We sleep in the bed we make

It's cold in my room.

Lately I've been going to bed fully dressed, because I'm too cold to change. I shove the cat aside, thereby stealing her warm spot, and curl up next to three Target bags, a pile of rejected clothes, and a Harry and David gift box with apples and pears (I ate all the chocolates).

It occurs to me that by age 25, I never expected to be sharing my bed with produce.

Metaphorically speaking...

How do you counteract a crummy, rainy, dreary day? Why, cutting and pasting, of course!

I threw ordinary lesson plans out the window and we made "metaphorical self-portraits" instead, based on a poem by Billy Collins called "Instructions to the Artist."

The idea is to paste together a "portrait" based in figurative language: flaming lava hair, city streets for ears, leafy eyebrows. And then make bold figurative statements about yourself:
"My head is foggy with words; my ears hear the music of distant cities."

Jose, aka "Gummy Bear," comes up to show me his portrait. I tell him I like it, but I want to know more about his choices. "Don't just write that your mouth is a Payday because you like Payday bars; tell me about swallowing up all the sweetness in the world, or something."

"Yeah," he says, returning to his seat. "Or, like, nuts!" Then he turns red and mumbles, "nevermind."

We all pretend I don't know why they're laughing. I give myself lightning bolts for eyes, and a zipper mouth.

twenty-five years

it's been AWESOME. thanks to all who came out, and those who were there in spirit.

Too many hats

I found out today that an eighth grade student at my school shot himself on Friday. The student body is, understandably, quite upset. Our counselor is doing double-duty as the "test coordinator" for tomorrow's writing TAKS, which, if you've been reading the papers, is no cakewalk. All day I've been in "test mode," dolling out last minute tidbits of wisdom and praying they're listening. "I'm sorry you're upset. I need you to focus on the task at hand because this is the last time you can ask questions before The Test." As if I should expect to have anyone's attention. It didn't really hit me until after school as I was driving home, what had actually happened. He was fourteen. Maybe fifteen.

I have mixed feelings about turning twenty-five.


Me and Jamie, Cambridge (?), 1995. (Aww... look at the flannel!)

Sick and Single on Valentine's Day Themesong:

ADELAIDE'S LAMENT

It says here...
The average unmarried female
Basic'lly insecure
Due to some long frustration
May react
With psychosomatic symptoms
Difficult to endure
Affecting the upper respiratory tract
In other words,
Just from waiting around
For that plain little band of gold
A person can develop a cold
You can spray her wherever you figure
The streptococci lurk
You can give her a shot
For whatever she's got
But it just won't work
If she's tired of getting the fish-eye
From the hotel clerk
A person
Can develop a cold
It says here...
The female remaining single
Just in the legal sense
Shows a neurotic tendency
See note:
Note, note: Chronic organic syndromes
Toxic or hypertense
Involving the eye,
The ear and the nose and throat
In other words,
Just from wond’rin’
Whether the wedding is on or off,
A person
Can develop a cough!
You can feed her all day
With the Vitamin A
And the Bromo Fizz
But the medicine never
Gets anywhere near
Where the trouble is!
If she's getting a kind
Of name for herself
And the name ain't "his"
A person
Can develop a cough
And further more
Just from stalling
And stalling and stalling
The wedding trip
A person
Can develop La grippe
When they get on a train
For Niag'ra
And she can hear church bells chime
The compartment is air conditioned
And the mood sublime
Then they get off at Saratoga
For the fourteenth time
A person
Can develop La grippe
La grippe, La post nasal drip
With the wheezes
And the sneezes
And a sinus that's really a pip!
From a lack of community property
And a feeling she's getting too old
Oh, a person
Can develop
A bad, bad cold!
Atchum!

(Transcribed by Martin Bernandersson)

Very, very tightly wound

Lately I've been feeling stress deep inside my body.

So much so that when I breathe deep, I feel tension like I might strain a muscle. Most days, it's hard to get out of bed. Today in school, I felt like a rubber band stretched to the breaking point. By the end of the day, I had nothing more to say because I knew it would only end badly. I dismissed the students with a wave of my hand.

Driving makes it worse. I grip the steering wheel at 2 and 10 o'clock and yell at children and stray dogs who don't obey posted traffic signs. I'm always anxious, even when I'm driving someplace fun. Especially when I'm driving someplace fun.

I don't really know what I'm stressed and anxious about. There are no rational explanations, nothing that nags persistantly at my brain. Certainly not the upcoming TAKS test, because I really don't care. They'll do well. They've done well for the past two years. But there's this lingering anxiety and feeling of urgency.

Lately, I've been meeting boys and giving my number out like candy. I never call back. The effort it takes to initiate dating seems overwhelming, and I haven't felt swept away in years. A friend and I were talking tonight about how too many men seem attracted to young, flighty women who just want to bat their eyelashes and laugh at their funny jokes. This boggles me. For me, the attraction is only there if a person knows MORE than me... about books, about art, about silkscreening, about fish, about SOMETHING. Otherwise, what's the point? I don't want someone to laugh at my jokes. I want someone to call me out on it, and lead me towards something that will enable better jokes.

Maybe these two things are unrelated. But I doubt it.

Oh yeah? Well, you wear navy blue *EVERY DAY and you can't spell.

"Ms. D------ needs to buy a new woredrobe. No offince plese not take it officeofly. You need to know how to match. More brown."

Obviously my little fashionista twelve-year-olds need a lesson on "the rules" of dressing (ex: no white shoes after labor day) and how they do not apply to people like us.

*dress code

Car-ma

January 31st, 2005. Peeved that my car insurance keeps going up, I try to negotiate with the Progressive woman: "What's this comprehensive coverage? My deductible is awfully low right now. What would happen if I raised that number?" The Progressive woman informs me (and I find this dubious) that changing the deductible will not affect my premium. Is she aware, I ask, that I am about to turn 25, the magical car insurance birthday? This, she informs me, is a myth. Eventually I concede the car insurance battle, pay in full (ouch), and hang up in a huff.

One week later, dirty rotten thieves smash in my car window. They wrestle with Rosa for the CD player, but she is stubborn, that car of mine. The dirty thieves concede the CD player and leave me the faceplate (thank you, that was considerate), but not before bending the dashboard all out of whack.






I take the car to the people at Progressive (who are now my best friends) and owe them: $99.

I feel blessed that most of the unfortunate things that happen to me fall under the category of "shit happens... but think of all the shit that COULD have happened but didn't."

Here's a wet cat picture, just to end on an upbeat.

Dream Date

Oh, will someone please please please buy me this Valentine?

(Hurry! Auction ends Feb. 10th!)

Well, it's not a cruise, but...

I got word today that all ten JMS teachers have been approved for the International Reading Association annual convention, to be held in San Antonio!

This means that for four days in early May, I'll be getting drunk on the Riverwalk attending various workshops led by the best of the best in reading/writing instruction while my students are doing worksheets with a substitute teacher.

Life is good.

Teeny Weenies

I laughed-out-loud listening to Baxter Black's commentary on small dogs this morning on NPR (Chihuahua owners, take note). In searching for it online, I found a wealth of downloadable goodies including the Engines of our Ingenuity archives with full-text articles. If you're not in the Houston area and don't get a daily radio dose of John Lienhard, he's definitely worth checking out. He mixes technology and the humanities in a very literary way. See, for example, Poetry and Airplanes.