I feel very hurt and betrayed right now, in a way that I don't remember feeling before. I'm sure it's common to many gay men and women, but it feels like a new pain. My sister just called to see what time we were planning on having Christmas dinner, because--and she hesitated to tell me this, knowing that it is hurtful--she has been invited with the rest of the family to Grandpa's house to watch Swiss Family Robinson, a Payne family tradition.

At the time, I didn't feel angry, because it seemed just like another exclusion. I told her that I was flexible and would work around whatever they decided. That I would take the scraps of her time, in other words. At this moment, however, I can't get it out of my head, and cannot sleep because of it. Who am I most angry at? Not my Grandfather, I suppose. Although I am a bit angry at him, he has a religion-plated box around his head, and I expect nothing better. Am I angry at my brother and sister? For going to an event from which I am pointedly excluded? More so. What would be most hurtful to me is if my parents go. They've come so far in accepting me. Don't any of these people see that they are being party to bigotry?

In short, no more mister nice, understanding Brandon. Depending on how this event goes off, I plan on rubbing certain people's noses in their own complicity. If that means they don't wish to hang around me anymore, what am I missing out on? The company of bigots and/or weaklings?

One of my ESL III students wanted to do a special type of writing project:

• to write some love poems


• to put them on balloons


• to put them in another teacher's room and pretend they were from me.

How could I say no? They are so convinced that I am in love with her--or one of the other female teachers. I plan on making some sort of comment on my last day with them to make it obvious that they have been laboring under a misconception for two years. This ought to blow their minds; Latino culture is soo homophobic. Maybe it will also help them not miss me so much.

This school is tumbling down around the ears of its staff and students, and I don't mean the building. For one thing, it's not safe: in ONE DAY, two kids got arrested, two went to the hospital, and in an incident about which I do not have the details, I encountered a trail of blood that led all the way down the main hallway to or from the boy's restroom.

All of the teachers are at their wits' ends, and the principal should be freaking out--although he isn't. I recommend to all staff and students: leave this school post haste, for your own sanity and safety.

I won't say that I feel guilty for leaving my school, but I feel guilty about not feeling guilty.

A student broke out in tears today and begged me, "Please don't go! Please!"

During the same class period, a student answered his phone loudly in the middle of my giving instructions. I addressed the class very calmly, "I don't know how to teach under these circumstances. I will be in the hallway if anybody is interested in what I was saying," and walked out of the room. Four students followed me. We had a lovely class in the hallway.

My principal isn't going to miss me. The woman he was interviewing for my position today is a MUSIC TEACHER for god's sake. The kids will devour her.

I had a nightmare that Stephanie was engaged to Jordan. I almost posted this on her Facebook page today as a result of that scare:

1. He makes you feel bad about yourself.

2. He's a bully.

3. When he can't get what he wants by bullying, he gets it by throwing a bitch-fit.

4. Yes, he's smart--amusingly so. He even has some interesting ideas. He uses those smarts to abuse you.

5. He may believe in Christ, but he does not behave like a Christian by any definition.

6. One of these days, you will decide that you have been punished enough by him, and move on. I will cheer.

I mean every word, and I fully expect Stephanie to hate me for thinking these things.

So, I got a letter in my file this week for eating a sandwich suggestively at lunch. I'm on sexual harassment watch. Nice.

I was sitting under a tree, reading Ovid today, and a couple of blighted yellow leaves fell onto my sweatshirt. I stopped reading and sat very still, waiting for more leaves to fall on me, perhaps even enough to cover me completely, to turn me into a tree like Daphne, or Philemon. That didn't happen. Two leaves was not enough. And even those two blew off, chased by the wind, and scuttled their claws across the concrete in what is perhaps the finest example of onomatopoeia I have found all day.

My students were being such angels that I left the room for a minute to do an errand. A minute, I swear! When I returned, this was on the blackboard, four feet long:

I had to laugh. they were so cute, trying not to crack up when I returned.

I told my boss yesterday that I would not be returning next year. I am moving to Korea. I am so exhausted that I accidentally put a black sock on my prosthesis on Monday, which didn't match the brown shoe it was wearing, but didn't bother to change it. I'm still wearing it today. Meh.

I'm not sure if I should really post this, but I'm feeling needy and lonely. I was cleaning out an old box of memorabilia, and found a suicide note I wrote shortly after the divorce. Here it is:

"The sheer variety of human life never ceases to amaze me. Between differences of body, mind and personality there exists such an assortment that one never need question their uniqueness. It is as though each person is a book with randomly selected characters. The vast majority of such books are, of course, incoherent. Some, however, are lucid, and some even brilliant. Sadly there are also books that are lucid but false. The words make sense, but they are lies. such books are dangerous, and must destroyed. I am one.

This is not a rash decision on my part. I have been suicidal before, but it has always passed. I am not depressed. I am numb. My continued existence is harmful to the natural order of the universe; my particular random assortment of genes is an aberration, and I use the strength of numbness to erase it"

I go on to list my last wishes in similarly dramatic fashion. After I wrote it, I drank a fifth of vodka, swallowed 100 aspirin and locked myself in the garage with the car running, no exaggeration. The story of how I lived is almost as interesting.

I seriously want to kill myself right now, just buy a gun and blow my head off. School starts on Monday, and my room is no where close to being set up. There are no desks, everything is rusted and ghetto looking, The electricity doesn't work, it's sweltering and the air conditioner doesn't work because there's no electricity, It's upstairs and there's no elevator so I'm totally fucked on bad stump days, We're expecting 35 kids in a class and there's not even room for twenty in this room. At least I have curriculum lined up perfectly. Yeesh.

I am going to cry. My coworkers are all over my back, even the ones I got along with last year. There's some kind of conspiracy to be on my ass and make sure I get the shittiest of everything. Our step increases have been forzen because of the economy. I'm up to my ancestors in debt. I can't find happiness or pleasure in anything. On top of all that, you guys won't even read this.

What Do I Want For My Students?

I want them to be able to read something, and write or speak about it without sounding like idiots. I want them to think of themselves as good kids. I want them to be bigger than their stories. I want them to be in charge of themselves. I want them to like me. I want them to come to class. I want them to graduate. I want them to get good jobs. I want them to be happy. I want them to go through life actively and with awareness. I want them to question. I want them to discover. I want them to look back in twenty years and remember even one thing that I taught them. I want too much, but that's teaching.

I guess I spoke prematurely about us using this blog more regularly, but whatever. I, for one am suffering from an inexplicable ennui. And to say that I suffer from it is incorrect, for the ennui is not interesting enough even to involve suffering, in which event I might be roused by it. Rather, I yearn for something, but I know not what it is. Robert and I are doing good, but his voice gives me monno some days, and his constant requests for affection seem immoderate and juvenile. I cannot pick up a book without finding him suddenly in my lap requesting smooches. I wish he would have an affair with some hot, hung twenty-year-old so that I could have some relief.

I also made a loaf of bread today.

The summer class I am taking is kicking my ass. It's only the second I'm taking toward my Master's. Do either of you hate the word "towards" as much as I do? I have a 15-20 page--single-spaced--research paper to finish by next Tuesday that I have not even started.

But I made a loaf of bread today.

As I peel myself off the bathroom floor, heaving with sorrow....

Tonight, just now, in fact, I just peeled myself off the bathroom floor...in tears. I admit, I'm pretty drunk, so please forgive any grammatical blunders as I contine with this post. I'm sure I'll cower in pain later when I read this, but I must get out my feelings somehow, and this seems to be the only way.


Anyway....

I peeled myself off the bathroom floor, while heaving with sorrow, for what I promise myself to be the last time, knowing that it won't be. Not for anything anyone has done, but for me. What in the hell is wrong with me? What makes me think that when things are going too good that I must cause a fight that causes no good? Why do I feel like I have to ha ve a good break down every month to be okay? A really good cry? I don't know why. I'm at odds ends. I think it may be for one of the following reasons.

1. I'm sabatoging my relationship. Anytime things are good, I force a fight, usually about nothing, or bottled up feeling about something. I pull out shit that really doesn't bother me as much as I say it does, or maybe it does, and I hide behind my lies. I don't know.

2. I am waiting for my fucking Disney movie ending. I grew up watching that shit where the princess gets everything she wants: a charming prince who loves her and would do anything to make her happy, a fucking happy ending. I'm not sure if those exist. I see people happy. Hell, 40 days out of 41 days, I'm happy, but this is the bad one. I'm not sure why. It's like I wake up on the wrong side of the bed, somedays; but I'm literally always waking up on the same side of the bed. Maybe that's a figurative statement...I digress. Anyway, Disney movies have made me think that there is the "happily ever after" ending that I'm not sure if it really exists. Does it? Can anyone answer that? If I were ever to get a masters, I think this is what I would study. How has the impact of "happily ever after" affected the lives of adult women. I'm waiting for my Prince Eric or Prince Aladdin, or whomever makes the princess (me) happy in all ways at all times. How unfair of me to place such a burdern on another person. I can't possibly imagine getting everything I want all the time, yet I do. I want that. I want MY fucking happily ever after.

3. I am waiting for it to be over...again. I'm afraid that we'll end it and having anger in my heart makes it easier. Maybe since my mother's divorce eleven years ago, I'm waiting to have my heart broken by yet another man. God knows, my father was the first man to break my heart. Maybe, I can't trust anyone since he devastated me so deeply. Maybe, despite loving Brandon, and I do love him, again, I fear losing him again, so I can't trust him. I know this is part of the problem. I can't trust him like I did six months ago. It makes me sick. I hate being this way, but I can't let it go. What does that mean? I hope not to end it.

I don't want to be alone. Maybe that sums up everything. All of my problems. Maybe, deep down, I know Brandon is not the man for me, but I'm too afraid of losing the two years I've put into this relationship to end it. Maybe not. I don't know.

Maybe, I'm just driving the bitter bus with some serious road rage. I'm pissed. My friend of 19 years is engaged to her boyfriend of 6 months. It pisses me off. I know I should be happy, and I am happy on some level, but I'm also fucking pissed and jealous. Why can't I be engaged? I graduated from high school seven years ago, and at almost 25 this is not where I saw my life. I mean, hell, I'll be 25 next Friday. I thought by now I'd be married and have maybe one kid. Not still "in a realationship." Fucking high school sweethearts should be banned. Maybe that is why I have all of my problems. By now, I thought I'd be married, not the last one to be married. Damn six year high school sweetheart.

My cousin weds in one month. I'm the maid of honor. It's like weddings surround me and I'm being bitch-slapped in the face...like..."na, na, ne, boo, boo....you're never going to get married."

I don't know. I'm just feeling some serious sorrow. Things between me and Brandon have been so good. Literally. We spend all of our time together and enjoy each other so much. I'm happy...he's happy. But, now, he's on a "boys weekend" trip to Cali that has made me freak out and be crazy. I'm crying. I'm a wreck. Train wreck, to be exact. I'm tired of this shit. Tired of this pain. Why can't I be normal and pull my shit together?

Maybe, I'm off balance, and crazy (literally) like my grandmother, who I love, but probably should be on medication. Shit. I don't want to live my life on Prozac, but maybe that is what it takes.

Damn....maybe one day, I'll write a book about this.

I love you both. The only two people in the world I can share this with. My mental break down of 2-3 July 2009.

Not sure where else to write about this.

I am thinking of breaking it off with Robert.

I don't know why the movie we saw tonight gave me such a deep desire to move on; if anything, it was about the opposite of moving on. But it was a thoughtful, emotional movie, and I came away from it thinking about whether to do it tonight, or to wait until the lease is up.

The only reason this is a problem is that I don't trust myself not to be sabotaging something good somehow. I always seem to snatch defeat out of the jaws of victory--at least I try to. Is it me that is making me feel this way? Or him? I don't feel about him the way I did, that much is clear. What is not clear is whether it is because I am growing out of him, or if I am simply getting hot feet. He is wonderful, a truly magnificent human. But he doesn't give me sparkly eyes anymore.

Should I continue to wait it out? Should we have therapy? Should I have therapy? Should I tell him what I'm feeling and try to work it out together? Should I just make a clean break?

I think I can eliminate the last option. That feels like a cowardly way. Also, having therapy together seems silly. Waiting it out is not how I want to roll; life is too short. Sooo . . . talk to a therapost, or talk to Robert. Heh.

Update 5-5
It occurred to me today that everygood thing I get out of this relationship could more easily be had by buying a dog.

If you guys don't comment on this, I'm going to stop writing.

When I am asked how I like my school, my canned response is that it has all of the good traits and all of the bad traits of a charter school. Buy was that true today, a nd it very nearly ate my soul.

When I say good traits, I mean flexibility, lack of bureaucratic red tape, and willingness to try crazy shit. Bad things can include, for instance, a total incompetence at administrative tasks. To wit: this week was the beginning of the new quarter, and the schedule was completely fuckocked. Allow me to numerate some of the issues that would never be allowed to happen at a traditional school:

• Teachers did not recieve a copy of the schedule until the first day of the quarter. this did not seem odd until we realized that our classes had been completely moved around, and one of mine had been canceled entirely, replaced with another section of something I was already teaching.
• Neither did students recieve a copy of their new fuckocked schedules until the first day they were in effect. The ingenious method contrived to distribute the schedules to the students was to hand them out as they arrived late for first period. the inevitable backlog led to another opportunity for me to use my new word: fuckocked.
• Once the schedules were in the hands of those to whom they applied--students and staff--mor problems became apparent. for example, more than one class--and in at least one case three classes--being scheduled in the same room at the same time with different teachers.
• students being scheduled for two different classes at the same time
• students being scheduled for classes they had already taken
• students being scheduled for classes they vehemently did not want or did not meet the prerequisites for: for example, putting students in advanced English who hate English and suck at it.
• upwards of fifty students being scheduled into the same class in some cases.

• etc. etc.etc.

Needless to say, we are all terribly grateful for the long weekend, and I hopeI have some idea what I'm actually teaching by the time we get back.

Sidenote: by way of things that are great about charter schools, we decided in our meeting this morning to just forget first and second periods on MTuesday and herd everybody into the auditorium to watch the inauguration. Just like that, we decided, and it was done. I snap my fingers here.

Snow Day

It's an odd day here at the New America School. Adams District 12 doesn't close. Come Armageddon, we will be fully operational sa the Lord strikes every one of our staff members and most of our students down with metors as retibrution for their wicked ways. So here we are as the rest of Denver and four surrounding counties stay at home with a novel and an electric blanket.

Which is ironical [sic], because there are so few students that holding classes is ludicrous. Only half of the staff is even here, although those intrepid soldiers are trickling in gradually. We have herded the twenty or so students that are here into three classrooms, Study hall, games or movie. I am in charge of the movie. I figure I would take the otherwise wasted time to put two cents worth of effort into this irrelevant and neglected blog.