Voyeurism

I live a life of voyeurism. It's helpful that I'm curious and quite snoopy to begin with, but my career path has only amplified my natural tendencies. As a teacher, it is pretty much my job to shock and astound students by saying, "Tommy - language. Suzy - talk about your weekend later, okay? We don't want to hear it. Billy - stop talking about how you cheated on that vocab quiz. Yes, we'll be calling your parents later." I am supposed to have eyes and ears all over the room at all times. My husband accuses me of giving poor, unsuspecting teenagers in the mall the hairy eyeball.

"How do you do that?"

"What?"

"You just made those kids stop yelling."

"...It's a gift. Few are blessed."

It's starting to bleed into my real life, though. As I drive to work, I find myself gaging how I'm doing on time by the things I see around me. As I'm driving out of my subdivision, I see the two old ladies who walk together. If they're almost back to the houses, then I'm running late. They should be about at the corner. Then I'm on time. Now, I don't know why the ladies who walk around in the morning are more regularly "on time" than me, but I'm sure they are. When you're 75, I bet you're either the walk around in the morning and be punctual type or you're still snoozing. I'm still undecided on which type I'd like to be. I'll probably just be grateful to be 75.

Once I start driving, there's a man and his dog who walk out to a tiny airfield by the road. I am sure they're just doing their morning routine and doggy's gots to pee. However, whenever I drive by, the man is outlined by a beautiful sunrise with a dutiful dog seated next to him, both watching the small planes. It's beautiful. I love that both dog and man know enough to appreciate the sights in their morning walk. If they're already trudging back to their house, I know I'm running behind.

Once I'm almost to school, I drive by one of my favorite houses by the lake. This one is the most creepy, I suppose, because I feel like I know these poor people. It's an older (but not old) couple who have coffee while reading the paper together each morning. They have a cute little breakfast nook and apparently don't want a ton of curtains between them and the lake. Unfortunately for them, the road (and a stop sign) are between them and their lake. Occasionally, I'll see one or the other (fully robed; it's not that creepy) deciding between two outfits to wear. Sometimes, if I am driving back particularly late, I'll see them hosting small dinner parties. They seem super fun. I'm glad I get to participate, even marginally and slightly creepily, in their lovely lives.

But summer is almost here. I really hope that come next September, I still get to see my old lady friends trotting around in their adorable scarves. I hope that man and dog still enjoy their air show every morning. I hope my idyllic couple still sits together and drinks coffee while chatting about the news in the mornings.

I can only hope someone is looking forward to seeing that teacher drive to school.

Or, maybe they'll just buy curtains. Whatever.

Teacher does not equal Coach

My high school students are being rewarded for completing their essays early by getting to watch a movie in class. Some of my students picked the movie, Miracle. For those not in the know, I'll quote imdb.com:

The inspiring story of the team that transcended its sport and united a nation with a new feeling of hope. Based on the true story of one of the greatest moments in sports history, the tale captures a time and place where differences could be settled by games and a cold war could be put on ice. In 1980, the United States Ice Hockey team's coach, Herb Brooks, took a ragtag squad of college kids up against the legendary juggernaut from the Soviet Union at the Olympic Games. Despite the long odds, Team USA carried the pride of a nation yearning from a distraction from world events. With the world watching the team rose to the occasion, prompting broadcaster Al Michaels' now famous question, to the millions viewing at home: Do you believe in miracles? Yes!

My kids were rapt with round, unblinking eyes during the beginning scenes where this coach is essentially breaking the team down physically in order to build them back up physically and emotionally. My students murmured comments about the coach, their hero, reminding each other how amazing his coaching abilities were. "That guy could make anyone an Olympian!"

As per usual, I immediately was irritated by the comment. I saw these kids yearning to be yelled at and pushed to their physical limitations by a coach. They trusted completely that the coach would put them through an exhaustive, but eventually purifying, experience that would eventually make them better than their peers. The key is that they players weren't necessarily better than their peers to begin with, but they were willing to find a strong enough guide who would push them past their peers to make them more than competitive.

I then remembered being sworn at and yelled at by my coaches in my private, religious grade school. I remembered being embarrassed at sitting too close to the bench at various schools I've taught at; I would blush at the words that would come out of my peers' mouths. And it was all for the sake of some final score, some trophy, some bragging rights.

Then I also remembered countless emails I've gotten from parents about my strict deadlines (full credit the day it's due, half credit the next day, no credit after that). "They're just kids!" I mean, aren't teachers supposed to be nice? I'm supposed to have chosen my career because I have some special place in my heart for the youth of the nation.

I have news for you: I don't have that special place in my heart.

Mostly, I think kids are just like the rest of humanity. Some are incredible and awe-inspiring, some are the absolute dregs, and most of them are just average. Hence, the term average. I have a passion for education, for learning. I want to be an academic coach.

This does not mean that I want to swear at my kids, kick desks, and make vulgar analogies to motivate my kids. It doesn't mean that when the class average crests an 80%, I want a cooler of Gatorade dumped on me. What it means is that I want the respect and trust of my students and parents to allow me to push my little students. Sometimes, it's going to hurt and it's not going to be a sunny, rose-filled journey. At the end, however, these kids will be able to be proud not only of their effort and their progress, but of their ability to rise above the masses by pure passion and dedication.

Instead of shiny statues, I want my students to have engaging careers that make them happy, and also have the potential to improve this little old world we live in. At the very least, I want them to be able to choose among countless of options for their life because they have metaphorically paid for the privilege.

That's not really how the priorities of my students or parents work though. And, to be fair, not everyone wants to be the quarterback of the football team. But maybe, given enough years, kids will know that seeing my name on their schedules means that they're in for an intense, but edifying year. I just wish that was expected out of school as a whole.

Irony

So bear with me. I'm reading To Kill a Mockingbird with my students for the first time since high school. It's fun. However, we just got to this part:

The remainder of my schooldays were no more auspicious than the first. Indeed, they were an endless Project that slowly evolved into a Unit, in which miles of construction paper and wax crayon were expended by the State of Alabama in its well-meaning but fruitless efforts to teach me Group Dynamics. What Jem called the Dewey Decimal System was school-wide by the end of my first year, so I had no chance to compare it with other teaching techniques. I could only look around me: Atticus and my uncle, who went to school at home, knew everything- at least, what one didn't know the other did. Furthermore, I couldn't help noticing that my father had served for years in the state legislature, elected each time without opposition, innocent of the adjustments my teachers thought essential to the development of Good Citizenship. Jem, educated on a half-Dewey half-Duncecap basis, seemed to function effectively alone or in a group, but Jem was a poor example: no tutorial system devised by man could have stopped him from getting at books. As for me, I knew nothing except what I gathered from Time magazine and reading everything I could lay hands on at home, but as I inched sluggishly along the treadmill of the Maycomb County shcool system, I could not help receiving the impression that I was being cheated out of something. Out of what I knew not, yet I did not believe that twelve years of unrelieved boredom was exactly what the state had in mind for me.

Okay, seriously. How ironic is this? I should back up. TKaM is a "must read" by the district. All students who pass through my class must read this book. Yesterday, for class, we made construction paper tombstones for "dead words" that we were no longer going to use in our formal writing ("I think", "you", etc.). Oh yeah, we did this in pairs. I felt Harper Lee's pitying gaze when we read this part out loud in class.

Truth be told, I feel like I'm a worthless tool in an ineffectual system. My students are struggling with reading this book and they're sophomores. I feel like lots of ninth graders round the country are enjoying this same rite of passage. My students tell me this book is unrealistic because no kid would know the words she's using. I have kids telling me it's not realistic because no likes to read.

How difficult can I make my class? We do vocab, grammar, reading, writing... I have enough kids acing and failing my class, but I struggle. Scout, God bless her, is right. The 12 years of babysitting does not produce the results that I would like an education to allow.

It's the same frustration generations of teachers have felt, but I don't have enough time to expose them to all the things that I want to. There's just too much to teach. And, let's be honest, they're pretty apathetic about it. I have mountains of things to expose them to, to expect them to memorize, to be familiar with and I have to make sure they also don't come out of my class jerks. It's a hard balance.

I guess not much has changed in education since the late 50s. Maybe that's the problem.

Excess

I remember, when I was little, downing Pixie Stix like there was no tomorrow. My friend and I were having a Pixie Stix race at a sleepover at her house. As I gulped one last one, I had a sinking realization that I had consumed one Pixie Stix too many. Before it happened, I knew I was going to be sick. I felt foolish and nearsighted, but mostly I felt pukey. I looked at my friend ashamed, and we both ran for the bathroom to try to hide the consequences of our bad choices from her parents.

We like to think that we grow out of those behaviors. Then I went to college. We've all been there; you drink one last sip, down one last shot, finish off the last of your beer... and you know. "Aw crap, I'm about to be way too drunk." You think you might be able to quell the drunkenness, or the vomit, before it comes. "Three, two.... what a nice, cool floor!"

Again, we think, we grow out of such foolish behavior. I just grabbed a coffee before heading to tutor. It was blustery; I thought my mere survival of another snowy Minnesota day should validate a medium mocha. As I walked up to my table full of eager students, I gulped the last of my coffee and tossed away the cup. "Aw, crap. That was too much caffeine! In about an hour, I'm going to be vibrating." You would think I've learned.

It's not just the substances. I am better than blaming Pixie Stix, alcohol, and coffee. Mostly, what I love doing is walking that line. I love being just this side of too much. It's why I'm working two jobs. I don't need to. I just like being almost too busy. Almost too tired. It's almost too much. I feel successful because I am able to ride that line. And then I fall off.

I'm pretty sure I'll be in the retirement home, yelling at the staff: "Don't tell me when I've had too much prune juice! I know how much prune juice I can handl... Aw, crap." Only then, it'll be a pun.

Lights

I've been thinking a lot lately about lights. That sounds like it's all metaphorical, and I'm sure it is. Primarily though, I've just been thinking about how I don't have any.

My classroom is on the interior of the school. I lovingly call my room a cave. I have a window that opens into the hallway, usually an almost tangible mass of teenage cacophony full of profanity and even more offensive perfumes and colognes. Needless to say, I've covered that window with brightly colored paper. Eventually I'm sure my prayers will be answered and that magical paper will block sounds and smells too. My classroom then depends on the fluorescent lights which are magnified by the walls, floor, and ceiling all being the same shade of off-white. Because of the seasons, I get to school well before the lazy sun sees fit to rise. When I walk outside after school, I have to resist the urge to run away hissing while covering my eyes and face with my scarf.

Then I go to my tutoring gig, where I have been frequenting the interior classroom. Anyone see a trend? By the time I leave for home, the lazy sun has already called it a day. I think I'm going to have to start going to the tanning salon again. Seriously. I was pale before I started abstaining from natural light. I'm becoming translucent.

Then, as I was driving to work last week (you know, in the dark), I noticed that the nicer the houses got, the darker they were at 6.15 in the morning. There must be a correlation. The more money you make, the later you can sleep in? I'm sure that can't be quite right, but I do know that people making bank aren't driving to a natural-lightless cubicle at 6 in the morning.

I have decided to start measuring my success by the natural light I have the opportunity to enjoy. And since my school would probably frown on me busting out the ceiling in the cave to make way for natural light, I'm just going to make a point to hang out near windows and outside.

Baby steps.

New Snow

I've had another fresh start. I'm at a new place in a new town with a couple new jobs. I've got to tell you: Life is good.

I worry sometimes that I'm addicted to that "new life" smell. You can start over fresh and clean, with a blank slate. It seems that the past few years have had several slates come and go. Still, there's something nice about unlimited possibilities and it always feels that way at the beginning.

While I outfit a new classroom (which is looking quite cave-like at the moment), I get to see people lugging school supplies into the schools, putting books on shelves, brightly colored posters on walls. I've got to say, we're eager for the little rugrats to come in those doors. Ah, the bliss of September. Remind me of this moment mid April. At the stores, kids are buying new clothes, new shoes, new binders and pencils. I love it.

When I first started telling people that I was moving back North, I was scolded, "Why? They have snow there!" It's true. A whole lot from what I hear, too. Though my summer has been much, much, much cooler than it would have been down in the desert, I still think it's too hot. I am itching for fall. Pumpkins, hot cider, scarves, rain boots crunching on leaves... it's enough to make me tear up a bit. And then, there's winter! Snow falling at night on quiet streets, lit up by street lights and Christmas lights and starlight... Bundling up against the wind, trying not to fall on icy slopes (no more broken elbows!), and having the cold steal your breath for just a second the first moment you step outside. Then, and only then, is spring a fantastic respite from what you've just endured.

And then I got it. I need my seaons to change, figuratively and literally. I like progress, movement, notable distances travelled. I like deadlines to approach steadily, and noticeably pass. I am happy and content because I've had another season pass and I'm newly excited for things I've known before. It's another town, another school year, another fall. Hopefully, I will need fewer new cities. :) It's an expensive business, all that moving. But I hope I can enjoy first days - of school, of fall, of winter, of the state fair, of summer - for the rest of my life.

Silly Putty Jesus

One of my biggest frustrations in life is that people don't get what they deserve.  Though it's a trite example, it's still a good one: Big boys playing football make millions and my teacher salary is embarrassing for everyone.  People speed and they don't get tickets; I drive the speed limit and still manage to get a ticket.  Sometimes people skip in line at the grocery store and no one does anything.  If we're honest, it's really that I don't think I get what I deserve.  I'm a relatively good person, so good stuff should happen to me... and not to people who are bad.  Simple.

But I'm used to it.  Bad people get good things.  Teachers will never be paid well.  I will wait in line at the grocery store like a good girl and nothing good will happen to me for it.  

Another thing that I like (don't worry; this is going somewhere) is when Jesus does things to entertain me.  Now,  I don't mean to belittle who Jesus is or what he does.  To me, though, sometimes I need a pick me up and sometimes he gives me one.  It's a thing we do.

Yesterday, I had a rockin' day.  I was just on top of my work, the sun was shining... what's a girl to do?  I was driving home on the freeway, where terrible drivers abound.  I was listening to some Free Fallin' (gotta love Tom Petty) and I got into the left lane because there is a series of three merging lanes that always jam up.  Again, I am no speeder.  A car came flying up behind me to slam on his brakes and make some very entertaining hand gestures at me.  I figured he'd speed around me, cut me off, and get to wherever he was going much faster than me.

For once, I was wrong.  I kept my cruise control on, but he couldn't get around me.  I was blissfully amused.  When he finally sped around me, he cut me off and cut off the semi next to me.  The best part was that the semi and I were inadvertently hiding the spying cop car on the shoulder.  I actually saw the guy get pulled over!  For speeding and being a bad driver!  That never happens!

I could only smile and thank Jesus.  I don't think he forced the guy to be a jerk, but I appreciate him pulling the edges of the picture (like a comic on Silly Putty) so that I could watch the guy get exactly what he deserved.

Nausea

During tutoring, I asked a high schooler what three things she wanted to get done before Monday (this was on a Thursday). She couldn't tell me three things.

I asked, "Is there a movie you want to see? A friend you're supposed to do something with? A bill you have to pay? A sale you want to go to?" All of this received a blank stare.

Do I miss being 14?

A few times in my life I have felt things changing before they actually did. There are times in life that seem like the gears shifting before any happens in the concrete world. Probably six months before I left for college, I started to feel like I was click-click-clicking up a roller coaster. By the time I actually left, the "change" or whatever it had actually been was over. You blink and it's all completely new but completely familiar.

In those times, I usually remember sitting in my bedroom on 79th. I used to look in my mirror and wonder how the picture there would morph and change. I usually wondered if the current me would get along with, approve of, respect the future me. Even then, I knew it was a complicated paradox.

I have nothing new. I am not a different person. Tomorrow will be like pretty much all my recent Mondays. But I feel that nausea like when a ride at a carnival starts. You know it's going to be mostly fun, but you might throw up. I can feel the gears behind the scenes starting to creak.

When it's over, I won't look much different in that mirror. It's mostly the feel of an era ending and a new one starting. It feels like the legaches I used to get when I grew five inches in one summer (a statement like that makes you think I'd be tall). My legs were growing and it was a weird pain that would creep up on me from inside my kneecaps. There wasn't anything to do to make it better, with the exception of my grandpa rubbing my knees until they burned, but just sit and take it.

Afterwards I never felt taller.

Maturity

Working with kids can often remind me of how young and old I am.  There are some things that make me feel young:

-I still giggle when someone says "duty" or has to say the phrase "do do" (There are things that we don't do that hurt people, but there are also things we do do that hurt people).

-I still know what the kids are talking about... most of the time.

-I don't like getting up early and would rather stay up way too late reading a good book.

-I use "like" far too often to be considered an adult.

But still, I sometimes have to look at others (way too frequently, it's adults) and wonder how they manage their lives being so childish.  I know I'm old because:

-I like to keep meetings civil.

-I am goal oriented and would rather work hard now so that I can play later.

-I know better than to speak with emotion in public.  Think quickly; speak slowly.  (At least on a professional basis - I'm no slow talker regularly.)

-I like knitting and bloody marys.

Meetings with adults make me proud of what I accomplish in the classroom - a respectful exchange of ideas with a final summarizing thought, wrapped in a bow. If kids aren't better at it, it's because we, as adults, don't model it very well or very often.

I like to say that it's pretty easy to tell which kids will turn out to be which adults.  It's easy to see the kid whining over who was first in line, arguing a finer point of literary discourse with reason and poise, or calming down a friend... and then to see that person as an adult doing the same thing.  I talked too much then; I talk too much now.  I argued then constantly; I became a high school teacher.

It's as inspiring to see those little adults as it is frustrating to see those big babies.

Angst

As a high school English teacher, I see my fair share of censorship. The very idea of it makes me feel as angsty as those I am supposed to mold.

I would be crazy to insinuate that censorship, in all forms, is bad. I have to censor what my students say in the classroom just to maintain control and a variation of civilization, for instance. I wish that the FCC would focus less on how many times I hear the words penis and vagina on TV and focus more on not showing scary movie commercials that give me nightmares.

There are many times that I wish students, coworkers, people in front of me in line at the grocery store, etc. would use a bit more censorship. Just today I learned about an STD and its owner. Why? I don't want to know.

I know that I use censorship on a regular basis. How people still don't know that I have the mouth of sailor... Work, a blog, and my public cell phone conversations don't require me to swear. Color me innocent. Though I talk a lot, I say little and I suppose that's intentional. I don't want people (for the most part) in my business and I don't want to be a part of theirs.

Then, however, I hear of a book being pulled from schools. It makes me so angry. If there were better, more descriptive words, I'd use them. I don't want kids to have things taken away from them. So few read, so few care... we're going to take away one book that a kid actually read and talked about enough to have a parent complain?

I have kids asking me to read a modern American book about war. I'm not sure any would be approved by the powers that be. Do I tell them no? Do I tell students that we can't talk about certain political issues and we can't read books that use certain words? Describe certain activities?

Well, of course I do. I have to work harder to find a book. School is not my platform; my podium is not a pulpit. Just because they can't read a book in my classroom doesn't mean it's burning in the streets while evil men stand in the background, twisting their moustaches. Let's be honest. Those kids don't need me to save them from narrow minded thinking. Let's be more honest; it'd be too late anyway.

The idea of censorship in schools enrages me even while I know it's necessary. I just feel angsty.

It's just like the economy, politics, friendships, relationships -- the list goes on. I'm very, very sure when I see that things aren't happening as they're supposed to. However, I'm equally unsure how to fix them.

I once again fear that my proximity to high schoolers is rubbing off more on me than my influence is on them. (Wait, is it develope or develop?) I feel outraged, silenced, impotent, useless and guilty. Sounds like 16 to me...

Snow

It's all it takes.  A little snow, a little winter chaos in the middle of the desert.

I found myself sleeping in this morning hoping that if I delayed, I would be forced to stay home because of the snow - the inch of snow that was promised.  Now, I didn't get a snow day, but I did get Starbucks and a beautiful drive to work.  I took some pictures with my phone, but I'm 80 so it will take me a while to get those from my phone onto my computer.

Kids are freaking out, throwing snowballs (slushballs, really, but who am I to burst their bubbles?) and screaming.  Winter hats and pretty scarves are out in full force.  I got four warnings to "be careful of the ice" that I know wasn't real ice.  

But I am ecstatic.  It's cold.  It's pretty.  The enthusiasm is contagious.  All you people who have been enduring snow for months are probably over it, but I'm like a child seeing Christmas for the first time.  I feel like skipping and throwing snowballs myself.  

In a few short weeks, it'll be back up in the 80s and 90s.  I'll be happy that my desert is a desert again.  But for the time being, I'm going to be very happy that I was sent a little, tiny bit of that winter I've been missing for a couple years.

Calm

The holidays were hectic. It continues to be hard to be so far away from all my different "homes." Friends, families, and connecting flights are often too far away to be practical ventures, but we did it. I've taken on another class this semester and given up my planning period. The hubby's search for a med school continues. But I've finally found some calm.

It's all still nebulous and cryptic (sorry), but I think I've finally sorted out a few things in my life. I have a plan. If you have met me, even briefly, I think you'll probably know how addicted to a plan I am. I am reminded however that nothing on the surface of my life has changed at all, but decisions are capable of calming a person down. I'm glad that I feel calm for the first time in a long time.

Heartwarming crowds

Usually, I feel quite ill at things like graduation services, weddings, and anything that includes unnecessary pomp and circumstance.  I know I'm supposed to feel pride and warmth from being a part of some phenomenal occasion like seeing 18 years old shipped off to the real world and seeing two people blend their lives forever.  But I don't. I usually see awkward little kids dressed up like adults, pretending they're capable of impressive, life changing decisions.  (Both for weddings and graduations!)

Today I voted.  And I felt the warmth.  We were all bundled (or as bundled as you get in Tucson in November) at 5.45 a.m., with a line wrapped around the small church that we were assigned to.  We were all shivering from the cold and the excitement.  And none of us knew what the hell we were doing.  The people running the sha-bang had changed everything since last time around and they were not expecting there to be a least a hundred eager voters waiting for them before the polls opened.  We were bumbling into each other, jumping into the wrong lines, and looking excitedly at the sample polls plastered on the walls.  But we were all happy to be there.  There were no lunchroom political debates.  No one was pushing or loudly proclaiming who should really be the next prez.  We were all just happy to be there and be a part of it.  Who knows how this exciting day will end?  

All I know is I finally got the warm and fuzzies from an event; I didn't hate everyone there!  We were all doing something good, even if we were all voting in opposition of each other.  We were all just glad to see other people who cared... about anything... about anything important.  I was not in sparse company and I felt warm this (relatively) cold November morning before dawn.

Things I heart

I usually have complaints up here (rants, whatever). I thought I would (should) put up some things that I enjoy.

I am currently loving:
-politics
Everybody is so into everything. I feel no apathy around me at all. Isn't that a nice feeling? Everyone is reading the newspaper, watching the news... Even my students are locked into Channel One, wondering what's going to happen in the world. My email inbox has been flooded with links to articles and video with need-to-know information. I'm just glad we all care. It makes me warm and fuzzy inside.

-etsy.com
I think I have found almost all my Christmas presents already thanks to etsy.com. I love it. Anything you want to find - it's there. And let's just pretend it isn't there - someone will make it for you. On the cheap and on the double.

-fall
The desert doesn't have any of the things I love about fall. But Trader Joe's does. I will find my cider, my pumpkin butter, and my cinnamon applesauce. I leave early enough in the morning that I am chilly. Fall is here, desert - whether you like it or not. I also am nearing the month countdown to going to the Midwest for Thanksgiving. Who knew I'd be so pumped about the Midwest?! Well, I am. Leaves, brisk cold, woodsmoke, family, turkey... Sigh.

-my brother
He's 30! He's old now, I think... which means I only have a few years left! But as we tried frantically to get emails and phone calls through to each other, I realized I have some good family.

-girls' nights out
I have a bit of a girls' night out planned for this evening. Pumped. I need social life. I might be working on that.

-the library
I asked them for some magazines to help me with my persuasion quarter. I have over 100 specially picked out magazines waiting for me to pick up. How awesome is that?

Okay, so it's not that many things. But still. Warm and fuzzy, my friends. That's how I feel.

Vacay

Vacation is bliss.

The 'rents came to visit. Bliss. Shopping, beer, guns, sandwiches, talking, wine, driving. Perfect.

Now we're back home. My agenda today is to let the hubby sleep until he wakes up on his own (this may be a week-long project) and to play as many video games (while taking breaks to play with my puppy) as possible.

I repeat, vacation is bliss.

We may be moving the camping extravaganza to early November, so we don't bake (oh, desert) and so that we can continue this nothingness. It's very, very nice.

p.s.

Everyone is boring.

I've been having my quarter-life crisis, albeit a year late. Assuming I live to be 100. Which I will because I drink red wine.

I'd like to be a writer, but I have nothing interesting to say. I can apparently fill years of a blog with the nothings of my life, but so what? I feel like every blog out there has similar musings of everyday life. What? I'm so rare? By random search, I can find 3,000 other blogs by 20-something women trying to "figure it all out." In print form, we call this chick lit, mostly distinguishable by it's pink, black, and white pallet on the bookshelves of Borders. Throw a diamond on that cover and you've got yourself a bestseller.

I'd like to keep being a teacher, (and I probably will) but I wish it meant something. I like to think of myself rather like Dr. Kelso on Scrubs. I am understandably and effectively a bit distant from my job. I perform better if I'm not worried about feelings, especially those of children. What is best for people is often not pleasant or kind, so I try more to be fair and helpful. All that being said, wouldn't it be great if teaching really was a noble career? It'd be great if I came home everyday and pondered the fragility of youth and my impact on our future world. Instead, I fear for the world that these children's children (unfortunately not far off, most likely) will create. I remember that even on my best days, I am just these kids' English teacher. They will not, and should not, live out their days remembering my class as their halcyon days of youth or as the beginning of their intellectual journeys. Looking back, if forced, I can remember some of my high school teachers. Some of them were phenomenal teachers. But that's about as far as it goes.

Honestly, I didn't want to be best friends with my teachers and I was never in the market for a mentor. I can't see that as my purpose in my career now. I am busy enough trying to force the kids, kicking and screaming, to exceed on their standardized tests. Here's hoping I will.

But.

What if I came home, knowing that I had changed the world forever?

I'd like to be a lawyer. But isn't it the same damn thing? You spend all your time on work (grading papers or legal briefs) that no one ever reads. You spend your time fighting for people (students/criminals/business executives) that won't appreciate it.

I'd like to be a scientist. I could change the world. But for reals. What if I set up the first Earthling habitat on Mars? But it's too late. I suck at math and I hate not being social. There's too much to catch up on in the world of science and who would put me in charge of setting up a new world? No labs for me.

I'd like to be a farmer, but I've got no land and no idea how to, you know, farm.

I'd like to make furniture, but ditto.

I'd like to have a career, a passion, a purpose in life. But instead, I have to spend all my time working and paying bills. Count that out, deduct for time needed sleeping, pooping, and eating (not all at once, people), and what do you have left? Time for a sitcom and a walk for the dog.

I shouldn't complain. Life is working out well. I have a wonderful husband, dog, apartment, and job. I can pay my bills on time and afford the occasional present for myself (Pumpkin Spice Latte, anyone?). I am winning the game of life. It just turns out the trophy isn't so shiny.

Though I'd like to pretend these are somehow philosophical, unique ramblings - they're not. Go search those other 3,000 blogs or those pink shelves at Borders and you'll find the same thing: Whine, whine, what does it all mean, whimper, ... oh diamonds! Even the phrase "there is nothing new under the sun" is biblically old.

Fight Club, Garden State, Punchdrunk Love, About Schmidt, The Great Gatsby - they're all the same. They're great movies and books that say the same thing. "What's it all for?" And no one knows.

Me too.

While this may all seem depressing, I've reached a Zen calm about it. It's nice to know that no one else knows what the hell they're doing either. I've said it before without knowing how true it is: maturity is nothing more than getting better at pretending that you know what you're doing. We're all just wandering around, bumbling, stumbling.

I've decided to enjoy the bustle and see how far I end up from here when it's all over.

I'm missing something

If it wasn't so creepy, I'd take a picture of what's going on outside my window. My apartment complex is having a Fire Safety party. No, I'm serious. There were posters taped on all our doors last week about how there would be "Free food and fire safety!" I did not amp up the same way the rest of my neighbors apparently did.

Now, don't get me wrong; I like my apartment complex. I am pleased to have moved out of my ghetto existence over two months ago. (Time flies, by the by.) Usually, like now, a group of kids plays soccer in the grassy area outside my window. It's nice to finally have the sound of conversations, children's laughter, and puppies barking near where I live again.

However.

I don't understand why there are balloons, food, and (most importantly) more than 50 people on my grassy area listening to fire safety. A fireman, one can only assume, is standing demonstrating the equipment and handing out informational brochures. And people are taking them! And listening! If I could only get that kind of enthusiasm in my classroom...

Again, I am approximately two years from being the old, crotchety woman who looks out her window muttering, "Oh my; oh my." Maybe I'm just anti-social. Maybe they're all just pumped for an opportunity to hang out, eat free food, and make their kids unafraid of the Darth Vader-esque firefighters. Maybe.

Or maybe I just moved into Crazytown, USA.

Either way, Happy Fire Safety Day!

This just in

I just saw the headline, "Britney seen rehearsing!"

Um, hi.  My name is Annika and I do my job everyday.  When do I get my news story?  Better grab the paper; Annika went to work today!  

On that note, it's almost our two week break.  I can feel the wait in the students and the staff.  One more week, one more week, one more week... It's the local mantra.  Also my 'rents are coming to visit in one more week, one more week.  

I'm pumped.  

You know, you know

I just wanted to update the blog world of my life because you must be depressed without more info on my life. I mean, honestly. I'm pretty cool.

I dislike Whole Foods. I dislike them like I dislike Bookman's. It's all a lie. Used bookstores are my haven. I love used bookstores. It's where book lovers go to trade books. It smells like book must (musk?) and there are gems and it's cheaper. Bookman's is a bookstore that pretends to be a used bookstore and charges you way more for goods that no one wants. I get that you have 75 copies of The Bell Jar. I'm sure the university makes kids buy it and they all sell it to Bookman's. But that's not the point, is it? I could buy classics from amazon.com. I go to a used bookstore to be enlightened. Don't try to fool me with your anti-censorship posters, your emo kids, and crappy posters I can buy for a quarter. Why don't you have books and why is your store a suck-hole of love?

Whole Foods is the same. I shop at Trader Joe's. They have cheap organic food with few to no preservatives. I can pronouce every ingredient on most packages. I can drink their $5 bottle of wine and not want to burn off my own tongue. In fact, I will seek out that bottle of wine because it's my favorite. And I've had $50 bottles of New Zealand Pinot Noir. Ask my dad. That was good wine.

Whole Foods pretends to be that store of organic love. But they also sell lies. They have some oil that I'm supposed to put in my tea that will make me feel less guilty about my life. No, seriously. That was on the bottle. If that's on your bottle and you charge me ten bucks for it, I no longer believe your store motto. You probably sell hippie crap that is not organic, not made in America, and is twice as expensive as stuff that is. I felt dirty for even going to Whole Foods and immediately drove to Trader Joe's to reverse my bad karma.

Some good news however: Kids still watch The Simpsons. I know! I was surprised too. I showed part of the episode where they parody Lord of the Flies to my sophomores today. I asked who watched The Simpsons and it still holds a sacred spot in their hearts. This is especially impressive because I would have assumed that nothing was sacred to teenagers. It's a smart show that makes some smart jokes; (wait for it...) and my kids understood them! It warmed my cold, frigid heart in a way that children haven't for quite some time.

Lastly, IKEA is still awesome. Bought a new bed and some nightstands and my life looks like an adult might lead it. Amazing the different a few hundred bucks can make. I've moved out of the ghetto and now the inside of my apartment looks non-ghetto as well.

I am still addicted to string cheese. It's kind of a problem.

That's all for now.

I'm feeling ornery

I'm not sure what's got into my mood today, but I'm not feeling my typical sunny self. Instead of narrative, you get a list of things that bothers me today. Enjoy.

1. "How's married life?" Now, I don't mind when people who I know ask me this. That's a fair question. Typically, I answer in my characteristically sassy way, "Pretty much the same as living-in-sin life only with tax breaks!" But I don't like the assumptions that go along with being married, especially when those assumptions are made by people I don't really know. At the bank today, I deposited a check. To clarify who I was, my teller said, "You're joint on Jeffrey's account?" Well, no. Joint sort of implied that there is no status difference - it's our account. However, if you want to have specifics, it has been my account since I was sixteen. I'm the one with awesome credit, and the wonderful bank loyalty. He jumped on my account less than two years ago, but seeing as how he does have Mr. in front of his name, I can see how you would assume that he's the one who allows me to use his money. I didn't say that though. I said, "Okay. Yes, that's me." Then I had to go to the gynecologist for a checkup. I've never had a problem with anyone at this office or anything, but today, the lady said to me, shocked, "You've never had ANY pregnancies?" I looked at her a bit funny and told her no. I figured I might have accidentally worn my "Hello, my name is Promiscuous Patty" name tag, but then she followed up with, "I mean... you ARE married, aren't you?" Well, by God. No one told me that I had to get knocked up within three months of my wedding. And how dare I wear a wedding band without ever having had a baby. I was a good girl, though, and just said, "Yes. I am married. No pregnancies." They should give you a pamphlet when you get married so that you can know these things.
2. The freaks at the library. This summer, I have been on a reading frenzy. Picture a starved person at Thanksgiving dinner. I haven't had a chance to read and I go to the library to get stacks of books. I'm there a lot. There are some people that stand in front of the library asking for signatures for some petition. It could be a very nice petition - perhaps even on an issue that I care about. However, they are worse than anything I have ever seen. There is no sign, no packet of information, no explanation of who they are. Instead, they yell at everyone walking in and out of the library, "Are you a registered voter in Pima County?" I mean it; they yell this at every person, even if they are already talking to someone else about their petition. I am against this whole tactic, but more so, I am upset that it is still going on. I politely lie to them, and say, "No sorry!" every time. I am just a nice person going to the library to get some books. Why must I be harassed every time? I am very, very close to explaining in excruciating detail to these people what is wrong with their tactics and their methodology, but I keep biting my tongue. Today, when I politely lied, the guy said, "Really? Or do just not want to be bothered?!" I was stunned. Now I have to validate myself? I gave him the teacher stink eye, shook my head, and kept walking, but I think I only encouraged him.

Okay, I guess it's just those two things, but I feel like they're big. I will now watch reruns of Gilmore Girls and eat Cherry Garcia ice cream to soothe my wounded pride.