to make egg salad with whipped avocado instead of mayo! Never the less I took great comfort in knowing how perfectly white-and-golden those babies were underneath the avocado.

I had this idea probably months and months ago, but today I finally did it! I was thinking, one day, about the creamy smooth texture of avocado and it occurred to me that it might be a delicious replacement for mayo in egg salad. BUT, having never actually tasted real (traditional) egg salad, I wasn't sure it would be good. And the fact that I'd never heard of it being done before wasn't exactly a confidence booster.

But I ran the idea by the culinary whiz that is my Husband, he grew thoughtful for some moments, and decided that it would be quite good.

And so, tonight for dinner, we had avocado egg salad on adorable little buns for dinner! And it was awesomesauce! I kinda wonder now if I might like real egg salad. But I am really not a mayo fan (thank christ. Can you imagine how big I'd be if I DID? Now if I could just stop liking chocolate, cookies, carbs, and sodium, I'd be on my way to a healthy lifestyle!) and I'm glad we did this healthy fat substitute. Loaded with vitamin E!

Invite us to a get together and you may just get a wonderfully yummy spring-green egg salad! Oh. Maybe that's why folks don't do it... Ah well. I would eat them in a box, I would eat them with a fox!

Avocado Egg Salad

Hardboil some eggs (put them in a bowl of ice water when you remove them from heat and this will give you the perfectly golden and not icky green yolks! Again, not so relevent for this particular dish, but a good tip for the future. Do this with asparagus too, incidentally, for bright and deliciously brilliant green asparagus!)

Mash up or whip avocado, add salt (and pepper) and paprika to taste, and add some butter (we use butter substitute smart balance) whip all together.

Add avocado mixture to chopped up eggs, mix all together until you have desired egg salady consistency.

Serev on some kind of bread product!

Enjoy :)

Gotta Get Down On Fri-daeyyy

2011-07-22T13:10:00.000-04:00

A heat wave?!?!?

Our apartment has some fantastic central air. But everywhere else that I go? Sticky and yucky and gross!

To day I went for a meeting at Central Schools to collect materials necessary to being a teacher in Brockton! I feel as though a good measure of weight has been lifted off me. I have been so very anxious about how to approach teaching ELA, and this meeting has gone a long way in making me relax, de-stress, and begin to feel productive, rather than overwhelmed.

I was given many "bibles". A Vocabulary bible, a poetry bible, a non-fiction writing bible, a curriculum bible, and the biggest of all: The MCAS bible. Sad that the MCAS bible was bigger than the entire curriculum bible. But I'm a resource whore! Give me materials upon materials, I can't get enough!! I'm the type to salivate over well-stocked bookshelves; and I ADORE reference materials.

So now the trouble is that I have my 'starting kit' and nowhere to start! I mean literally. I have no physical space, no 'office space' as it were. I realize that I need to get organized in a major, major way, and am committed to doing it. But getting that ball rolling? Sheesh.

I mentioned before, I think, that Aaron has planned to design and build this fabulous workstation for me. It really is something awesome. It will be a desk\kitchen island. See, I will have a desk, and file space and a good size surface area, too, just for me, and THEN when company is coming over or we need a surface for kitchen work or other such things, well, instead of being left with the unenviable task of clearing off my desk (a miserable prospect, as I know I will almost always be Mid-project and will have papers stacked in certain ways and have materials strewn about!) Well, there is a HINGED island top that flips up and into place and conceals my desk and all it's messy glory beneath.

It will be fabulous. It will be GREEN (painted, not especially eco-friendly, though of course we strive for that in all projects...)! It will be a high bar-top type kitchen island and a regular height desk. It is brills. Like a secretary desk or a roll top in the way it conceals my chaos, but so much better because it is FUNCTIONAL while closed, not merely decorative.

Now the trouble is getting it built. We have SO LITTLE TIME! And we also have another few critical projects to complete; The secret wardrobe\door\bookcase. The Craft Loft. Then the Tetris Shelves and the Couch re-upholstery! So much to do, so little time, so little funding.

I've said it before, and others echo my chorus: If only I could clone Aaron. Cloning me would be less useful. And having more than one Aaron around the house would be ideal for some fun nocturnal activities too ;)

Anyway. Now I'm hot under the collar as well as hot everywhere else! Stay cool, stay hydrated, stay well :)

Dinner at my parents' tonight, but good news: it's take-out!

Orange Disaster!

2011-07-21T14:47:00.000-04:00

Orange!

Eeek.

It was a disaster!!

Oh, the poor kids.

It started out ok, and I thought they might just pull it off, I really did! Sometimes that theatre magic just SNAP kicks in and BOOM!

But. Not today. Utter travesty of sketch theatre!!

One person forgot their line, and then, to overcompensate another actor skipped wayyyy ahead in the script, then they were ALL confused and suddenly it was the end and.... sheesh. Poor kids.

Ah well. Today I was reminded that failure does not actually equal death! Hoorah for surviving and learning!

Everything in Moderation?

2011-07-21T06:55:00.000-04:00

There's been alot of talk and hubbub and buzz around the power of positive thinking, about willing things into being, about putting on a happy face and being new and starting fresh and making happiness and all that jazz.

I have been one of those who goes through this cycle time and time again. Make my own happiness, pilot my own destiny, create the self I want to be.

This time around I admit to feeling a bit cynical. In so many ways I am completely wide-eyed and enthusiastic, and believe anything can happen. But for whatever reason, I'm just not quite on the positive thinking = solution to everything problem just yet.

I want to believe. I try. But I am, apparently, a big ball of negative energy. A friend to no one, enemy to all the rays of sunshine out there.

Believe me, I'd love to will away the bills I have to pay. Happy thoughts my way to a better body and a healthy self-image. Magic my apartment into the dream apartment. Be Zen and chill about the old fertility hot-button.

I want those things. And on some days I can even bee merry and cheerful and adapt the sorta bouyant que sera, sera attitude that is so thoroughly en vogue among kids my age these days.

But most days the cynic within chuckles, shakes her hear, quirks an eyebrow and says: Are you fucking kidding me? Get the fuck over yourself and knock it the fuck off, lunatic. This costume doesn't fir you, this isn't a role you should pretend to play. Fake fake fake fake fake.

The cynic in me is a sassy bitch. But I prefer her tough-as-nails persona to the weepy depressant within. That chick's a real downer :(

I've seen true blue friends stick by me. I've watched fairweather friends up and evaporate. Positive thinking only slightly improves my days, but a protein shake in the morning does wonders for my energy levels (Bolthouse Farms, delish! but I am poor, so this cannot be a daily habit!)-- but that requires me to be motivated enough to curtail morning cuddles and get out of the house early enough to treat myself.

I thought so many positive, warm, amazing, willing thoughts about so many ventures that died in infancy, or were aborted before even taking a breath. And then other thins spring out of the blue; some of the best things that have ever happened to me had nothing whatsoever to do with my conscious wishes or motivations. And I know, I know, I know. Someone will answer me with something along the lines of 'what you put out in the universe' and my mother would say 'mysterious ways' or something about doors and windows and yadda yadda yadda.

I just know that lately, with the positive thinking, it feels a bit more like willful delusion than anything healthy or productive. I guess the old saying may hold truest: Everything in moderation. I will endeavor to be more positive, less of a sourpuss or a grumpy gus. I will do my best to stop myself from outright negativity, try to examine my attitude and adjust as necessary. But I'm going to focus my energy on living my life, experienceing my emotions as they come to me, celebrate that I'm a bit of a bitch, own that I am moody, accept that I will not always be sunny and sweet, and love the woman that I am. Stop trying to reinvent myself; rather, embrace the person that I've been whipping and abusing, and degrading all these years. No wonder the poor thing has anger issues and cowers at a raised hand--she's been abused! I will try to rescue her, show her consistency and love and support. She's not a bad dog, just misunderstood. Just some bad habits.

BORED at Work

2011-07-20T13:28:00.000-04:00

Well.

hi.

I'm at work. Computer lab time.

A1S1 was a minor disaster today, and I had some of my major players not show up, and we had to work in a completely useless space, and the kids were off the wall. I heart them, I do, and I want their show to be fabulous, but...

yeah.

Bright spot: I get to babysit the dazzling Miss Z tonight! And Danielle bribes me to do this by buying me Chatta for dinner! Lol. I tell her all the time that there is no bribery necessary, especially when Z is as adorable as she is. But. Knowing I'm having Chatta for dinner does dispel some of my cloudy mood.
As, of course, does knowing I'll be seeing my Bestie and her lil bean.

So. The writing. Harumph. I had this burst of a breakthrough a little while ago, but it has since retreated. I don't know. I really believe I turned off a fundamental switch inside of me when I decided it was only for recreation. It really felt like a fucking kill switch. Which doesn't make much sense, really, because I only started writing Cedar Falls as recreation in the first place.

Feels like a relationship. We swore it'd just be 'for fun', then it got a little serious, a little more serious for one of us, feeling got involved, I started imagining a future, and then WHAM. Nope. Not gunna happen. Can we go back to being friends?

I'm giving it the old college try, but nothing is how it was. I read a vignette or more EVERY SINGLE DAY hoping it'll spark something. But. Nah. I enjoy reading them, I enjoy thinking about them, but I fear the magic is permanently disabled.

But. Admittedly, I am burnt out. I really needed a vacation after a very long year, and I haven't had that vacation yet. And what little snippits of vacation-esque time I do wrest from the clutches of a soul-sucking summer, well, I treasure those moments that I can spend with my husband, or with friends, or family, relaxing, bonding, and most definitely not immersed in my head or in Cedar Falls.

But I miss it. I miss sitting down and just writing. I wish I'd never been so awfully critical of it. I wish i'd never tried to define it or make it something it wasn't.

This post is going to be interminable because I need it to be.

The other goal, besides writing, that I have this summer will be the apartment renovations. Big plans. Lotta work. And then? LESSON PLANNING! I am beginning to recognize that I may need to go ahead and lesson plan BEFORE the apartment transformation is complete. But Aaron was to be building me this fabulous desk, all of my very own, for the purposes of lesson planning and school teachering. Can you see my shoulders shrugging?

We regret that we did not really get to have guests\friends over this summer, but, alas. maybe. Maybe we'll pull it all together in time for, like, a labor day party or something!

Alright. I actually need to stop now, else I will just keep blathering on. times infinity.

Things I love today:
Aaron
Summer
Chatta for Dinner
Z!
Trueblood yummmm
Strawberry smoothie from Panera
Not being at the Pawsox ;)
My pocketbook (it's great)
Air conditioning
The fresh fruit smoothie waiting for me in my fridge
My freckles!
That I only have about 2 and a half hours left in my workday :)

Some people

2011-07-20T06:35:00.000-04:00

There are certain people that just get right under my skin. No matter how hard I try to be calm, relax, shrug, and let their antics roll over me--no matter what I try to tell myself, they drive me up the fucking wall.

For example, my niece, whom I am supposed to love to pieces, drives me out of my skin sometimes. She is so fucking frustrating. Lazy, unmotivated, completely uninspired, ungrateful, selfish, self-centered, unappealing.
Now here's the thing; I also have a nephew I don't care for, but for some reason, though I basically would never interact with him unless completely necessary by virtue of being my sister's son, I don't really care that I dislike him. But with the niece? GRRRRR!!! It's like I can't even enjoy being around her, no matter how hard I try. I feel like there's always something new to criticize, some new flaw that irks me, some previously undiscovered trait that just rubs me the wrong way!

I hate this about me, and feel guilty, because it has obviously affected my relationship with her. It's like she's sitting on all this potential to be an amazing person, sitting on it because she'd too lazy and unmotivated to do anything great.

I think I despise her because it's like watching myself make all the same mistakes (and more!) for a second time, and being powerless to stop it.

So naturally I wonder if I will feel such disgust with any of my potential future progeny.

There are others. That get to me. That I look at and shake my head and want to scream at, and that make me grit my teeth and GRRRR and shriek with frustration.

What I need to work on is somehow masking my contempt. Since nothing in the wa of 'Relax' mantras is even making a dent in my irrational private rage!

In other news, I made such a delicious smoothie yesterday with blueberries from a farmer's market! Hooray!

And Most of the kids were pretty jazzed about the Orange Script. I have, essentially and hour and a half to direct it. Ha. Wish me all the luck in the world!

They are great kids.

2011-07-19T00:52:00.000-04:00

I just finished writing an orange script. Tomorrow begins the harder part; directing an orange script and making it amazingness.

Let's hope the script goes over well. Please, please, please, PLEASE let them be fast learners, enthusiastic participants, and creative geniuses!

We're bringing orange back!

Rollercoasters and Orangesauce

2011-07-17T02:38:00.000-04:00

Rollercoasters like you wouldn't believe! Soaring highs, crushing lows, butterflies in the tummy, nausea, terror, begging, pleading, screaming, exhilaration, all of it.

Thank you to everyone who loves me through it all; I, of course, feel as though I deserve it, feel unworthy. But I am unendingly grateful for your love and support, your patience and your willingness to take the considerable bad with the comparatively slim good these days.

Thank you. Thank you for being there, being present, being an ear or a shoulder, or a hand to hold, or sound advice that I may or may not have heeded...

I have decided to do one visual post a week! yay for you! Any preferences for which day of the week should be the pictorial blog? Lemme know.

This weekend I must write a play about the color orange! woot!

The children will be singing popular songs with the words re-vamped and re-imagined! They are singing Forget You, The fresh prince of BelAir theme song, and Sexyback, or, rather, Orangeback...lol.

I'm bringing orange back

You other colors don't know how to act

I think I'm special I'm the hue you lack,

Let's get together and get back on track...

Go 'head get orange with it...

Lol. Story is about the color Orange, who feels like he is not getting enough of the spotlight in the rainbow, and, feeling under appreciated decides to quit the rainbow. Eventually, in his own colony of all orange, the next generation feels bored by the monocromatic existence and yearn to strike out on their own, explore, and search for other colors.

Should be fun, right? lols.

On the West side of the rainbow, born and raised, in the autumn is where I spend most of my days;

Chillin' out, maxin, relaxin all cool, looking like a b-ball outside of the school

But all the other colors said I was no good, started makin trouble in my neighborhood;

It came down to one night, it just wasn't fair-

I said: I'm leavin color town and I just don't care!

Yeah. The kids especially liked the Forget You Song. I think I might add The Lazy Song in too..

Today I don't feel like doin orange things.....

They will be awesomesauce. or, maybe Orangesauce?!?!?

I seen you ridin' 'round town with your reds and blues and I'm like, Forget you!

Well I'm not green, I'm not yellow, guess I'm not good enough.

I'm like, Forget You, and forget your hues!

I said I I was lilac, you wouldn't be like that-- Ain't that some Shhhhhh!

Lol. The hardest part to rewright was this one:

Yeah I'm sorry! I'm Not Primary, But I'm still on the color wheel...

Heeheeehee.

Orange Sauce!

Wally World

2011-07-13T07:48:00.001-04:00

I was so looking forward to this summer.

Things fell through.

I'm lucky to even have summer employment. But. Honestly? It fucking sucks goat ass.

It's hot and smelly and unrewarding.

I realize I will have to make an attitude adjustment to make it work, I get it, I know. Jesus fucking Christ, do I know. It's all in my perspective, it's all my point of view, change your attitude, change your life. Be aware of what you put out iun the universe. blah blah fucking blah.

It's christing hot, ok? And boring. And I wish I had some kind of summer job where I could just sit in an air conditioned cubicle or some shit.

Aaron and I are so tired and sapped when we come home that nothing, not a fucking thing, is getting done with this goddamn unholy mess of an apartment.

And I'm uber irritable (No! You don't say! You? Irritable? Nah....), and I'm unsatisfied, and I'm frustrated, and I think I really needed a fucking vacation.

C'est la vie. I am looking at the next thirty years, THIRTY FUCKING YEARS of my life and reconciling myself to working in a career that is not my passion, spending myself and my energy, wasting years and years worth of precious days and hours, paying bills, holding back, withering away.

Christ.

I either need a stiff drink, or a long vacation, or a long, stiff cock.

All three, please.

I need help.

boy, do I.

In other news, True Blood was adorably delicious this week, don't you think?

........

Off to fucking work.

Renovations!

2011-07-11T00:50:00.000-04:00

This will read as monday, but it is really still sunday night for me.

I woke up this morning, discouraged by all the cleaning still left to do, and a funny thing happened.

I picked up my netty and wrote.

I haven't written in months.

The characters are in my head, swirling constantly, evolving, having scenes, making choices... but I haven't been capturing any of it. Haven't been able to, for whatever reason.

This morning, out of the blue, I was able to type away, telling part of Nolan's story.

It isn't great, but it isn't utter shit either. I'd say it's right on par with the main body of the Cedar Falls stuff.

Amen, right?

Best part is that I'm thinking this will lead t more... crossing my fingers.

Meanwhile, I stuill have oodles of CF yet to share with you, so get ready for your monthly installment. Did you read all the June ones?

July promises to be tons of fun. I'll let you know when I update.

Didn't actually do any cleaning today, btw. The house is still a fucking disaster. But we have big plans. HUGE. You won't even believe the transformation when all is said and done... IF all gets said and done.

Don't get too excited; our plans for apartment re-design do NOT include a nursery. The jury's still out on that one, but it isn't looking too favorable, I gotta say.

Aaron says NO DECISIONS are to be made on the subject, and that any decisions I do make or have made are invalid, inconsequential, and ridiculous.

I just wish my decision to not have children didn't make me feel so nihilistic. I thought it would be freeing and inspire me to live my life more fully, but really it fills me with a sort of malaise, a wash of 'meh' about everything--which I can't decide if it is better than the extreme depression I was feeling about not already having children and still having no hope of being ready enough to have children any time soon...

Jury's still out.

I'll be sure to keep you clued in when I know anything.

AND I'll keep you posted on the apartment improvements!

On the to do list:

Bookshelf that is really a secret door with a secret closet!
Amazing kitchen Island that contains a secret desk for all my teacher-y needs and wants!
Incredibly awesome Tetris inspired wall shelves for the enormous focus wall!
Paint, paint, paint, paint! Color, color, color, color!
A craft room with craft platform space!
A newly upholstered couch & amazing tetris inspired accent pillows!
Big old re-arrange and re-purposing!

Holy god, can someone make the summer a few months longer, please?

Today

2011-07-08T17:01:00.000-04:00

Today I bought a carton of farm fresh blueberries at a farmer's market.

Cheered some kids on in kickball

Worshiped my husband orally

And, oh yeah, signed a contract.

:)

Now I'm chillin, naked on the couch, eating cereal, and getting ready to watch deadwood.

Happy weekend. I'mma be very, very busy.

Ciao!

Bloggy Onanism

2011-07-06T07:26:00.000-04:00

I spend a considerable amount of time worrying.

I spend a great deal of energy on feeling jealous, envious, and dissatisfied.

I spend hours upon hours doubting, disbelieving, denegrating, and devaluing myself.

That's alot of spending. Is it any wonder I'm in the red, spiritually?

It looks like I'll seriously need to start investing somehow, in my soul, in my self worth, in my emotional well-being.

But how? Habits are so damned hard to break, aren't they?

Even as I write this there are a dozen niggling little negative thoughts creeping, and sneaking, and clamboring to break down my will and my wishes.

And I try to shrug the negativity off, I try to dismiss it, make it vanish. Who cares what other people are doing? Who cares how seemingly happy and contented they are? Who cares what other people will say when they look at my life and my choices? Other people are not the rubric against which I should be measuring my life. Other people's successes and failures are neither affirmation nor condemnation of my life choices.

If I don't want children, that is fine; so long as I've made the decision in a healthy, open-minded, positive state of being. (As opposed to my glum, sour, suicidal state of being yesterday, wherein I watched a young mother bent over picking up toys from the yard and I decided: "Fuck that. I don't want to spend the rest of my life picking up after some useless, needy, selfish, oblivious, ungrateful little fucking parasites. I'm NEVER HAVING KIDS!" That, wouldn't you agree, seems like perhaps an extreme reaction, and a severely jaded view of the circle of life. HOWEVER, it is fair to weigh my very real distatste for cleaning up after other people, my passionate dislike for cleaning AT ALL, and my intolerance for ingrates, against the reality of child rearing. It just may be that I really am not that's going to do well in the thankless job of parenting.)

If those whom I have loved move on and flourish, I should either A) be happy for them, and wish them all success and happiness (doesn't that sound magnanimous?)
or B) stop giving a flying fuck what they're up to, who they're fucking, who they're lavishing their love and affection on now, or why they do the things they do, say the things they say, or choose to interact with me they way they do. Guess what? It is NOT MY LIFE. I cannot control the actions or words of others, I can only control my reaction\response to it. I must work on taking any news in, processing it privately (without torturing myself, without attaching blame or judgment, without oscillating between calling myself a stupid cunt or them all manner of awful spithets, and without regretting I ever knew them!!), and then move the fuck forward, because nothing I say or do will matter in the least. They are living their life, and I must live mine.
(Incidentally, this is another good reason not to have children. I believe it is a child's function to break your heart, frustrate you to tears, ignore sound advice, and then eventually leave you and move on with their life. Ok, that was rather pessimistic in some respects, but honestly? Are all the cute icecream parties worth it in the end if Litte Reardon decides to become a meth addict, or a republican, or just an all-out bitch? No thanks.)

If I choose to do the off-beat thing, I must have the courage of my convictions, the fortitude, the balls, and the sticktoitiveness to make my own success---or die trying. Ok, the end bit was fairly dramatic, but you get what I mean. People will pass judgment. They will say things. They will make assumptions, they may pity me (a peeve of mine), they may predict my failure and my doom. Who knows, and who cares. I must STOP caring about their opinions and their views. My choices are not theirs, and I am the only one who will have to live with the end result.

Whatever. If I want a salad from the stop n shop salad bar for lunch, I have to leave early for work; and I DO want a salad from the stop n shop salad bar, so I'mma need to end my blog post here.

Bloggus Interruptus. Was it good for you? Probably not, right? but I got something out of it! lolz.

Alex Kittner, They're beginning to prune!

2011-07-05T17:09:00.000-04:00

Did everyone have a nice weekend?

I did.

Friends, family, dinosaurs, sexcapades, videogames, and the like.

And the summer for me is now in full swing as both my jobs are now up and running, leaving me exhaustedpants by 4pm!

My husband is going to take me to dinner in a little bit. Even though he ate out last night ;) heeeheeeeheeee.

I'm a lucky girl. Very, very lucky.

Happy July!

Independence

2011-07-02T23:49:00.000-04:00

Throw your hands up at me....

This Independence day weekend I am struggling with how utterly un-independent I seem to be. I've been struggling with it for several months, actually, as some of my big projects coincided with some of Aaron's big projects and I came to understand how disgustingly codependent I had become over the last few years, what a needy, helpless creature I'd devolved into!

I had\have become this almost infantile little hanger-on waiting around for mister genius jack-of-all-trades to take care of all my problems and issues for me wherever and whenever humanly possible. Seriously.

And so, as my productions were going up and I had a list of props and things a mile long, on which I had noted 'Aaron can do this' beside nearly every single item, I had to frown, shake my head and take a hard look at what the fuck I was doing to myself and to Aaron.

Is it true that the man can do almost anything? Yes. Is it true that almost everything he does turns out awesomesauce and stunning and has an amazing wow-factor? Yes and yes. Is it true that people are constantly impressed, amazed, awe-inspired and staggered by how handy\creative\dependable\visionary\ingenious\inventive\clever\crafty\problem-solve-y\knowledgeable\skilled\efficient\relaibly amazing the guy is? Fuck yes, that is gospel.

However, this is not the law of exclusivity. Just because he IS amazing, doesn't necessarily mean that I am NOT amazing. But I had begun to believe this with every fibre of my being. It was as if: "Why bother? I can't do it as well as Aaron, so..." *shrug*

This happened with our failed start-up company too. Suddenly, because of his wide-ranging skill set and expertise, Aaron was the go-to guy for fucking everything and I think it made the rest of us sort of lazy, or at least less motivated, less spectacularly motivated than we should have been for a band of scrappy start-ups. He busted his ass and dis amazing work, and .... well... he's good, but he isn't a miracle worker, and he can't carry everything on those broad shoulders of his. And our dream? It looked real great on the website he designed and built, it looked fabulous on the posters he designed and found a printer for, it looked so professional and promising in the brochures he developed and found a printer for! But in the end it was a miscarriage and all we have left is Aaron's incredible work.

So it came time to do my shows and Aaron is illustrating a book, and Aaron is building a goddamned life-size velociraptor (I promise I'll get pictures up at some point- the thing is fucking fabulous), and Aaron is still doing things for STAGE, and aaron is real fucking busy, and while he says he'll help, it is easily apparent to me that the man is stretched too thin (if he were a normal human like the rest of us, he would have been well past the snapping point, but for my super-hero husband? nah, just stretched a lil too thin...), ans there literally aren't enough hours in the day for him to accomplish everything he needs to get done AND eat, sleep, breathe and survive, and so I say: Forget it, I'll do it myself (but not in a bitchy way; I said it in a falsely brave, go-get-em voice...)

I was daunted. I was depressed. I was dreading the tasks, and I took a moment to examine this state of mind\being. And I said to myself:

Um, what the fuck is your fucking problem?

Uh, pardon? Excuse me, I don't know what--

Shut the fuck up, you pathetic bitch and take a good look at your sad-sack self, will you?

Wh-wh-wh-whaaaat?!?!?

You heard me!

Well, gimme a breakm this is hard work! I don't think I can do it!

Oh give me a fucking break!

I'm serious!

You're a serious fuckface.

Fuckface? *snicker*

You think it's fucking funny that you've devolved into a goddamned parasite?

Ouch.

Yeah.

That's a bit harsh--

It is the goddamned truth. Look; You are a grown woman, you are a very SMART woman, you are exceedingly CLEVER, you are, believe it or not, quite a CAPABLE individual--

But...

You hold a goddamned ADVANCED DEGREE is this bullshit!!!! Are you seriously telling me that you can't suck it up, grab yourself a fucking hot-glue-gun, and make some goddamn children's theatre props?

. . . . . .

Yeah, I fucking thought not. Now, stop feeling sorry for yourself and wishing you could be someone else, and get your goddamned cunting act together and make some children's theatre props.

Oh-kayyy....

And while you're at it? take a long, hard look at your life and ask yourself what kind of person you want to be.

I--

How many times do you ask favors of him?

But--

How many tasks do you insist he perform when you are equally capable of accomplishing the task?

But he does it better!

Oh-the-fuck-well! So he does it better, oh well. It doesn't mean he has to do EVERYTHING and you don't do ANYTHING. That's one sure way to fuck up your marage permanently, don't you see that?

I...

He fell in love with you once upon a time because you were so fucking awesome it knocked his socks off! You were fierce, you were fearless, you were all-or-nothing and you just fucking DID things! remember that girl?

Not really.

Exactly. Wake the fuck up, get off your fucking ass, stop standing in someone's goddamned shadow (you should damn well know better than to let anyone block your light, bitch!), and make yourself an equal goddamned partner in this thing! And get those fucking props done, there are kids counting on you! They aren't counting on Aaron, they're counting on YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So. Yeah. I made some fabulous props for three separate shows, and while I am sure Aaron could have made them better or more functional or whatever, I must say that the props I conjured up were really goddamn great. And he was so fucking busy that he wasn't even able to come to two of my shows-- he never even got to see some of my props in action. And I went to the shows alone, no one there for me, and guess what? I survived. I did well. I didn't crumple into a mess of insecurities. Shockingly.

Recently I have been panicked about the notion that I might have the very real high-stakes responsibility of teaching students a real subject like english (as opposed to the periphery subject of theatre\drama\acting, where no one really knows what you're doing and so no one really looks to hear or holds you to any measurable standards-- they just smile vaguely and attend the shows once in a while and say 'break a leg' but walk away mystified and proud of themselves for supporting arts education.), and Aaron keeps saying:

"I'll help you! Whatever you need, I will help you, we can do this!"

Which is incredibly supportive.

And feels fundamentally wrong to me.

"You can't help me, not with everything!" I tell him. "I somehow have to be able to do this myself!"

He assures me I will, he insists that he can and will help, and when I complain about my relative uselessness he argues that I help him all the time. But honestly? the examples he provides make me feel like a little kid who 'helped' her dad fis the diswasher or something. Like, I made sure the nuts and bolts didn't get lost, o r I handed him the right screwdriver, or I held the flashlight at the right angle while he actually did the real work that requires brains and know-how and skill and all that jazz.

I love him. More than life, more than anything, more (much, much more) than myself.

But if I want him to continue to love me for the long haul? I gotta get my act together. I have to build up my once strongly independent muscles. This was the girl who lived in NYC without him. WHo traveled the country without him. Who was perfectly capable of using all kinds of powertools without him. Who could build things, assemble things, research things, and create things without him. With his love and support, but ultimately on my own.

I like having a partner. I don't want to make him my dad-- you know?

I need to dust off my old tools, my old attitude, my old self-reliance. Balance the scales a little bit. Be an active contributor. An equal partner, with assets and value.

I mean, how long's he gunna keep me around just for the sex? It may have gotten me this far, but you never know quite when the sand'll run outta that hourglass, right ladies? ;)

He puts up with a hell of a lot. I just wanna take some of the burden off the poor fella.

And I want to be able to stand alone, when all is said and done, and have some accomplishments that are my own, incomparable achievements. I want to thank him in the credits, instead of have him srite the thing for me.

I want to be the woman he fell in love with.

I want to be the woman that you couldn't resist, not for anything!

Cuz I depend on me!

Girl I didn't know you could get down like that....

Little Girls

2011-07-02T22:53:00.002-04:00

Please read this very insightful article.

Knock on wood

2011-07-01T17:15:00.000-04:00

Had a really good interview today. Thanks for all the love and support. Fingers are crossed in all sorts of directions, and I wonder if I'll have to make some tough decisions in the coming weeks. I hope so, even though I am a libra and notoriously awful at either\or scenarios, this is one problem I'd be grateful to have to face. After more than a year of unemployment\underemployment, please, please, please let me have to make some tough choices!!

My mother took me shopping on the government's dime yesterday and now my cup runneth over. Every time I'd choose an item and put it in the carriage she would insist "Get Two!" Or sometimes four or more. I almost had a heart attack just looking at how full the carriage was. She is a saint, and thanks to some earlier miscalculations on Uncle Sam's part, she now has this wonderful surplus of money to spend. And she chose to make sure Aaron and I were taken care of for the summer, which is a blessing and a half. Thank you mum!

The playdate yesterday was fun times too. It is a bit strange being at a playdate with no offspring of one's own, but I love the ladies, and I love all my nieces, and it was fun!

Gotta run, having a gmaenight tonight and my sister-in-law's always fabulous vegetarian cooking. Bless that woman, she never just throws a salad on the table and says: that's vegetarian! She tries new recipes, she experiments, she re-makes the classics without meat. I wonder what we'll have today?!?!?

Love!