addendum to breakfast bitches...

Sooooo. Although Danielle inspires me, it is apparently not enough to properly motivate me to action. It is almost time to leave to go pick aaron up and I have accomplished nada.

Yikes a roni.

This bury-my-head-in-the-sand attitude is pretty horrific.

Breakfast, Bitches!

Had breakfast with my bestie today and had a great time! She is an incredible woman and really inspires me to do better things. Like get pregnant? LOL. That, of course, because I want our kids to be friends, but, no she makes me endeavor to be more organized, efficient and motivated.

Then I come home and see dishes in the sink, smell the litter box from the other room, and think about all the things I still have to do before the day is done and I just cringe.

She is the best though. I know its silly to even be writing this since she's the onlyone who reads my blog. What else am I going to say? J\K. She really is the best.

You hearing this danielle? :)

My goal is to apply for several jobs before the day is through. Another goal should be to call the loan people, but we'll see...

Oh and that litter box fucking REEEEEEEKs. so probably that... and dishes.. plus I have to finish cleaning out the van for sale.

Fun fun.

How will I find time to watch days and spartacus? :)

Update

Hey. Did some (not all) of the dishes, tidied up and felt alot better. still broke...
LOL. Also made a yummy dinner, so that put me in good spirits as well. Though of course it means more dishes tomorrowz.

The Real Deal

So Danielle has made me think alot about what people put in their blogs and how they present themselves to the world.

I've never wanted to be anything less than genuine.

Here's the real deal: My mom, who is on social security, took ME shopping today so I could use foodstamps money because I have no other money.

True story.

Know what else is true? I can't seem to make myself give a flying fuck about cleaning the house. I love this apartment and when we moved in I swore up and down that I would keep it neat and tidy and organized and liveable. For a while there I did a fanstastic job.

Now? Not so much. I love the place as much as ever-- maybe more than ever-- but for some reason I can't seem to motivate my ass to pick up around here and do the goddamn dishes.

Know why? I think I know why. I think I'm pretty fucking sure we aren't going to be living here too much longer.

I just don't see any possible way.

And that breaks my heart.

So maybe this is why I don't tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth in the blogosphere. Maybe this is why people paint those white picket fences and trim their metaphorical lawns for digital curb appeal... because behind it the walls are crumbling and everything smells like decay and disaster.

List of good things:
Aaron. I can't say enough good things about him. He's fantastic, and he doesn't deserve the debt I've dragged him into!

Danielle & Adam- amazing friends, really awesome, and they have a baby on the way whom I already love to pieces.

My family. I'm so grateful for everything, all their many kindenesses and their generosity and their continued support.

My kittens? Lame, I know, but they always seem to know how to cheer me when I'm lonesome.

My health. Alot of people don't have it and I must be grateful for it.

My education. Little good though it seems to be doing me in the jobsearch presently, I'm grateful to have had the opportunity and nothing can erase the accomplishment.

The roof over my head, the clothes on my back, the food in my pantry- though I am fully aware that none of them are guaranteed forever or even for the next few months.

This is ridiculous. This is why people don't blog this shit. I don't need anyone pitying me or feeling sorry or any of that. I'm just trying to work through shit and maybe when\if I am am ever employed I can afford a proper therapist instead of a blinking cursor and the catharsis of the internet.

I want to throw out every dirty dish, every piece of laundry, every ill that is piling up on the coffee table.

Instead why don't I try doing something more productive? I'm going to go do some fucking dishes. God knows I did little else of value today.

Spent the weekend in Boston at PAX East, which is a gaming convention. Videogames and tabletop and card games. Attended seminars, panels, fun events and other such things. I did not enter any tournaments. We did, however, take full advantage of the "Free Play" room which was incredible-- Row after row of huge tvs set up with various consoles- Wii, XBox 360, and PS3. You pull a number, like at the deli, then go up and pick a system & a game and they send you off with controllers and game in hand to go play for a half an hour (or, until one of the staff finally needs the console and asks you to wrap it up!).

It was pretty phenomenal. We played the New Mario on Wii a few times and now I want it so bad I could scream.

But since aaron doesn't bother to read my blog I will say this: This weekend was totally all about him. I know he thinks it was partially for me since I've expressed interest in possibly going into the gaming industry, but really? I have never even been to a theatre teacher convention. Conventions aren't my thing. I will say that by and large the people attending this convention were some of the friendliest and most good-natured folk I have ever encountered all in one place.

But I spent alot of my time feeling pretty bored. I'm not a hard-core gamer, and nothing proves that fact more clearly than attending a gaming convention.

And the Q&A entitled: "So you want to get into the game industry" was more of a deterrent than a motivator.

I'm just not sure if I have a career change in me, and when I\ IF I have kids in a few years? Not really feasible.

I said to Aaron: Look, I know you love education and you're phenomenal at it, but you're the one with his future ahead of him as far as college goes- YOU should consider this, not me.

He's also the one with all the talent- he can draw, write, design, and pick up any computer program you set in front of him in no time at all. Oh, and he's also more of a gamer than I am.

We'll see.

I think this convention made me reflect alot on careers in what most people consider to be hobbies. When I was applying to all my colleges in my senior year of HS I kept shaking my head in wonder that more members of the Dramam club weren't planning on majoring in theatre. I didn't get it. How could people do Drama and not want to do it for the rest of their lives?

Ah. I see now. Employablility, job security, real life. got it.

So as much as I can see myself working in the games industry I have to step back, look at it in a way I never looked at the theatre though I probably should have done, and say: Yeah you like it, yeah you'd be fucking fantastic at it, but hey, maybe this should just be a hobby.

And how's the real person job search going? I'm terrified and panicked and all kinds of awful! AAAHHHHH!! Yikes! lol. I have apps in at some places but am not super optimistic. What the fuck am I going to do?????????????????

Love always,

:)

maraschino cherries

“Do you like cherries?” I asked her.

“Ooooh I love cherries!” she gushed giddily. Her smile was insouciant and though my eyes narrowed in skepticism I let my mouth relax into my most charming smile.

“Is that so?” I challenged lightly, keeping my voice a low, purring rumble. I watched the desire flash in her eyes, like headlights catching in a cat’s eye’s at night.

“I love them.” She insisted, trying her best to purr right back and arching her spine a little to show her perky tits to better advantage—as if I hadn’t already taken note of her assets. “I like to tie knots with the stems…” she confided, and held my gaze meaningfully.

Inwardly I sighed, tired of the hackneyed innuendo, the flirty euphemism which implied she had a talented tongue and would be willing to suck me off. Outwardly I arched a brow, signaling intrigue, and I rumbled deep in my throat to hint at an arousal I did not feel. And, of course, I let my smile broaden roguishly.

“Talented little minx, are we?” I muttered, eyes smoldering and leaning forward.

“I can do it in under thirty seconds flat.” She whispered, and then giggled—suddenly bubbly and blushing. Averting her eyes and timid.

Exactly as I thought. This pretty pink thing, playing at womanhood, flirting and suggesting and implying, had no idea what she was doing. I let my smile melt into something a little less charming and a little more dangerous. “I’d rather you took your time with it.”

Her high-gloss lips formed a sweetly shocked ‘O’ and her eyes widened so far she had the appearance of one of those ridiculous Cupie Dolls. She’s said she was 21 and I’d known it was a lie. I’d guessed around 18 but she may have been younger still.
Jesus, what goes through those pretty little heads? Don’t they know what trouble they can get themselves into? Shouldn’t they be wary of the dangers lurking around corners, ready to devour and defile their one perfect asset? Haven’t their mothers warned them about men like me? Isn’t that what little red riding and other morality tales guised as nursery stories designed to teach these little girls?

I almost didn’t have the stomach for it—now that I knew just how young she likely was. It was too easy. I almost didn’t have the heart, but while her mouth and eyes were still wide with surprise I expertly took her fragile jaw in my large, rough fingers and brought her lips to mine.

Her lipgloss tasted like chemicals masked by artificial sweetness and her tongue was flavored 'pink' and tequila. I kissed her in a subtle but forceful way that was undeniably ownership, unquestionably conquest, and when I withdrew from her she wore a lost expression, mixed confusion and longing.

It was all I could do not to roll my eyes. I lifted my glass and took a long, slow sip while she struggled to catch her breath and think of something clever to say. In the past, after a move like that, I’ve received responses ranging from the timeless “Oh my goodness” to the ever en vogue “I want to fuck you so hard right now.”

From the desperately innocent to the bitch in heat. Never once has one of these maraschino cherry munching, stem tying, lipgloss sporting, fake ID toting little sweet things ever uttered anything surprising. Sometimes they’ve been a shade too tipsy to think of anything at all to say, instead sinking into a quiet shyness or fits of giggles.

Barely conscious of it I took a deep breath and sighed it out. She was taking a very long while to collect herself and an uncharacteristic tickle of impatience skittered across my shoulder blades. I shrugged in a carelessly debonair manner and resigned myself to what was shaping up to be a quietly submissive partner for the evening-- the kind who goes with you in a sort of trance.

When I finally looked over she was touching her lips—gingerly almost—marveling? Her eyes were far away and she was clearly lost in thought.

Something twisted in my gut. Dammit. Had she ever been kissed at all? I wondered again what a girl like that was doing in a place like this. I was used to being their best, had made a calculated art out of blowing their young minds and making their adolescent boyfriends back home in their small towns or their homogeneous campuses seem nothing more than clumsily rutting farm animals.

I blinked and swirled the ice in my glass, my brow only slightly furrowed. It couldn’t be called an attack of conscience really, not precisely.

I’d had scores of virgins. For a time in my 20’s hunting virgins was my sport of choice, and I was exceptionally skilled. But there’s something, well, tiresome about virgins. The novelty is admittedly intoxicating and adding proverbial notches to the bedpost is exhilarating but beyond that? Even the eagerest of virgins finds herself at best too sore to go as many rounds as a man of my appetite would prefer, and at worst too weepy and emotional.

And there’s the responsibility.

In my 20’s the responsibility of being a pretty little thing’s first didn’t phase me, didn’t give me pause. I was good, made it good for her, and my stained sheets were my trophy. I even made money off my skill. I’d take the longest of long-shots—One night in graduate school I made close to $10,000.00 by bedding three separate virgins in just under twenty-four hours. A great many of my compatriots stopped placing bets after that achievement.

“You look pale darling.” I finally spoke kindly “Shall I get you another drink?” I had her attention now. Her eyes were already glassy—she certainly didn’t need another drink—but it’s the sort of offer a gentleman makes to a lady. You can almost hear Cary Grant delivering the line, ever suave, a little cavalier and a dash tender.

But this little girl wouldn’t know who Cary Grant was. Despite the fact the she and those of her breed didn’t know Cary Grant, they know the type, because debonair rake is universal, timeless. They know the type and they gravitate right toward it, all these girls with Daddy issues and self esteem woes. These privileged young things with too much money, too much license, too much romantic imagination.

She smiled a timid little smile and nodded her acquiescence and I knew I’d be fucking her within the hour.

With a lazy almost half-hearted gesture I caught the bartender’s eye. “I’ll have the bill please- for myself and the lady.”

The man didn’t blink, didn’t have to. He’d seen me in here week after week, knew the chase was just about wrapping up and soon enough I’d be walking out with this wisp of a thing less than half my age. If there was anyone else in the place that had a keener eye for underage flesh than I had it was probably this fellow. I saved him a lot of trouble by buying young ladies’ drinks for them and he obligingly kept things copacetic for me.

Two steps forward, but I'm still sinking...

Wouldn't you know it- my mother called today.

I was alternately weepy and morose, with spurts of 'motivated' thrown in for good measure. She was calling to ask if I would come over and clean the birdcage, but it was wonderful to talk to her nonetheless.

She has no money to give me. So I am no better off.

I did, however, send out some applications (aaron said "stop waiting for the letters of Rec and just apply!"), visited WeeBee public for a subbing application which I will hand in tomorrow, and went to the post office to send my brother some ties for his b-day.

I also took a nap. I've felt very run-down this week and exhausted, which is either due to the stress\depression or possibly it is dietary. Maybe both. I made a very healthy dinner last night and the night before, but I don't eat much during the day. Maybe I need more protein! One gets sick of PB sandwiches sometimes.

I'm subbing the HS tomorrow in a 'supplementary' fashion, which means I'm the HS's bitch for the day. Give me strength.

I also sent off paperwork for my licensure. And I'm thinking (as I always do after I visit the post office), of taking the civil service exam. I can be a mailperson!

I just neede to blog instead of do something more self destructive... or productive... I just needed to be neutral for a few minutes.

Apologies for the boring-ness.

Hay is for Horses.

TOday I'm feeling waves and waves of guilt. Guilty for not having a full-time job. Guilty for not cleaning the house. Guilty for not wanting to apply for more sub jobs in other school districts. Guilty for not having enough money in my bank account to pay all the bills I need to pay. Guilty for having this incredibly expensive education with almost nothing to show for it. Guilty for every single thing about who I am.

I'm even guilty for wasting so much of my friend's time chatting yesterday! (even though I had a good time-- I really did suck away hours of her life!)

It is a pretty uncomfortable place to be.

And I don't know what to do.

Ok. FALSE. I know what I should do, know what other people keep telling me to do. But every day it gets harder and harder to get out of bed and face the battle. I'm thoroughly discouraged and desperate and terrified.

People are out there living their lives, having babies, buying homes, paying bills and being happy. It feels, for the first time ever in my life, that those things may never, ever, ever be part of my life.

I feel so terribly guilty that Aaron is stuck with me for better or worse because its pretty 'worse' right now.

And before you say it: I know this is unhealthy.

That's just another problem. If I were healthy and had a healthy outlook I probably wouldn't be in this mess.

Today I'm supposed to call other school districts and ask for sub jobs. I would really rather disappear forever than do that.

So I'm going to try some Mom-isms and see if they help. I'd love to talk to her about all this but she's already helped me more than she should and I don't want to worry her more than she already is. For christ's sake, I should be taking care of her by now, not the other way around!

Things Mum might say today:

What doesn't kill us makes us stronger.

Life isn't fair.

Beggars can't be choosers.

"Hay" is for horses, better for cows, pigs would eat it but they don't know how. (This is in response to when someone says "Hey"-- I really have never understood this one but she says it ALLLLLL the time!)

Maybe I will call her.

Maybe I have to call her.

Tuesday is a great name for a girl.

Holy Moly was I exhausted yesterday! It was such a long day subbing. My sentiments were: FML. It felt like a constant battle all day!

To my credit when I got home I jumped right back on subfinder to look for a job for the next day but confess I was a little relieved when there weren't any posted.

So here I is. Home. Know what though? I'm still exhausted. I even got to sleep an extra hour and still I'm exhausted. My eyes hurt.

I fell asleep yesterday at about 4ish and didn't wake up till Aaron got home. He was worried because I didn't answer his daily call at 6!

Then I felt bad because I didn't have dinner ready (or even started), like I usually do. He was sweet. "Take a night off!" he said and he munched on what was supposed to be his lunch that he'd forgotten on the kitchen table that morning.

Funny thing about men though, "take a night off" did not mean that he cooked dinner. It just meant we didn't have dinner! LOL. Well, at one point he did offer but I couldn't really think of anything I wanted to eat and neither did he, so it was just one of those BLAH nights. Being a vegetarian can be tiresome. A coldcut sandwich would have hit the spot, or a BLT, or maybe just some cold rotisserrie chicken (I used to pretend I lived in medieval times when I ate rotiserrie chicken-- ate it with my hands and always drank from a goblet... ahh good times).

But there really aren't too many quick -n- easy vegetarian solutions, and those ones that do exist get old real fast. Even "Easy" veg dishes take more forethought than most easy omniverous things. And when I say easy, I'm talking we didn't even feel like making mac-n-cheese easy.

I really don't think I'd be able to be a vegan or a gluten-free person. Not without a total and complete lifestyle shift.

Tonight is auditions for the BHS musical I guess. Wish me luck. I mean, I'm not auditioning obviously, just wish me luck sitting through a sham of a process and holding a civil tongue in my head! heeheehee.

Sometimes I can't wait to have my own theatre company.

I may try some creative writing today. Rainy days feel like writing days.

Health Care reform bill passed. Obviously it isn't perfect but at least it is something, progress toward a goal. I even called my congressmen to urge him to vote for it. He was the only congressman from MA that voted "No". What a douche.

I don't have health care. I really can't afford it. At this point I'm not sure I can afford anything at all- including this apartment, which makes me the happiest girl in the world.

Got into a mini facebook tiff last night. Facebook is hilarious.

Working today, hence the brevity. I'm actually itching to do some creative writing, but it will have to wait. So will all the housework that still needs to get done. Aaron helped yesterday by doing alot of dishes! But there are still some dishes yet to be done and I guess that'll be up to me. But the guy made brownies for desert soooooo... I guess I will do the dishes.

I hope this week sails by. This weekend I'm baby-sitting Nattle-bug, whom I adore, and attending an awesome videogame convention with my hubby (whom I also adore), in boston! He bought the tickets before we were so very panicked about moolah. Now we're going to a convention at which we will not be able to spend a DIME past T-Fare. Looks like we'll have to bring bagged lunches and water jugs. C'est La Vie!

I hope this week also gives me a chance to visit with my bestie again. I love that she's not working. She is much happier. We have lots to plan for the Baby shower!!
On post secret yesterday there were a couple of secrets about how getting laid off or quitting their jobs ended up being the best thing ever for them! They made me smile and think of Danielle!



And the E-mail write-in that responded to it:

-----Email Message----
Being laid off last October was one of the best things that ever happened to me-- sometimes you have to do something you really hate before you find your true passion and purpose in life.


***********************************************

Meanwhile I need INTO a job that will likely make me miserable and suck my life away! In a related note: I agreed to help with the BHS musical because I need the money. I feel like an empty whore.

But I like the kids and I like musicals, so...

Oh NOES!

I think I figured out the thing that sucks most about being a substitute teacher. There are alot of sucky things about being a sub. The instant and built-in disrespect, The inherent mischief inspired in students who believe they will be able to 'get away' with something, the constant undercurrent of 'what the fuck should I be doing right now, the un-relenting push back, the armor and mask I have to wear- students smell fear and look for the chinks in the armor.

Its lonely, thankless, undervalued, and simultaneously overwhelming and underwhelming being a substitute.

And I'm pretty good humored about it too. I mean, I remember what it was like to have a sub. I get it. I know what the kids are thinking and I not only sympathize, I empathize. I am pretty tolerant of alot and know that on THIS day, when I am an interloper in their world, that these children will not be at their best. In fact, most will be at their nearly worst.

Normally polite children will be fresh. Typically honest children will be sly. Kids who usually can';t stand eachother will overcome their differences and unite against a common enemy, working together to thwart the substitute in her honest attempt to get through the fucking day without incident.

And though I wear a stern face I rather enjoy most of their little plots, their little jokes and sneaky games. I think kids are brilliant. Their imaginations delight me and in all their predictability they always find small ways to surprise me and make me laugh.

But the worst part? Is saying "NO". All day. All the time. "No". As an educator and as a person I like saying "YES" to things. I like to create positive environment, a place of trust and a place to try things. YES is encouraging, positive, forward-moving. NO is a dead stop. NO is a non-starter.




Can I go to the bathroom?
"No" not right now.

Can I sharpen my pencil?
"No" you need to be in your seat right now.

Can I get something out of my locker?
"No", no one's allowed in the hall right now.

UGH. Don't get me wrong, I do allow alot. I am not the jail-warden substitute. But "No"s crush my spirit enough to make me notice how often I have to utter them.

Lately I've taken to employing the oldest trick in the book (sound like I'm calling an 80 year old prostitute!): The ever illusive, the ever seductive "Maybe".

"Maybe"s hold promise, they imply possibility, they comfort while crushing.

MAYBE you can sit with your friend IF you prove you can work silently on your own for 15 minutes. MAYBE at half past I'll let you go to the nurse IF you don't feel any better. Maybe is conditional. It's wait and see. There's a feeling that the student has some agency, some control over the outcome. MAYBE is a CHANCE.

And MAYBE is more productive than NO.

But NO makes the day go more smoothly, at least at first. I don't know their routines, I don't know all the rules of the school or classroom. NO covers my ass. NO quells most of the initial mischief. NO sets the tone that I'm not to be fucked with.

But NO can lead to out-right rebellion. Too much NO too soon and you're fucked.

Anyway, I hate being the "NO" man and would rather be the YES man.

A drama teacher should always say YES, AND...

"Miss, can we do..."
YES, and how about..."

Sigh.

Drama teachers can say yes and push for more. Subs need to say no and squash down... or say maybe and make them dance for a bit. Delay the inevitable. Its the best we can hope for.

Teaching Philosophy

I come to the field of education via theatre arts, therefore I approach teaching as I do directing and acting: Acting is doing—and so is learning. It is my firm belief that people learn and understand best when theory leaps off of the page and is put into practice.

I endeavor to create a cooperative classroom environment where learning can be approached from all angles, a safe environment where risk taking is encouraged and deeper understandings are drawn. Using drama as education it is my goal to teach students not only theatre skills, but skills for leading a more productive life in any field. Confidence, cooperation, creative thinking, problem solving, perspective and open mindedness are skills nurtured and promoted in my theatre classes, through games, discussion, scene work and improvisation.

As an educator and as a director I strive to be adaptable and flexible enough to meet the needs of my students. I firmly believe that with any goal there are infinite paths to achievement and always view each student as an individual; methods of instruction that work for some may not work for others, and I pride myself on my ability to diagnose each student’s particular needs and help them find their own path to success with any lesson or project. In addition, I am always conscious of various learning styles and incorporate in-roads through multiple intelligences into each unit. In every class I do my utmost to be open, aware and responsive to the energy and needs of the group. It is imperative to be able to think on my feet and ready to try many different approaches to any given lesson or topic.

Above all I prize the learning that presents itself through problem solving. Learning is messy and should be fostered as an organic, ever-changing art. Letting students stumble through, think through and re-think challenges gives them the greatest opportunity for comprehension and skill building. Trial and error is prized above perfection in my classroom; the latter leaves no room for growth. Giving students agency in their own learning and ownership of their projects yields the greatest results in education; I always encourage them to draw not only from their rich imaginations but also from their own diverse backgrounds and complex lives, from their unique perspective of the world around them.

It is my hope and my goal to see students shed self-consciousness, express themselves freely and confidently without fear of judgment, and gain an empathy and understanding not only for themselves but society as a whole. I consider it my duty to encourage, guide, assist and offer possibilities to students, to always be constructive, energetic, supportive and to hold students to the highest level of expectations—and make them believe they are capable of the very best effort in all things.

Time (and Ants) to Kill

I am on lunch break right now at The Hancock Elementary School and have access to a computer so here I am.

Yesterday I subbed The Huntington again and I really like what that school is doing. I had a ton of free time and did some writing, but I didn't have time to type it up. It was fun to do, however, came outta nowhere and now I keep thinking maybe I'll really work on it- revise it and such.

The reason In have access to a computer unhindered is because this teacher's lounge is crawling with the biggest, ugliest looking ants you can imagine, which sent all the teachers running for the safety of some classroom in which to eat their lunces. So here I am, breathing the noxious anti-ant fumes and enjoying the solitude.

I hate making smalltalk and have already done enough of it today. I'd rather put up with the chemicals (and possible carcinogens) than fake one more smile. At least for the moment. In about a half hour I take over a 4th grade classroom for the end of the day. It was one of those floater days where they use you as they need you due to teacher meetings.

I don't want to smoosh any of these ants. I am a vegetarian afterall. I always bring spiders and moths outside instead of killing them. But what if I get an ant infestation? What will I do? And you better believe this bitch will eviscerate a cock-roach, no questions asked. But maybe I'd better work on that. We bough humane traps when we had a mouse invader in the downstairs apartment. Are there humane ant traps?

And I don't hesitate at slapping mosquitoes... then I take a passive agressive approach to flies- I let the cats have their sport at hunting them.




Meh. This is an ass-boring blog. I applied for a teaching job in needham, and am about ready to send off my stuff to Canton and Pembroke, butI'm hung up waiting for my letters of Rec. Ugh. I hate asking for those. I obviously should have done it sooner, but you know me- everything last minute!

What do I want? I think I want a fabulous job teaching drama in B-Rock (which is impossible), WeeBee(which isn't likely), or Sharon (wouldn't that be just too adorable?). More likely I'll be begging for english teaching jobs, and even though Danielle has every confidence in me, I'm still dubious.

Oh wells. I'm going to go because I'm just rambling now!!

Responsibility

Had to turn down breakfast with my Bestie because I have to work. :(

Yesterday was rough city. I thought fairly seriously about taking a bath with the toaster. We are in dire straits as far as money goes and the job search for me is grim. I think it is made more grim because I'm not all that psyched about taking a teaching job in English because while I'm technically qualified (and lets face it- would probably kick ass), I FEEL like a fraud.

And there aren't a ton of Drama Job postings so...

Aaron had a mini panic attack about money. Next month we start paying bigboy rent for our gorgeous new apartment and I don't think we'll be able to make all ends meet.

Wow this is more of a downer than I'd expected. I have to get ready for work now. Did I mention I hate working? LOL. Most people do, I guess. I just never wanted to be most people. I think we all want to be the exception to the rule, to be singular.

A good teacher I had once told us that the secret of lifetime happiness is finding out what you love to do, and then finding a way to get paid for doing it.

Unfortunately my Hubby doesn't yet make enough money to let me sit at home and watch soaps and play house. How terribly un-feminist of me. Its not a gender thing really, it's a LAZY thing.

Second I suppose would be teaching Drama, but IDK... that makes me plenty grumpy alot of the time.

Well, we have to hold onto the apartment through May because we finally picked a shower date and that's in may! Would hate to send out a correction to the initial invites: "Uh, sorry folks, change of venue... the tennants were deadbeats and the landlord kicked them out so..."

UGH!

I gotta go!

Worse Than Catfood

Just finished an episode of HOUSE where the patient was addicted to blogging. I hope I don't contract some terrible mystery ailment as a result of blogging!

Well. It happens to the best of us. A week or so ago it happened to my friend Adam. He had the best of intentions and somehow made a dinner that he deemed: Catfood.

Last night I made something not even cats would eat. I doubt even swine would deign to try it. And I was soooo looking forward to it!

Aaron and I love Indian Food and every now and then I buy a few things from the ethnic section of the grocery store and try to re-create some of that Indian food magic. We've had one or two good-ish homemade\storebought Indian dinner nights. Last night was NOT one of them.

It was the fucking red lentils. They obstinately REFUSED to soften up. I pre-bakes tofu to make it more paneer-like and it was not yummy like paneer (aaron ate some but I said:no way!). Basically I have this huge sickly yellow, aromatic, vomitous looking mess in my big wok on the stove right now that I will have to deal with when I finish blogging. I was too heartsick over it last night and it was raining too hard to want to bring it to the dumpster.

In a last ditch, plan-B effort to salvage some of the dinner I threw some indian pre-packaged bullshit in the microwave, threw some vaguely Indian sauce on some Uncle Ben's Basmati and served it up with some Garlic Naan. Only the Naan was palatable.

It felt like I wasted so much time and effort. Aaron still ate a bunch- even rescuing some potatoes and tofu from the abonination on the stove and adding them to his Uncle Ben's mix. I was really disheartened and I apologized and he said: "Don't apologize! Do you know how much it means to me that you cook dinner for us?" He was really supportive and sweet.

He also thanked me for making him breakfast (usually just toast) every morning and lunches to take with him to school. He's a pretty swell guy.

Sometimes I even feel like Donna Reed- except when I kiss him goodbye at the door in the morning I usually flash him something naughty to make him smile.

Ah well. I don't know what to do for dinner tonight. Maybe I'll cruise some recipe websites and see what I come up with. I have this recipe from my friend Jeff with pears and brussels sprouts, but what the hell goes with something like that- besides a lovely chicken breast???

Another recipe\dinner connundrum: St. Patrick's day is tomorrow and this will be my very first as a vegetarian. I happen to LOVE LOVE LOVE corned beef and cabbage boiled dinner. Not every Irish American cares for it, but I was always clamoring for the corned beef! When I lived in NY I always went to a restaurant on St. Pats so I could have it. I kind of don't want to skip over it and pretend the holiday isn't there just because of corned beef.

So what- I could boil the veggies, but what else? There are some began recipes involving seitan but I'm not the biggest fan and they seem rather complicated. Ugh. I'll give it some thought today and maybe run to the market for ingredients. Another option is to take the traditional veggies and serve them in some other way. Carrots, Potatoes, Cabbage, Turnip, Mustard (ok, not a veggie, but pretty traditional flavoring), vinegar, SALT,. Who knows? I kind of doubt I have heart enough for two stunning culinary failures this week.

Maybe the luck of the Irish will see me through!

The Creative-est of Writing!

I had no subbing job today and have been filling out online applications for jobs and starting to really get my resume, reference page and cover-letter up to scratch.

Obviously I will personalize the cover-letters for each job, but I got a kick out of writing this template for myself to follow as the job-search continues.

I hate writing about myself and thus I've been avoiding the cover-letter. I feel like such an ass writing cover letters. Anyway, after creatively adding a semi-narrative to my resume I turned my attention to the cover-letter formula. Here is the result:


Elizabeth Reardon
____________________________________________________________________

MY ADDRESS *OMITTED FOR THE WEBZ* • 508-555-2855
BethReardon4898*@hotmail.com
http://emerson.digication.com/bethreardon/Welcome/

March 15, 2010

Mr. so and so
Address
Address
Address

Dear Whomever Face,

Please accept this application for the positions of _____ with the _________ school system. I learned of the position through ___ , and am eager to be considered for the position. From what I know of your school, you are awesome in every way, wonderful, exciting, and it is thrilling to have the opportunity to join your team!

I have more than a five years teaching experience in and around Massachusetts public schools. Here’s why I’m awesome! Be aware that I am highly qualified, hold several impressive degrees, and tons of energy and enthusiasm.

Here’s one example of my wonderful uniqueness and this is why I am singularly employable…

Thank you so much for considering my application. I am available for an interview, and look forward to the opportunity to meet with you. You can contact me by phone at 508-555-2855 or by e-mail at BethReardon4898@hotmail.com. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you have any questions\concerns!

Sincerely,

Elizabeth Reardon

P.S. Don't forget to hire meeeeeeeee!

SO I didn't blog yesterday. Almost forgot to blog today. The thing about habit and routine- they are so damned easy to fall out of.

Did I even blog saturday? Oh Man.

In fact, I shouldn't blog long today- I should be furiously updating my resume and cover letters and getting them out to folks!

Let me just reference Saturday's Drama festival. One of my hopes was that the festival might re-charge my creative battery. It did that. I some some very, very strong HS shows on Saturday, one of which BLEW MY MIND! It was so fucking amazing. Aaron sums it up when he said: "I think that may just be the best High school show I've EVER seen." and later adding: "That was better than most colleges... that was professional quality... I'd pay money to see that." And he's also right in the assertion that all HS theatre directors should watch this production if possible and hoping there's somewhare a video of it.

North Reading took Moliere's The Miser, cut it to 40 minutes (allowed time for festival) and made it an Absurdist, Deconstructionist, Avante-Garde spectacular! Every student actor in that show had a unique and informed and stylized physicalization that was completely and thoroughly explored. I could tell as a theatre person that the rehearsal process was a creative, constructive, and fully supportive one. Not once in this show did I see anything expected, tired, conventional, or bland. Every choice was a bold one, and yet somehow fully supported by the rest of the show.

ALL the theatrical elements were evenly amazing. The costumes, the Set, the Lights, the Make-up, the choreography, the blocking, the sound, EVERYTHING played off everything else and the show was a COMPLETE PACKAGE.

Really, I had very few problems with the show and those were mostly over-look-able due to the spectacular end result of this show.

About 4 minutes into the show Aaron writes on his program page: GOING ON! which means he anticipated this would be a winner that day. About 15 minutes into the show he amends his earlier assertion with: THIS COULD WIN AT STATES, and I agree. Two weeks from yesterday and we'll know which three schools took the top honors at the MHSDG state festival. I hope this is one of them.

Bravo NORTH READING and your production of THE MISER. (BTW, it looked even better on our stage than in these pics because Brockton has a huge Cyclorama in the back instead of just a black curtain, and they went with a bright Red wash for the whole show and -even though I normally hate red washes because they feel cliche- this was a fabulous, appropriate, and bold choice!)

Bourne's wonderful and fully realized production of a touching show called Salt and Pepper (not Salt 'N' Peppa, as I was so desperately hoping it would be) Also moved on and deservedly so. The show was strong. Had all the elements and not really many weaknesses. It was a good show.

Brockton, unfortunately, did not go on, though I believe strongly that the second winning slot of the day came down to Brockton and Bourne. Can't win them all. And you know what else? You can't say "we were robbed" because Obviously the Miser was stunning (I mean no Fucking question), and Bourne's show was really strong as well. AND Brockton put on a great show, no mishaps, no tragic "If Only"s. They played hard and they lost honorably. It just sucks so much if you lose and some ridiculous school went on and its hard to see why (which has happened and it sucks, its frustrating, it makes you want to scream and cry and kick something!).

Anywho, I'm glad we went to drama festival. Even the plays that were not winners gave me alot to think about as a future director, offered something I could learn from and consider. It was a good day. LONG AS FUCK, but good.

Now as for securing a job of my own... To Be Continued...

'Hodge Podge' sounds about right.

There are so many things I COULD blog about today… My wild experience at Market Basket, how addicted I am to baby shopping and how I can’t wait to meet my (honorary) new niece Pigeon [and also my Niece Reardon too!] when she arrives, my delicious new vegetarian alternative to BLTs, my first day back at the BHS art office after my infamous stint student teaching…

All topics on which I have plenty to say and express, and yet… *sigh*. Nothing. No motivation. I seem to be in a funk.

It was bittersweet to see a bunch of my former students today. I could tell a lot of them were sort of mad that I’d just up and left and not finished the semester. I don’t blame them, I’m the kind of student who would take that personally too. In some ways I wish I could have explained it to them… but it is better left unsaid. I finished student teaching and that’s all there is to it.

Tomorrow I’m helping with MHSDG festival. It is the semifinal round and the theatre usually starts to look really good at semis, and thing get competitive. I hope to see a good day of theatre. Honestly, I’m hoping to re-charge my creative battery somewhat. What good’s a director with no juice? No passion? No artistic drive?

For that matter, what good’s a director without a school\cast to direct? The job search is not an experience I relish nor is it a battle I feel particularly equal to.

Sorry. I really really don’t want to get melancholy or whiney or bitchy. I swore to myself I didn’t want that kind of voice to define me.

Another thing that’s weighing on my mind is the vegan issue. There’s so much to process and examine and it just tires me out thinking about it!! Truthfully? Even though I need to go start dinner prep now I feel so worn out and tired just THINKING about veganism that I almost want to say: “fucket” (rhymes with bucket apparently- it was a typo but I kinda like it.), and eat applesause and screw dinner.

To end on a few positive things-

Danielle is going to be a great Mom, Adam is going to be a Wonderful Dad and that unique, singular, amazing little girl is so lucky and loved and has such a great experience waiting for her here! Talking to Danielle I always leave sort of giddy and in awe of how naturally she’s handling things. I’m sure she’d say otherwise, but honestly? I’d been looking forward to the day those two would tell us they were expecting and now that they actually are it is even better than I’d imagined. Everything they want for her, all their philosophies and values and plans and especially their sense of humor, all of it makes my heart glow.

I don’t think I’ll be anywhere near as ‘earth momma’ and chill as D is being. I mean, I know she’s super psyched, and she keeps trying to sneak the shower date closer because she wants STUFF (she’s nesting hardcore), but she’s really pretty amazing.

I wish I were having one now so they could be friends forever! LOL.

Allright. Too much sap? I just needed to get it out. I’m such a lifetime movie. I’m crying right now. Anyway I wish it were time to meet the little bohemian Pigeon, but that beatnik isn’t due for MONTHS!

Also, just a quick plug for Market Basket. I’ve been avoiding it because I believed they didn’t have any organic or vegetarian stuff. They do. I’d also been avoiding it because I can’t fucking stand over-crowded public situations with ignorant, arrogant, and rude people. They have that too. When I pulled into the parkinglot I almost pulled right back out. If this is how the clientele wields their cars, thought I, then how will they be with shopping carts?

But I steeled myself. I sucked it up. I did it. I won’t lie. Had some moments where I felt panic. Wanted to punch some bitches. Almost told an octogenarian couple to get the fuck over themselves. Halfway through the maddening, madcap experience I became aware that my hands were shaking and my knees were weak and I hadn’t even located the produce. But instead of abandoning my cart and running away I plugged on. The little shopper that could.

I did manage to have a few civilized, human interactions with a few folks, between incidents of being cut off, edged out, and generally treated like an obstacle.

And I bought a tone of terrific stuff and saved a ridiculous amount of money. I may, unfortunately for my nerves, have to make it habit. But I swear to god, you need a fucking battleplan to survive that place and get out with the goods. Like, I’m talking 4 star general strategy and special ops maneuvers! I need Jack Bauer to be my Market basket shopping partner!

“Dammit Chloe! How long for satellite? I need aerial coverage to get me to the bakery!! LIVES ARE AT STAKE!”

Labor of love

For literally years and years I have had a pet project. My favorite movie of all time is The Lion in Winter with Katharine Hepburn and Peter O'Toole (and very young Anthony Hopkins and Timothy Dalton!). I won't bother explaining the whole plot or anything- maybe some other time, but the main characters are King Henry II of England and his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine. This movie sparked my interest enough to begin independent research and now I'm something of an expert on the subject. Honestly. I mean, I'm not credentialed or anything and I haven't done any of my own ORIGINAL research (like go to france and read old documents and such), so I won't be asked to do a lecture tour or anything at present, but truth be told? I probably could do so.

Anywho, it wasn't just the history that fascinated me- it was this deeply human and personal conflict that James Goldman wrote which captured my imagination. In The Lion in Winter we meet Henry and Eleanor after they've been married for decades and separated for some time-- She led a civil war against him and he had her locked in a tower- but despite that animosity they remain curiously amicable and he has her (along with their scheming sons) over for christmas. Despite being set in the 1100's this is really a family christmas comedy\drama. Way better than Christmas with the Cranks, and a little less slapstick than National Lampoons...

Anyway, (HOLY LORD I AM LONG WINDED!)in the film they fight and argue and flirt and push and pull and it is so exciting! And in the course of the story they make reference to how they met, how they got together and what went wrong. This has always made me want to write a "prequel" story- when they were young and they had everything ahead of them.

There's a real story there. She was married to the King of France when they met and there was quite a scandal! Its really fun stuff, the stuff of legend, and I have been trying for years to get it right. First as a short play (disasterous and clunky, but I won 3rd place in a HS playwriting competition... I wonder how many entries there were... probably 3.), then later I unearthed it again and worked on it for screenwriting all through my New School experience.

For one of those screenwriting classes the professor had us write our movie in novel form (rough draft) to help us flesh it out and , well, who knows why else.

Here is a very rough excerpt from somewhere near the beginning of my novel form. Eleanor (currently queen of france) is in the Holy Lands on Crusade with her husband, the monk-ish King of France. As legend has it, one night on crusade Eleanor and her ladies in waiting decided to lift morale by dressing (or undressing, as it were) like Amazons and riding bare-breasted through the troops.

This scene takes place when she finally enters her husband's tent after her little rebellion. The third character is Bishop Bernard of Clairveaux (now St. Bernard of Clairveaux), who is a very powerful figure at the time, and seems to control the king and politics according to his will.

***************************************

“May God have mercy on your soul child- May he see fit to spare you from the fires of Hell-"

“I’ll thank you to keep my soul out of your prayers Bishop, and mind your own.” Eleanor had endured too many years of being the willful, wicked, wayward queen of france, and was reaching the very limit of her patience with the proud, pious old fool who condemned her at every turn.

“Blasphemy. Sin and defiance!” Spat the red-faced bishop. “This un-holy climate has seized her, majesty, and is corrupting her very soul!” Bernard took up his position behind the slouching monarch and placed a familiar hand upon The King’s sagging shoulder. “For the sake of your marriage, your monarchy and your very manhood, my son, you must condemn your wife’s lascivious actions today- her lewd and vulgar display!”

The King merely squeezed his eyes shut and moved his mouth in silent prayer- as if hoping the whole nightmare might disappear if he willed it hard enough.

“I am guilty of nothing!” purred The Queen silkily. “All I have done is use the wares God himself has bestowed upon me to lift the spirits of the soldiers who fight for Him.”

“Don’t play games with the Lord’s good name Lady- The wares you have flaunted before all were bestowed upon you by The Lord, but belong only to your husband, His Majesty, and only his eyes should behold them. And as for raising their spirits? Well I believe we all know what it is you raised in the men out there. And in that you have conducted yourself like nothing so much as a common harlot.”

“I was portraying the image of the Amazon- a beautiful and inspiring legend from history and literature-"

“Blasphemous heresy" Spat Bernard, "Pagan fancies!”

“Oh Christ!" Eleanor exploded "You are exhausting in your predictability.”

“Steadfast, devoted-“

“No bishop- Boring. Deadly Boring- It’s no wonder the men out there have lost spirit, lost their drive! All the church can tell them day in and day out is that they are doing God’s work, blah blah blah." She paced the hard-packed ground like a caged beast. "The Word is meant to inspire- not to intimidate, and these men should feel the fire of the holy spirit igniting them to battle, but instead they stay out of fear of hellfire, out of the same guilty obligations you keep flogging them with!”

“Hold your tongue.” The bishop interrupted at last, in tones of deadly calm. “You are not the only one who knows how to inspire, your highness." His smile was serene, but Eleanor could feel the snarl concealed beneath it. "You forget that I am the one who spoke the Word which inspired so many to take the cross on this crusade that the supply of crosses was exhausted?- I inspire, milady, and don’t need to expose myself in order to provoke a reaction.”

“Thank God for small favors.” Eleanor laughed. “But this isn’t a matter for you Bernard. It is up to my husband.” She looked to Louis, and so did the Bishop.

Better than an Alarm Clock!

We awoke to the sound of disaster this morning, shattering glass and heavy, unforgiving thuds.

It sounded as if every dish & glass that we owned had jumped from the counter where they wait to be washed, to the certain death of our unrelenting tile floor.

Happily it wasn't our servingware that bit the bullet, but unhappily it was one of my favorite items-- a kitschy retro mid-century orange candy dish. I picked it up at a yard sale for a few bucks, so no big monetary loss, but it was definitely a showpiece item and I was rather fond of it. When guests would come over I'd fill it with various desirable items- grapes, cookies, candles, fruit, ahhhh. It made me feel fancy and classy, and singular.



Grey knocked it over. He's got a paranoia about his tail and he likely had a moment of spastic freak-out, resulting in the tragic and very messy demise of my favorite decoration. Aaron says he'll need to be locked up in the bathroom at night because he can't be trusted, but it was as much my fault as his. He'd taken to hanging out in that other window recently, having, i don't know, grown bored with the other window? And I'd obviously noticed his penchant for crazy spastic tail shenanigans so it really should have occurred to me to move that item somewhere more safe and out of lunatic cat territory.

Ah well. it made for a fun morning activity, trying to hunt down all the stray shards of yellow-orange glass... the radius of this shattering was epic. I got several shards in my feet in the process and some in my hand. I'm going to have to swiffer the whole floor though (wet picks up glass best) because I am able to put on socks and shoes but my kittens have vulnerable little paws. Swiffering is an Aaron job.... grumble. I changed the litterbox last time too... My sister always says: "Don't do a chore even once if you don't want it to become your chore." She lives this theory. She does plenty of chores, mind you, she's a bit of a clean-a-holic, but no matter what, no matter if the grass is four feet high, the bushes grow wild and start to eat neighborhood children or the weeds resemble forrests, she will blithely ignore it all because she says: "I don't do yardwork." That's her husband's chore and she will wait until he does it because she knows that if she does it even once she will have to do it again. So even though it might be killing her inside she smiles, shrugs and reads her book so she doesn't have to look at it.

I never should have done that litterbox. Dammit! CURSES! Foiled Again!

Well I have a long ass day of cleaning ahead of me, and also job searching and applying, so let me stop blogging and start getting motivated. First I will watch yesterday's Days of our Lives though. Don't fuck with routine.

Its about 7AM and I will be going back to subbing today after more than two straight weeks of doing nothing. Its good that I got the job, it might be a little too late as far as bills and such go, but at least its the right thing to do.

Know what though? Subbing makes me very, very unhappy. I used to kind of dig the lack of responsibility, the transient nature of it- moving from school to school, implementing someone else's lesson plans and all that, not having to think of my own or follow through with anything. But after my student teaching experience where I was in my own classroom running my own lessons and seeing my students week after week- subbing seems empty and pointless and unfulfilling.

Yesterday I went to career services at Emerson. We discussed job search strategies, cover-letter writing tactics and edited my resume. It wasn't really appropriate for me to scream (as I wanted so desperately to do) "HELP ME! I'M IN A CAREER FIELD I CAN'T STAND! LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUUUUUUUT!"

So I smiled and nodded as he went on about networking (feels so phony to me and I've never been good at it), Making bookmark tabs on the computer to be more efficient, and not to give up yet because jobs will be posted more frequently soon enough.

In other news, I didn't wash a single dish, didn't pick up a single piece of laundry, didn't run a single errand. Just sat about dreaming and writing a little until it was time to go to Boston. Now I have to work today and the house is a disaster. A real fucking pig sty. Really I just want to throw away all my dishes and never see them again! I'm so sick of doing them!!! Actually, I really wish I never needed to eat- it would save so much time, money and effort over all, and I wouldn't feel bad about myself.

On my way home from Boston I went out of my way to stop at buger king for fries and a hershey pie. I never eat fast food (except in moments like that, moments of ill-considered weakness and inescapable craving), and while I enjoyed the fries and pies, I regretted it later. Why do they have to taste so Goddamned delicious?

I will be a librarian today at the huntington. Exciting stuff.

Some Circle of Hell, surely...

I attended a Bridal shower yesterday that felt, at times, like a very realistic but nonetheless terrifying nightmare. Some social situations are almost too awkward to bear.

The day before was the Christening, and I swear I had to DRAG Aaron to it, and once there it was worse than I had expected. SOOOO many strangers, not a ton of people from my side of the family. Then the space was gorgeous but ultimately not very comfortable or user-friendly, and the service staff was decidedly (in the words of my husband) "surly and unhelpful".

I'm glad we ate some Mama Celeste pizzas before we went too because the food was not sure vegetarian friendly. I ate some salad, some rice (which, lets face it, was probably made with chicken broth), a few fries and a roll. Aaron also tried in vain to order hard liquor but it was a beer & wine only situation and being Boston the beer was ridiculously overpriced. "How do they expect us to tolerate these gathering without proper booze?" Aaron queried sourly with his Bud Light in hand.

But the Bridal shower I had to brave alone, no boys allowed. Of course I did make him wrap the gift-- he has such a talent for lovely and creative wrapping!

SO I get there and try not to go in a MINUTE before the start time, but alas, I was rather unfashionably one of the first ones in there. I took a look around, knew only the maid of honor (who was understandably a bit preoccupied) and the Bride's parents- who are big BHS Drama Club supporters. I made my 'hello' s to those three, smiled at all the ladies I did not know, and made a very deliberate bee-line for the bar.

To my enormous relief and delight this bar was serving hard liquor- even though it was sunday at 11 AM. AMEN and Haleluia. I started with a mudslide and promised the nice lady I'd be back.

With mudslide in hand (and a few long sips in,) who should walk in but my HS Drama teacher, costume lady and boss from the HS. A tri-fecta of awkward. Naturally I hugged and kissed and smiled, but all I could think was: "How could I be so stupid?!?!"

It felt like I'd walked into a trap! It hadn't occurred to me that they might be there, I had been so preoccupied with thinking about all the girls from HS that I'd have to shmooze with and all the old ladies I wouldn't know, that it just slipped my mind that these three would very likely be in attendance.

My Drama Teacher couldn't help herself-- her eyes kept going to my drink. I could almost hear her thinking: "Before noon????"

It didn't take long to suck down that mudslide and I was back at the bar. In typical Beth Fashion I was honest with the bartender.

"My High school Drama Teacher is here, so I'm gunna need something with vodka..."

She was the best bartender. I walked away with a very strong white russian, and had a seat saved for me at their table.

It was a nice bridal shower, not as fun or romantic as the one I threw for Danielle, but classy and efficient. Mostly I just wanted to get out of there- or better yet, to never have made the decision to go.

Anyway, I survived, had a few laughs (thanks vodka! *thumbs up*), kissed the pride, ate the cake and got the fuck outta Dodge.

Now on to planning D's Baby Shower! So Fun! And one bonus about showers and events that I plan? Aaron gets to be in attendance! Wheee! Plus he gets to be a bit of a slave in the weeks leading up; making food, decorations, invitations, etc., I married quite a catch!

Friends & Frost

Had a great time visiting with my best friend Daniele yesterday. Well, Danielle and baby- lol. Baby is pretty low-maintenance right now, she didn't get into the cabinets or anything heeheehee.

Then we friends went out to the Chatta Box, which is the most divine restaurant ever! All in all my day was much improved from Danielle's visit onward.

I ended up writing a little more of the fairy tale, which was a big step for me. I doubt it is quality, and to be perfectly frank I seem to be having trouble keeping sexual tension out of the book, but at least I finally took the step and moved it out of my past and into a project I am currently working on. A little exciting, a little scary.

Today I have a christening to attend and tomorrow I have a bridal shower. I haven't a ton of time left for creative writing this morning so I'm going to cheat and post something I did a few days back.

It was in response to one of Aaron's prompts; First line must be: "There was frost on the ground when we arrived but I knew it wouldn't last long."

*********************************************************************************


There was frost on the ground when we arrived but I knew it wouldn’t last long. She wore a scarf which gave the bohemian appearance of being hand-knit by a loved one but which was actually mass-produced by an upscale chain and over-priced. Arms wrapped tight around her middle, lips pressed into a pale, grim line she kept her eyes on anything and everything but me.

“Well?” she demanded- her breath coming out in a puff of crystal. “Its fucking freezing. What do you want?”

I’d had it all planned out, I’d rehearsed it and had had a great hook- but standing there I felt my resolve freezing up, my tongue locking, saliva flooded into my mouth and I sucked it back and swallowed hard.

Her words hung there between us as her breath cloud broke up and disappeared in the early morning sun. The evidence that she’s said anything at all.

I could feel her mounting impatience. She was fairly vibrating with suppressed vitriol. She wanted to hit me, I could tell by the set of her jaw. I’d seen it often enough in the advent of flying phones or shoes or a jaw-rattling slap to the face.

I cleared my throat. I swallowed. I cleared my throat again. My toes were starting to go numb. The thought that maybe coming here wasn’t the most ideal plan stole into the forefront of my conscious and I almost gave up on the whole thing.
Then she finally looked at me. For the first time since ‘the incident’ she looked me in the face, she met my eyes.

For a long moment she searched them, asking unsaid questions, imploring me to have answers, give her more than I had to give. Then, when I cleared my throat a third time she pivoted abruptly and began striding away. “This was a mistake” she muttered in over-dramatic tones.

I stood rooted to the frosty carpet of browned leaves and the paralysis that held my tongue and limbs reached icy fingers into my heart.

I had hoped the coming would have been enough- or close to enough. I had hoped she would see in my eyes what I couldn’t explain or recite or reason or re-tell.
But she was too wrapped up in herself. In her own miserable pride and hurt and betrayal to see what I needed her to see. She was, as always, a predictably selfish bitch.

When she was maybe twenty feet from me she made another snap-pivot and faced me down, a gunfighter in some old western, or an abysmally poor actress in a cancelled soap.
“What?!” she demanded, and I knew she wanted to scream until her vocal chords bled. “Why the FUCK did you bring me here?” she was leaning forward and I knew she wished she had something to throw at me. “What the Christing-mother-fuck did you think this would accomplish?!” she stood her ground even though I knew she could feel the powerful magnetism of wanting to lunge at me and do physical violence to my person.

She didn’t look beautiful like this. Not remotely. They always say in the cheesy shit she watches : “you’re beautiful when you’re angry” or “I like you when you’re mad” and then they kiss violently and all is forgiven and the off camera sex is presumed to be steamy and satisfying and better than normal because the woman’s a ‘spit-fire’ and the man is ‘taming’ her or whatever. But looking at her in that moment I wondered how she’d ever turned me on, ever made me believe her beautiful or cute or sexy or even nice. And I didn’t have the remotest desire to tame her or even touch her.

She stood straight up then, a peculiar expression twisting her face and it was like she knew- knew I was thinking she looked ugly and mean and unappealing. “Oh, is this your way of saying this is all MY fault?” she snorted “That somehow I’m the one to blame for all this?” Her eyes looked small and sharp and I had an overwhelming urge to wretch.

I made no reply. I opened my mouth and closed it noiselessly several times before finally shaking my head and breaking our eye contact. I looked at the ground. The frost was gone now where we’d crushed it with our footsteps and it looked so careless and violent. The leaves were wet around us, dark slippery brown and black- torn and shredded and muddy in some places.

When she finally spoke some of the edge was gone from her voice, replaced by a deeply-wounded affectation meant to evoke guilt… I felt only disgust and maybe a little pity. “I will not let you place blame on me for what you did to us.” It was her turn to swallow hard and clear her throat. “And I think it’s pretty disgusting that you brought me here.” -Dramatic pause- “of. All. Places.” She spat the last three words with vehement effectiveness.

A sad sort of sardonic smile twisted my lips then, listening to the drama and the soap-acting and the frigid guilt-trip, and I knew it was over. I’d never be able to look at her again like I used to.

The thing is, she had every right to be furious. She had every right to hate me and resent me and want me to drop dead. But in that moment, in the melting frost that morning, I knew I didn’t want her back.

With a long, deep inhale of crisp, prickly morning air I nodded. I looked at her blotchy, pulled face and her narrowed tears-brimming eyes and I nodded.
Then I turned. And I left.

I could hear her behind me- asking me what the fuck I thought I was doing, where the fuck was I going, why the fuck did I even bother bringing her out here, and I let it hit the back of my jacket and roll off the gortex like so much inclement weather. I heard her sobbing and I heard her screaming and begging the gods- greek tragedy style- WHY??? But I just left.

I turned away. And I left.

Wrong side of the bed.

Truth be told I don’t feel much like writing.

Well. Ok. I feel like writing. I feel like kicking and screaming and singing and crying and acting and moving and writing a masterpiece. But I’m all bottled up. Plus I’m super grumpy. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed I guess. And I’m not working.

Here are the things that need to happen before Danielle might stop by this morning\afternoon:

Change the litter box- it reeks to high heaven.

Do the christing goddamn dishes—I really hate doing dishes. Hate it.

Tidy up- not a huge deal, shouldn’t take too long.

Empty various trash bins. – W.E.

Perk the fuck up so I’m not a drag to my lovely friend! –easier said than done.

I'm just such a grump and all I want to do is crawl back into that bed and sleep the day away. But Id also don't want that, because that will make me feel worse than I already do about being useless.

So maybe I'll make myself a tea, take a few moments, collect my thought, and then tackle that litter box?

UGH.

FML.

So I visited a good friend last night, had a little too much to drink, and so I'm not exactly functioning at full capacity at present. Several times I have tried and failed to write something new, several times have I started and stopped with little to show for it. Likely I'll try again later, because sub-par or not, I'm starting to enjoy the creative outlet. And besides, I know that at least Danielle cares about what I posts which makes me super happy and excited! heeheehee. Friends are the very best!

The following is Chapter 4 of the fairytale- where the history begins to bleed into the immediate and our real story starts.

"Hey there George Lucas, slow down a minute!" you may be exclaiming indignantly. "Why start with chapter 4?!"

Well I do apologize for that, and I can't speak for Mr. Lucas, but here's the deal with chapters 1,2, & 3 at present: they are in abysmal shape. They suck a fair amount of balls. They stink up the joint.

They need work.

And while Chapter 4 needs work too, it is, I think, at least not completely groan-worthy and an utter embarrassment.

{Incidentally, when I was in about 4th grade, embarrass was a spelling word and it was giving me a great deal of trouble. I couldn't seem to remember how many Rs and Ss there were supposed to be. Know how my mother got me to remember it? "Barr, like Roseanne Barr, then Ass, because Roseanne Barr is an Ass." Thanks Mom!}

So Welcome to the World of My Fairytale. So far you've only met our mysterious and exotic friend The Brujo. Here we wrap up the 'prologue' and get a taste for what's to come!

****************************************************************

The Tutor

“And so the realm of Sylvemerce knew reprieve from the terrible drought and the deathly famine and the fearsome dragon attacks. Rivers ran full again and crops un-withered and were harvested with much celebration. Trees stood tall again and bore marvelous fruit, ever ripe and never sour, the people of Sylvemerce ate their fill of what nature provided and drank deeply from the new springs and burgeoning brooks.

“The Sun too was less overbearing; appearing less in those first few months after the king’s child was born, and so the scarred fields and parched soil knew mercy—and for this the people were glad. For months the grateful folk of Sylvemerce rejoiced in the sudden and stable tranquility of shorter days and longer moon-full nights of plenty and prosper. For a time the people did not miss their Sun overmuch, so long had it seemed to torture them and their livelihoods, but before too long the almost endless clear nights became a matter for concern.

“Soon the inhabitants of the realm of Sylvemerce became aware that their lives and their land had been seriously altered, bewitched. They ate their fill from the never fruitless trees, they quenched their thirst from the persistently surging rivers, they hunted and fed on game that was ever replenished and reaped the benefits from an always renewed natural source, but something was amiss.

“For, scribes and wisewomen say, that The Witch had kept her word to The King on the day of his child’s nativity and granted solutions for all The King’s conceivable worries. But too it seemed that the fabled Brujo from the far-off land had been right: Their lives were apparently ever changed, and a strange malcontent settled over the countryside.

“You see, despite the many wonderful bounties bestowed upon the land, the people grew sad and ungrateful. Because they never had to work hard for their rewards they became lazy. Since everything renewed magically without fail, they grew complacent. Owing to the fact that they had everything they needed without merit or question they learned to feel entitled and bored. And as beautiful as they found the cool, unwavering moon and her shining stars, they soon grew tired of seeing it at all times-- for even when the sun did shine (dimly for three hours every day) the moon sat in the sky, pale but ever-present, stubbornly presiding over the realm like a warden.

“So, out of boredom and discontentment the people began to turn on one another. Crime became commonplace and thieves a fixture in the towns and on the roads. The populace now invented games that involved fighting and daredevilism for entertainment rather than activities that would expand the mind. Wives were callous to their husbands. Brothers were especially cruel to their younger sisters. Dogs growled meanly and cats snapped sharply if approached.

“For nearly 16 years this malaise settled like a shroud over the pretty hamlets and patchwork farms of the once fair Sylvemerce. Those who were alive and old enough to remember the drought and famine days still liked to tell tales about the unending rays of sunshine, and caution that ‘hard work makes happiness’, but mostly the time was forgotten. Days without change of climate, weeks without alteration of routine, months of continued status quo, and years of the same made most people forget the past and ignore any musings on the future. The present seemed all-consuming as the time wore steadily on- or was suspended, as one theory suggests.

“There could still be found a measure of good and happiness in some stouthearted individuals. Some, who were inclined to learn their history and stop staring out of windows at the passersby for instance . . . Your Highness . . . That means you!”

It was the first hour of sunlight that day at the castle and Young Professor-to-be Gage Tancreed was having a difficult time holding his pupil’s attention. He had just been appointed as the Royal Tutor that week and was anxious to keep the position. His wayward, willful student wasn’t making things easy for him.

“Sorry Gage – Ooops! I mean Professor.”

Gage tried not to flush at the familiar address and failed gallantly. Sweeping a stray strand of dark auburn hair from his face in annoyance he attempted to compose himself.

“As I was saying your highness,” he emphasized the proper title pointedly, purposefully not slipping into familiarity with his childhood friend. “The Period of Lull as many scribes are presently calling it, has produced a generation of daydreamers instead of doers. A young populace consistent mostly of idle lallygaggers and-“

Gage stopped short, quite flustered by the peal of laughter his student couldn’t suppress.

“Daydreamers! Lallygaggers?!?! Hoo-hoo, you sound like an old man Gage- I mean Professor Gage!”

As the silly laughter filled the room Gage slumped his shoulders in defeat. Maybe if they weren’t so close in age- he thought gloomily -he only a learned 17 and the royal heir only about a year and some months younger - this would be an easier task. Maybe if they hadn’t been playmates since early childhood right up until last week-- goofing off between studies and playing pranks on the kitchen help. Or maybe he wasn’t ready for the challenge of tutoring.

Of course, it didn’t help matters that this was the week of The Royal Coming of Age Celebration at the castle, and of naturally throughout the land. His pupil’s 16^th birthday was fast approaching and to try to focus on the dreary history of a realm as old as time seemed an insurmountable task.

“All right.” Conceded Gage with a heavy sigh. “We’ll leave the lesson there for today. But it’s not your pretty neck if you don’t learn this stuff though Dez, please remember that. It’ll be me that faces the consequences.”

“Oh Gage you sound so serious, so dire!” She exclaimed. “The Sun’s out at last and you’re gloomy! What is the world coming to?“ The tone was light, teasing and mischievous. “Aww, don’t pout friend- c’mon lets go out to the stables, snag a few steeds and make a little expedition into the long meadow- what do you say?”

“As tempting as that sounds, highness,” he ignored the snort of mirth and continued in a voice as mature and authoritative as he could manage: “I’ve been ordered to escort you to the main hall where some final preparations are underway. “ He chanced a sideways look at his best friend and now-pupil to see if his words had any impact on the headstrong mischief-maker. When no reply came he continued: “I believe you have to be fitted for a dress.”