Night Before School

School starts tomorrow!!! I spent the better part of the day putting the finishing touches on my classroom. It occurred to me that in my own school days, I never paid attention to the details of my classrooms. My teachers had probably agonized over where to place each poster, and what colors to use on the bulletin board. Yet, I never gave it a second thought. I never considered the fact that she had spent her free time (and limited money) decorating that room for me. I guess that's the nature of being 13- being oblivious to everything around us. I don't care if they don't notice every detail; I have to spend most of my life for the next 9 months there, I want it to feel warm and inviting.

I talked to my friend, Diana, over the weekend. She is teaching at a school near Chicago. She has well over 30 kids in her classes. I just don't understand why politicians don't realize that it is impossible for one person to give every student the attention that they deserve when there are that many in one room. How can you teach when you spend most of the class trying to maintain some semblance of control? I realize that the research is "inconclusive", but ask a teacher if children learn better in a class of 30 or a class of 20. Any teacher who wants to do a good job will tell you the fewer kids in a room, the better the chances of helping them understand material. One of my friends, who is from another country, was shocked to learn that the people in charge of education in this country are not necessarily trained as educators. From local school boards on up, there are limited numbers of people with degrees in education who are making decisions for America's children. I think it's like having me sit on a hospital board and say, "You should be saving more people. If you don't start doing that, I'm going to take over". Ridiculous, eh? (Although with my clumsiness, I have spent a lot of time in hospitals).

Anyway, I'm ranting again, and I need to meditate to get some good energy flowing before tomorrow. Good night everyone, I hope you all have a wonderful day.

I Am A Spaz

Ok, I just thought I'd post this, because it is so typically me. Today was registration day at school. All of the laughing, smiling parents bring their irritable progeny to the school to sign up for classes. We all put on our Sunday best to meet and greet the families and reassure the community that we can be trusted with their most precious little angels. Even the PE teachers change out of track suits and make nice with everyone. Needless to say, appearance is VERY important.

It stormed here last night. When I got home, it was pitch black and my power was out. I took my WalMart bags out of the car, waded through three inches of water and opened the outside door. With my hands full, and the lights out, I began to climb the stairs to my kitchen; one, two, three, "there's seven, right?" I ask myself, five, six, seven, SMACK! No, folks, there are EIGHT steps to my kitchen. I missed that last step, tripped up it, and slammed my face into the kitchen door. I could taste blood filling my mouth and running down my face onto my shirt. Crying from the pain and the frustration of a very long day, I grabbed an icepack and put it in my mouth (this was the part that hurt worst). I fumbled around, found a candle and went to the bathroom. Bloody nose and bleeding mouth, shit. I washed the blood from my face, and it didn't look too bad. After taking some Tylenol and putting ice on my mouth for about an hour, the lights came on. I went to look in the mirror...

The first question from one of my co-workers this morning was, "what's the other guy look like?" I have a swollen nose, and a fat lip that's got a huge crusty scab covering one entire side. Oh, yeah, I had to get my ID picture taken today... *sigh*, welcome to the joy that IS my life.

Idle Chatter

I'm just going to ramble for a while and get out some of the thoughts which are clogging my neural pathways.

I have orientation meetings all week. I've been trying to find something to wear tomorrow; all the bigwigs are going to be there. I don't know why uber-annoying people seem to gravitate toward me- I spent today trying to avoid one girl who set my teeth on edge. Usually, I consciously try to feel compassion for others, and I can usually find something positive about anyone. However, she is sooooooooo overbearing and rude that I'm having a great deal of difficulty. Being in a new school is hard, but I've made a couple of friends, so I am feeling better and less awkward. My class is looking great! I feel like I'm bragging, and I'm not trying to, but it makes me feel good when people come in and tell me how nice it looks. I've never been anywhere that the teachers were as supportive as they are thus far. I think we all feel really invested in the school, because we only have two more years to fix all the problems before the No Child Left Behind Nazis take over. I normally don't voice my political views here, but, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE, if you value education for ALL children, DO NOT vote for George W. this fall. Not that I think anyone else will be much better, but he is destroying our schools. I don't know if lower-income schools will survive another four years of him. Ok, I'm going to bed now. Sweet dreams all.

All About Me

Ok, I'm a sucker for anything that talks about me. Here you go-- all about me me me!

The \\
Last Cigarette:	Malboro Light Menthol- six years ago after many tequilla shots
Last Alcoholic Drink:	Bacardi Raz- as I type
Last Car Ride:	home from Walmart this afternoon
Last Kiss:	besides my dog? I can't remember
Last Good Cry:	Now- thinking about previous question
Last Library Book:	Some science experiment book
Last book bought:	Dragons of a Fallen Sun- Weis & Hickman--GREAT
Last Book Read:	Turning Points 2000 (important but very dry educational stuff)
Last Movie Seen in Theatres:	The Village--- loved, loved, loved it
Last Movie Rented:	Monty Python- Life of Brian
Last Cuss Word Uttered:	Fucking Fuckhead
Last Beverage Drank:	Bacardi Raz
Last Food Consumed:	animal crackers (but not in my soup)
Last Crush:	Adrian Brody and the guy down the street
Last Phone Call:	my mom- I told her I was too grumpy to talk
Last TV Show Watched:	Bernie Mac
Last Time Showered:	twenty minutes ago (I even used soap)
Last Shoes Worn:	Birkenstocks
Last CD Played:	Rob Zombie- Past, Present & Future
Last Item Bought:	Ice Age video
Last Download:	songs from the Blues Brothers Movie (first one)
Last Annoyance:	my life
Last Disappointment:	me
Last Soda Drank:	Vanilla Diet Pepsi
Last Thing Written:	comment on Jam Daddy's site
Last Key Used:	tab
Last Words Spoken:	"k, see ya later"
Last Sleep:	um, full night? about two weeks ago
Last Ice Cream Eaten:	Blue Bunny ice cream sandwiches- thanks for reminding me I bought them today!!!!!
Last Chair Sat In:	sitting in desk chair right now
Last Webpage Visited:	my school website
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My Life Is Weirder Than Fiction

I was sharing one of my millions of "isn't my life a freakshow?" stories with a friend and decided I could make this into a regular feature of my blog. Perhaps my life will make your own seem better in comparison.

1. I was once stalked by a former friend who had sustained a serious head injury in a car accident. He would call and ask what I was doing in my kitchen at a certain time the night before, and creepy shit like that. My mom had always liked him and kept pressuring me to go out with him- she'd give him my phone number every time I changed it. Finally, I threatened him with a restraining order, and he moved on to stalk another former classmate. My mom's comment? "Well, at least he was interested in you". He's now in an institution for the criminally insane- I have no details as to how he landed there.

2. When we were at a relative's house once, my mom commented that she wondered how it could be so windy since there weren't many trees. I asked what she meant, and she said (in a tone like I was the moron), "well, if there are no trees, HOW is the wind being made, hmmmm?" Yes, folks, my mom believes trees MAKE wind- no amount of explanation about unequal heating of the earth and air movement gets through to her- trees MAKE wind! Didn't I hear that you get your intelligence from your mom? God, I need chocolate.

3. When I was 17, I once went on a date with my grandma's pastor's nephew (take a minute to follow that). We had stopped along a country road to talk (some minor kissing was also involved). After a little while, we saw headlights, and suddenly spotlights and flashing red lights were blinding me. There was a gun pointed at my head, and a cop was yelling at me to get out of the car and not make any sudden moves. I got out and was forced to lay face-first in the ditch with my hands out at my sides. After about ten minutes, a female officer made me stand and frisked me. Then I was questioned extensively as to what I knew about my date. I knew he was visiting his uncle, my grandma's pastor, and they had set us up. I guess the fact that I liked him should have clued me in that something was wrong. It seems that he was wanted in another state for six counts of armed robbery, two counts of battery (one against his elderly landlord), and several felony drug charges. They took him off to jail, towed his car, and left me alongside a deserted country road- alone.

4. Today I went to town. On the way there, I passed a car that was going about 35 mph. I simply passed him, I didn't honk or make an obscene gesture or anything. When I got to town, I went to the bank, which is along that road. As I came out, the guy was sitting next to my car. He began screaming that he hoped I had gotten where I was going is such a hurry. He was still screaming about everyone being in such a hurry nowadays (he was probably 75) when I drove away- I never said a word.
I will, from time to time, update with more of the horrors that ARE my life.

Beginning of the Year Nerves

Ok, as I have mentioned before, I have worked in a larger school district, with the usual social problems. I really entered my contract with few qualms about my own personal safety in spite of the warnings of several friends and family. I assumed that they were giving in to the unenlightened view that a minority and lower income district was an unsafe place to be. I assumed that the school would have at least one full time police officer there at all times (even rural country schools usually have this). I assumed that the kids would have the basic respect for adults that I've always seen. I assumed a lot of things. Remember the statement "when you assume, you make an ass of u and me"? We have had five meetings thus far, and will begin training next week, and every time the administration speaks, I become a little more nervous about the coming school year.

I guess the first shock was to find out that LEGALLY, I have to try to stop any fight I witness. I am 5'41/2" tall, and not the most imposing figure. Some of my students will be 16 years old, over 6' tall and 200+ lbs (this is an 8th grade class). My weapon? The school is going to furnish me with a whistle; oh, I am indeed comforted by this. The worst part of this is that the science wing, where I will be, is isolated from the rest of the school, and no one in the rest of the school will hear me. So, how the fuck am I supposed to break up a fight between two students who physically could lift me by the ankle and dangle me? I have no idea- I own pepper spray, but am not allowed to bring it to school because of the very real possibility that someone will take it away and use it on me.

Yesterday, I was talking with two veteran teachers who were talking about how upsetting fights are. I asked how often they occur- maybe I'm naive, but I was thinking maybe one or two a year, right? FUCK NO--- DAILY! Yup, daily. Apparently, if the redistricting which was done over the summer works, it should cut down on this because they tried to separate along gang territory lines as much as possible... EXCUSE ME??? WTF have I gotten myself into? I know, I WANTED this job. This district is being closely watched by the educational community because they are working very hard to implement some experimental and creative philosophies designed to instill positive character traits. I have wanted to work for my new principal for several years- he has a great vision and is SO upbeat and positive that you can't help but feel better when you're around him. But, as the time draws nearer, I'm getting scared.

I have always been able to build really strong relationships with the more "troubled" students at my schools. For whatever reason, those are the kids who I enjoy most and who seem to feel most comfortable with me. But, these kids will have seen more horrors than I can imagine. They will know the fear of drive-by shootings, and drug-addicted parents. They will have seen more violence and hatred than I have encountered in my entire life. Will I be able to reach them? Will I be able to let them see the beauty that is out there? Will I be able to help them work toward reaching their potential? How do I convince a child that the Periodic Table is important when he hasn't eaten all weekend, or when his brother was taken to prison that morning, or when his friend was shot on the way to school? These are the thoughts that keep me up at night and wake me once I've fallen asleep- WHAT IF I FAIL? I mean, if you work for an insurance company, and make a mistake, someone loses money or is inconvenienced. If I fail, someone could lose his chance at a future. I've never felt that pressure as intensely as I do right now.

Flashback

I drove past a Discount Funeral Store today, I shit you not! It made me laugh until I thought I was going to pee myself. It reminded me of the time I was asked to leave my grandfather's funeral... *kick in fog machine and wavy images along with mysterious "flashback" music*

My grandfather passed away at the ripe old age of 93. It was sad in the way all funerals are sad, but, for crying out loud, he was 93, it wasn't unexpected. I have always giggled when I'm uncomfortable or nervous, so this too should not have surprised anyone. My nephew was around 7 or 8, and being given the choice of attending school on spelling test day or hanging out with me, he chose wisely.

As we sat in the third row of uncomfortable wood folding chairs, Eddie and I whispered a little until my mom turned around and gave us the Stinkeye of Death. We sat quietly for an eternity (ok, probably five minutes, but we're both hyper, and it SEEMED like forever). Finally, Eddie whispers to me, "why is he wearing glasses"? He nodded forward. I looked at the elderly gentleman in front of me and, thinking Eddie was setting up some joke, I said, "so he can see, duh", and rolled my eyes at him. He looked at me with the most disgusted face and said at a volume which could have been heard across a noisy gym, "BUT HE'S DEAD, YOU IDIOT", and smacked his forehead like he was dealing with the biggest mental deficient God ever created. All heads turned toward us, and I let out a BWAHAHAHA. At the look on my mother's face, we tried to control our laughter, honestly we did. However, neither one of us could stop giggling, and my mom's bug eyed glares did not help matters. We were still trying stop when the usher leaned down to me and whispered, "perhaps the two of you would like to get a breath of fresh air?" in a tone that let me know it was not really a question.

I took Eddie's hand and we started to get up. He was holding his breath, trying not to laugh, when it happened. You guessed it- he ripped one- loudly. And it stunk. I had tears running down my face from laughing so hard, the minister stood open-mouthed at the front of the room, my mom and sister were beet red (Cruella wouldn't even look toward us; I think she was hoping no one would know she was his mom), and my dad stared straight ahead as if nothing were going on. We spent the rest of the time in the parking lot, trying to compose ourselves (btw, the phrase "compose yourselves" was used by the usher and we found it extremely funny). Due to our incredible charm, Eddie and I were both forgiven very quickly by everyone but my immediate family, who refuse to even talk about it 12 years later! Oh, and Eddie and I still aren't allowed to sit next to each other at funerals.

Happy Day

Another round of beautiful skies photos: first, this one was taken early in the summer.




Then, the beauty of today:



Finish with a lovely August sunset.



Finally, however, I was requested to take my attention from the skies and pay attention to the center of the universe, who was hungry.



I would like to state for the record that Seeker Rules, and any attempt to mock his *cough* car exhibits hubris on my part, and I will try to refrain from doing so in the future!

:-)

Around here, we have a saying, "Illinois has two seasons, winter and road construction". That's not entirely true- we have two weeks of rain between winter and road construction that we call spring, and we have two weeks of rain and falling leaves between road construction and winter that we call fall. Road construction is the most miserable time of the year, and you could not pay me enough to work outside in it- temperatures hover around 95-105, with 99% humidity. I went to El Paso,Texas once as a kid, and everyone was worried that we'd die in the heat. Let me tell you, it felt like a cool summer day without all the stinking humidity, and we played outside all afternoon. Well, this year, something miraculous has happened- we are having fall!!! I don't know how long it will last; it's much too early to stay cool, but I'm enjoying it as long as possible. Last night was in the 50's, and today it's in the low 70's!!! The sun is shining, and it's beautiful outside, this is the most beautiful stretch of weather I remember in ages! I have to go to town pretty soon, and I'm going to take my camera so I can share the beauty of this day with you. The only thing that could ruin the scenery today is one of these .

Postcards from Paradise

Many evenings, I sit on my patio and watch the sunset. I am obsessed with sunsets, and as I watch the sherbet-hued sky, I feel a huge sense of awe and serenity. I haven't had cable in forever, and I rarely miss it. The most amazing herd of cows lives across the way (they were in the back pasture when this was taken), and their voices are similar to meditation chants. So, for anyone who wonders WHO would want to live in the MidWest- I wonder who WOULDN'T want to live here?


Evening view from my patio.

Thanks, Inanna!

How could anyone refuse to let this sweet baby stay?

Inanna gave me the inspiration to try photoblogging, so enjoy this tribute to my baby!

The Joy of Pets (and other ramblings)

Sometimes I think that I love my dog too much (not in a creepy-Internet way). I was hoping to get away for a couple of days before school starts to just relax a little. I found the perfect retreat cottages- set in the woods, no phone, no tv, perfect. I was getting very excited at the prospect- they are near the Tibetan Cultural Center in Bloomington, IN, which I've long wanted to visit, and no one I know could disturb my peace and quiet. I was planning on just taking off, so no one would try to talk me out of it, or remind me that I hadn't been camping, or even hiking in the woods since I saw the Blair Witch Project. Happy in my image of meditating at sunrise, then walking with the dog through the woods; back to the cabin for lunch, then afternoon meditation at the Center. Maybe I'd take a book and just read until I fell asleep- oh, the joy of being pressure-free! Then, last night, I received an email from the Center that pets were not allowed! WTF? So, I pondered for about a minute and a half before I cancelled my reservation- if they won't let Baxter into their woods, who needs them? I'll never understand why places will let people bring their screaming, out of control kids, but I can't bring my sweet, well-mannered pup? *Note: I do not think that all little kids are screaming and out of control, just the ones who annoy me, so if you have kids that have some form of self-restraint while in public, please do not feel that was aimed at you*

For example, I was at the pet store over the weekend. I wanted to see if they had a turtle because I want to get a class pet, I've had boxturtles before, and they're great pets. There were two separate families there, the first, I'll call the Pleasant family. Dad and two kids- boy around 8, girl around 6. The Pleasant children were thrilled to be looking at the pets and excitedly chattered to each other and their dad. I arrived after them, so I stood back, allowing them to view the pets and waiting my turn. The little boy turned to me and said, "look at this lizzard, it's really cool", and allowed me to view. GOOD KIDS.

Family two, we'll call the Evil family. The Evils consisted of Mom, Dad, two boys (7&8?) and a girl (3 ish). The Evils came up after the Pleasants had left, and while I was looking at the turtles (which both had serious eye conditions). The Evil children actually tried to shove me to see what was in the cage. I looked at the oldest one and told him I would be done in a minute. He shoved harder and said, "Moooooove". I locked my knees and refused to budge (not an easy task, he was a strong little bastard). I look over at his mom, who laughs and actually said, "he knows what he wants!". I gave her the disgusted look and said, "meanwhile the rest of the world just wants him to go away", smiled and walked away. DEMON BEASTS

Lifelike Fairytales, The Unfinished Ending

I'm going to skip the biggest part of the story, because when you only hit the major events, it sounds so depressing, and that's not the entire truth. There have been so many people and events that wove strands of great joy into the overall tapestry. So, I'm going to cut to the finish (for Derek), but there are a couple of incidents that I feel have to be included in order for you to understand how the story could get from here to there (without greater mental illness than there is)!

Trina had spent her entire childhood seeking protection from the Christian God. That faith had given her strength, but never completely healed her wounds. Christianity was rather like a sweater that didn’t fit quite right; it wasn’t painful, and it did protect from the worst of the cold, but it didn’t feel natural. She was troubled by the anger and cruelty she saw in so many people who professed to love Him; there was so much intolerance in everyday life by pillars of the Christian community that it was painful. She began seeking answers.

When she was in sixth grade, Trina was sent to the principal’s office for expressing “un-American” views. She refused to write a paper praising Columbus’ “discovery” of America, and she spoke up when the teacher said that all Russians were evil and bad. Trina did not understand why no one else could see that a discovery only takes place if no one else knows about something, and since people already lived here, there was no discovery on Columbus’ part. She spoke up on behalf of the Russians because she could not stand to see every individual condemned for the actions of a few. She told her teacher that was like condemning all Americans because some had owned slaves. During the Cold War, these views were unacceptable in small-town America.

While she waited in the principal's office for the Queen to arrive, Trina read a newspaper. There was an article about the Tibetan struggle for independence. Trina immediately felt a connection and sympathy with the Tibetan people, and something awoke in her. She began reading about Buddhism and suddenly found a sweater that felt custom-made. The focus on compassion for all living beings touched her soul. The Buddha taught many of the same values that Christ had, but somehow, this was familiar and comforting. She recognized that this was not the path for everyone, but she chose to walk it, and she began to find inner strength and peace in the midst of turmoil.

Another incident that helped to bring closure to Trina happened when she was 23. She had returned to her hometown, and was listening to a band in a local bar when she was approached by a young man. She recognized him immediately as one of her worst tormentors through her school years. He had made her high school experience hellish on a daily basis. He asked her if they could talk for a moment. Trina’s first instinct was to run away, but she decided to listen to him. He told her that he was now a teacher and he saw things from a completely different point of view. He apologized for the way he had treated her and told her that he knew he did not deserve her forgiveness. He said that when he saw his students treating each other badly, he told them how cruel he had been and how it still haunted him and made him ashamed. As he stood to leave, Trina finally spoke. She thanked him and she hugged him, and she said, "I forgive you". She felt a huge burden lifted from her shoulders; there was relief in forgiving him.

THE MOST RECENT CHAPTER (the final chapter has yet to be written)

Trina thinks about the events of her life now. She feels like many of them happened to someone else, and in a way, they did. She is stronger and more confident now. She still has panic attacks, but they are lessening again. She loves her home, and is slowly working to restore it. She smiles more now than at any time in her life. Sometimes she feels blue, but it takes her less time to get over it. Often, you may see her playing in her front yard with dog, running and laughing. She will be starting a new job in the fall; one that she is excited about. She hopes to find someone to share her life with, but her spiritual beliefs have taught her that one cannot bend life to their own will. She knows that life will flow, regardless of her problems, and she finds comfort in that continuity. While she wishes her grandmother had been alive on the day she graduated from college, Trina swears that as she looked into the auditorium, there was a recognizable silhouette in the upper bowl, wearing a familiar green dress with white polka dots, and waving to her.

Lifelike Fairy Tales Pt. II

There was one person in Trina’s life who loved her and whom Trina loved more than anything, that was her grandmother. Her grandmother was the King’s mother, but she was nothing like him; she didn’t drink and she found goodness in everyone she met. She always patted Trina’s arm or hand and she smiled at her when she talked. Trina’s grandmother taught her to cook, to draw, and to love books. Her grandmother had been a teacher before she got married, and she missed it very much. Trina decided that she wanted to be a teacher like her grandmother. When Trina was seven, her grandmother made her a Raggedy Ann doll that became Trina’s second-best friend, after her dog. Her grandmother probably had some idea about Trina’s home life, but she never interfered. Trina always wondered why not; she used to dream that her grandmother would come and take her away to live with her, and she always had a few clothes in a suitcase in the back of her closet just in case.

There was another family member that Trina did NOT love. In fact, she feared him as much as she feared Cruella. He was an older cousin named Ped. Ped made Trina do awful things with him. She would cry and beg him to stop hurting her, but he thought it was funny when she cried, so she learned not to cry. She just pretended that she was dead and waited for him to be done. Trina hated Ped and begged God to take him away or to kill him, but God never listened. One day, the Queen walked into the room where Ped and Trina were. The Queen told Trina to come on, it was time to go home, and left the room. Trina got dressed, hoping that the Queen would keep Ped from ever seeing her again. All the way home, the Queen did not talk to Trina. When they got into the house, however, the Queen began hitting her, smacking her face and punching her in the head. She called Trina names that she didn’t understand and told her that she was bad and dirty. Trina tried to tell the Queen that she asked him to stop, but the Queen shoved soap in her mouth and told her that’s what dirty liars deserved. She said that Ped wouldn’t have done that unless Trina wanted him to. Then she ran a bath of all hot water and made Trina get into it. The Queen took the brillo pad and scrubbed Trina’s skin until it was bleeding in places. She told her that she had to scrub the filth off before other men found out. Trina didn’t cry. The Queen never told anyone and Ped kept coming around until he moved away when Trina was eight.

Trina had hoped that going to school would be as wonderful as the books all said. She liked learning new things, and was very good in her classes. However, from the first day of kindergarten, Trina knew that it was not going to be easy. On that day, a girl named Penny laughed at her clothes and bragged about how much her dress cost. Trina was shocked; she could not imagine anyone spending that much money on their kid’s clothes. Soon, most of the other children joined in the teasing of Trina and a few others. They made fun of their clothes and their houses. Trina could never understand why anyone would want to hurt someone on purpose. She was never ashamed of her ratty clothes or shabby house, because they were just things, and it didn’t make any sense to her to be ashamed of the things she had (or didn’t have). When the other kids found out that this didn’t bother her, they began making fun of Trina, herself. They told her she was fat and ugly. This bothered her, because the King always told her she was ugly, too. In all of the stories she had read, the princess was always beautiful and kind. Trina reasoned that if she were kind enough, she would become beautiful, and if she was not beautiful, she must not be a good person. If she could become pretty enough, maybe the King, Queen, and God would love her as much as her teachers did.

For many years, Trina’s life went on like this; she would put on a smiling face for the world, and kept her pain inside. A few incidents with “friends” at school had taught her not to share her feelings with them, either. The King always told the girls never to trust anyone. In an attempt to illustrate this point, he took Cruella, who was deathly afraid of water, and threw her into a lake. He watched her go under and flail wildly, while Trina cried and begged him to help her. When he finally pulled her out, her lips were blue and she was unconscious. The King slapped her back a few times until she coughed up water and began to breathe again. He told them never to tell anyone or he wouldn’t go in after them next time. Trina became an excellent swimmer after that, even getting her lifeguard certification when she was in high school. Cruella still hates water.

Lifelike Fairy Tales Pt. I

Once upon a time, a little girl was born whom we’ll call Trina. Trina had blond curly hair, brown eyes, and dimples. She was friendly and outgoing, and everyone who met her thought she was wonderful. Everyone, that is, except her family. Trina lived with her parents, the King and Queen, and her older sister, Cruella. They all lived in a shabby little house in a run-down neighborhood in a small, snobby town.

It was the town that the Queen had grown up in, and the King always hated it and complained constantly. In fact, the King hated almost everyone and everything. He hated anyone whose skin was a different color or who spoke a different language. He hated anyone who had more material things than he did, because he didn’t feel that they deserved them. He hated anyone with less than himself, because he thought they were lazy and stupid. He hated anyone with a college education because he thought they felt superior to him. But, most of all, the King hated the Queen, Cruella, and Trina. He always told them that his life was happy before they came along, and he wished they would all die and leave him alone. Sometimes when he came home drunk and would scream these things, Trina would climb into her closet and cover herself with clothes, hoping that if the King decided to kill her, he wouldn’t be able to find her. Other times, when he was very late coming home, Trina would cry and beg God to let him be all right and to come home soon. The King said especially vicious things to the Queen; some were so mean that Trina would cry because she knew how much her mother must be hurting.

You see, for as long as she could remember, Trina could feel other people’s pain. At that time, there was a war in a far-away land. Every night, the newsman would talk about how many people died, and it would make Trina cry. In her heart, Trina could feel pain when she thought about the children who were hurt or whose fathers died. There were other incidents, too, where Trina would see someone hurting, she could physically feel their pain, and she would cry. This crying greatly annoyed the King and Queen, and they would spank her with a belt and send her to her room. After a while, Trina didn’t tell anyone when she felt sad or hurt, she would just go to her room and cry quietly to her dolls. Trina learned very early in her life to always act happy no matter how she felt inside. She began to develop a pain in the pit of her stomach. At first, it was uncomfortable, but as the years went by, it was comforting to her; it became part of her.

Trina was always very afraid; she was afraid of loud noises and chaos. She was afraid of anger and pain. But, during those early years, Trina was mostly afraid of Cruella. Cruella hated Trina with every ounce of her being. When Trina was a baby, Cruella tried to kill her. She took the bottle warmer (they had hot water in them in those days) and tried to dump it on the sleeping baby. The Queen had often told Cruella that this would hurt or kill the baby, so that was what she wanted to do. However, Cruella was only three, and not very big, so she ended up spilling the boiling water on her own foot. To this day, she still bears the scar, and she still blames Trina for it. Cruella was a quiet, plain child, and she resented all of the attention that Trina received when they went places. When Trina asked the King and Queen to make Cruella stop hurting her, they told her she needed to fight her own battles, and they refused to step in. When Trina cried, they would whip her for being weak and not defending herself. One day in the summer before Trina went to school, Cruella’s hatred erupted so violently that Trina would remember it forever.

Cruella wanted to sit in the chair Trina was sitting in. Trina scooted over and said, “There’s room for both of us”, so Cruella climbed in. Then she decided she wanted the entire chair for herself and told Trina to get out. Trina refused, and Cruella grabbed her by the hair and threw her to the floor. Before Trina could cover her face, Cruella began punching her viciously and kicking her in the head, stomach, and back. The Queen was sitting two feet away, watching television. Trina screamed and cried, choking on the taste of her own blood running down her throat. Finally, the Queen made Cruella stop beating Trina. She told Trina to get up and wash her face. Trina couldn’t move her right arm without searing pain. The Queen told her to stop being a baby and get her face washed. Two weeks later, when most of the bruises had healed, the Queen finally took her to the doctor. He said that Trina’s collarbone and upper arm were broken, and put a sling on her. Trina spent the rest of the summer wearing that sling, and her right collarbone still has a dip in it where the bone didn’t heal right.

Diary of a Madwoman

Goddamn it, sometimes I hate my family. I know that my parents did the best job that they could do, given their own problems, but for Chrissakes, don't have kids if you're too fucked up to make an effort to help them. I should explain- I'm crazy. I mean, I'm not "dress up like a clown and stalk young kids" crazy, but I have panic attacks that you cannot believe. I've always had them, but was finally diagnosed two years ago. As a kid, my parents just thought I was being overly dramatic and would spank me, so I learned to hide in my room for safety until the feeling passed. Now, when I have them, it's damn near impossible for me to leave the fucking house. I'm low on my meds, so have been trying to conserve them until I start work and have insurance (it's expensive as hell to be nuts in the U.S.). Well, today, I should have taken them when I first woke up and went to the basement to do laundry. I have two windows broken out down there, and I began worrying about snakes getting in. Now let me tell you- I have a phobia of snakes that is embarassing and extreme; I faint. So, as I'm nervously trying to pretreat stains and load the washer, I start shaking and have to run upstairs and sit on my bed for twenty minutes. This would be enough for most people to simply take their medicine, but I only had four pills left, so I thought I could ride it out. This was a huge mistake; I needed to go into town and pay bills, but I COULD NOT leave the house. I can't explain the feeling- I know in my mind that everything is fine. However, I can't convince myself of that, and my heart begins to race, I can hear the blood pounding in my ears, and I just shake. I finally took a pill around four and was able to walk to the mailbox a little while later, although I was racing to get back to the house. Now I'm sitting here, listening to Van Morrison and kicking myself for not getting anything done today. It has been at least a year since I've had a day this bad, and now I'm worried about it interfereing with my work. I usually just take a pill with some coffee right before school starts, and I'm calm, alert and focused all day, but I can't afford to go to the doctor and get more medicine before I start working, which means that I'll start the year without any pills.

Goddamn them- I know it's not totally my parents' fault, it's a chemical problem in my brain. However, I find it strange that they had two children, and one is bipolar while the other is trapped in her own house for days at a time. The shrink I used to see kept assuring me that my problems are not unusual for someone who grew up in a household like ours (scary to think that there are other houses like that). I don't know why I'm sharing this with you when I haven't even told most of my friends, but there's something freeing about talking about it, and this is a safe venue. If you think less of me, wtf- I don't have to see you at parent/teacher conferences. Sometimes I feel like I am more of my "real" self here than in my real life where I have to try to be perfect all the time. I know most people wouldn't think anything if I failed at something, but I can't imagine it (except for relationships, but that's a whole other issue!) . My shrink always told me to have as much compassion for myself as I have for others, but somehow that seems so- weak. I do realize that the world won't end if I fail at something, but the idea of it sends me into a new panic. Anyway, thanks for listening; I'm going to bed.

The Visit

The women in my mom's family never die. I mean, obviously they die at some point, but they all seem to hang on forever. This scares me, because none of them have any quality of life by the time they pass on. This is especially true for my grandma, who will be 93 this year. Her body and mind have deteriorated to the point that there is nothing recognizable of her former self. I was always much closer to my dad's mom, and still cry occasionally when I think of all that she's missing. She wasn't ready to go- her mind was still razor sharp, but the cancer had eaten away all of her strength. It was painful to watch, but was over relatively quickly. My gandma L, on the other hand, has been careening downhill like an out of control wagon for ten years; since my grandpa died. She stayed in their home alone for as long as safety would allow. My mom and two aunts all visited daily to check on her and make sure she was eating.

Unfortunately, about six years ago, after a drawn out battle with siblings who live out east and never visit, my mom and aunts decided she had to have constant supervision, and they moved her into their local nursing home (which is very good). I have watched my mom age fifteen years since then- somehow all of the choices and bills fall onto her shoulders, and not one of her five siblings has ever thanked her. I think that the worst part for her has been witnessing age destroying a body that even cancer couldn't claim. In 1982, my grandma had a mastectomy, and was told to get her affairs in order, as she only had about six months to live. She attended her oncologist's funeral twelve years ago. This is a tough old bird, or at least she was. She had seven children, and raised six of them to adulthood. She has buried a husband, a four year old daughter, five brothers, and a sister. Through it all, she was solid. In spite of the fact that some of her children were only a few years older than some of her grandchildren, she always had time for all of them. She knew everyone's likes and dislikes. I never went to her house when she hadn't hidden a couple of Snickerdoodles in the bottom of the cookie jar for me. I was the youngest of the "older" grandkids, and was always the victim of some evil scheme created by my sister and cousins. While Grandpa would yell at them (I was his favorite), Grandma would give them that disappointed look and tell them, "all you really have in this world is family; I'm sorry that you don't respect that", which would stop the tormenting for a while.

Obviously, with that many kids, they never had anything extra, but I never heard her complain about doing without things. My grandpa was a lineworker for Caterpillar (if you want to understand the need for unions, take a look at Caterpillar), and my grandma worked in a greenhouse and took in laundry. The last movie they attended was in 1935, they only had five cars in their entire married life, and when clothes were threadbare, they were woven into rugs. But in spite of all of that, she was happy; she always said she was grateful for all that she had been given.

I try to visit her when I can, even though she doesn't know me any more. When the seasons change, I take pictures and put them up in her room so she can see what it's like outside. She especially likes the ones with flowers in them, and can tell me the name of every type of flower, what kind of light it needs and how much water it should have. But she doesn't know who I am or why I'm bringing her pictures. She begs me to kill her, and asks what she's done to make God so angry with her that he won't take her. I have no answer for her. I hold her hand and try not to cry; usually I fail. Sometimes she asks me why I'm sad, but mostly she doesn't even notice. Sometimes she talks to my grandpa, and the way she looks, I genuinely believe he's there. She'll ask him why he won't take her with him. I never hear his answer, but it usually seems to comfort her. I pray that soon he will take her with him, and she'll finally be able to rest.

The Sounds of Summer

The neighbors behind me lost another mailbox last night. I don't know who they've pissed off, but since I don't like them very much, I find it funny. I guess for those of you who live in the city, I should explain: mailbox smashing is a time-honored drunken teenager tradition around here. You get a carload of your friends, a couple cases of beer, and a baseball bat. You consume the beer, then hang out the window with the bat, and whack the crap out of mailboxes (they're those large, rounded ones along the road). This is especially funny if you know the person whose box you are destroying. *It should be noted that destruction of a mailbox is a federal crime; therefore, I NEVER participated in it when I was a teen ;-)*. I heard the crash and the squealing tires around 4:00 this morning. I could have looked to see if I recognized the car, but I chose to go back to sleep instead. If I liked them more, I'd tell them how my dad solved the problem, but since I don't, I'll share it with you.

Dad is a vengeful asshole. He will never forget an insult, and losing three mailboxes in one summer was too much for him. So, he took cement in small amounts and gradually coated the entire inside of a mailbox. This has to be done in stages to keep it from buckling the aluminum of the mailbox- it took about a week and a half. Once he had finished that, he then used a tube form to pour a cement post, and painted it brown to look like wood. Finally, he took the insanely heavy post and box, and joined them with, you guessed it, cement! He was forced to use the backhoe to lift the entire thing and move it to the end of their lane, and set it in the ground. Then he waited. He can be surprisingly patient when it comes to exacting his revenge. However, one night, it paid off in spades for him. He and Mom were awakened to a horrible scream and the sound of a car screeching to a halt. Looking out the window, they saw a car stopped just past their lane, with someone laying on the ground, screaming. They called an ambulance and the police. It seems that our drunken teenage friends were out for a night of mailbox smashing and chose Dad's. The kid must've been pretty strong, because one smack with the bat cracked the bat, and broke both of his arms! He fell out of the car window and laid in a puddle of his own tears until the ambulance arrived. Due to his extreme drunkenness, they were unable to give him anything for the pain. His parents threatened to sue my Dad until the cop reminded them that their son was an idiot. Dad's neighbors are all pleased, as it has cut down on mailbox smashing in the entire area. Oh, and the kid? It's been almost ten years, and people still refer to him as "the dumbass" who tried to smash D's mailbox. Aren't small towns great?