Thursday, July 26, 2012

Hit in the Head with a Two-By-Four

They changed my email today.

And that is how it hit home.  An email from some dude, meant for his colleagues, about how he wants me to pray for his daughter.  Seemed a bit random and too personal, so I looked in the address box to see how it was sent to me.  And it wasn't addressed to me, but was grouped "all______workers".  So I have been moved on the email system.  I had to go to the address book to check.

And yeah, I knew . . . and the union wasn't helping . . . and this is all happening for a REASON, some plan that they won't share.  But it wasn't really, real until that email.  Because someone had to go somewhere and talk to someone to get that changed.  Tech department people. 

And so I did today what I was resisting.  I emptied out my desk.  And cried.  And then I stopped.  Pulled it together and started cleaning out the cabinet with all of my containers.  Just dumped the stuff out of them and piled up the containers.  Which I was avoiding, because when this got "fixed" I didn't want to have to put everything BACK into a container. 

Removed all that I had purchased for my classroom over the years.  And the cabinet is surprisingly empty.  Tomorrow I will move magazines . . . glasswear that I saved from the dumpster . . . Mirrors that I purchased from the dollar store . . . cardboard that I carefully collected in case I ever wanted to do printmaking . . . My desk fit into two small bins.  I left a broken camera and some dry eraser markers that I didn't want to pack because they weren't in a box . . . which much more than anyone left me.  I plan to be out by the end of next week.

So this new chapter is happening.  There will be no coming to their senses.  No realizing how much I have done for them over the years.  No changing their minds.

And I had accepted leaving.  I was EXCITED about finding another job and leaving.  But I really thought they would come to their senses, so I could be comfortable until I left.  And that is my selfishness.  My flaw.

I am a great art teacher.  I am a great teacher.  And everything is going to be alright. 

I will miss my students.  I know I made a difference.  And the people that walked down to the tech department will realize that . . . eventually.  And I just have to do the best job with what I have . . .

Sunday, July 22, 2012

More Guacamole!!

Guacamole again!

Spider Monkey's parents came for dinner.  SM made fajitas.  And I made tomato salad, guacamole and dessert. 

That stuff that I am not talking about made me SUPER crabby, due a phone call in the middle of the day.  Which had to lead to other phone calls.  Which made me late to grocery shopping.  More than two hours.  And I hate being late.  I although I feel that I HAVE to do stuff, I still feel guilty for dropping everything every time this stuff (that I am not talking about) comes up.

Once I arrived at Casa Spider Monkey, I couldn't find him.  I can only knock so long.  And the neighbors were out.  And there was too much smiling.  So I went into the backyard. 

Because I was in a "I want to punch someone in the face . . . or shave my head . . . or pierce something on my face . . . " kind of mood, I decided to cope by pulling up the dead stalks on SM's lilies, which seemed productive and more positive than impulsively getting a full back tattoo or drinking much bourbon (or both). 

NOT SO!  Spider Monkey appeared and he WANTED those stalks there.  They look much better than wilted lily leaves.  I am presumptive.  Very presumptive.  And I suppressed the new, very specific, urge to punch him in the face.  AND he made me stop pulling them up, which was the only thing soothing me.

We went to Target.  ONE pad of sticky notes, a bottle of Fantastik and a tablecloth later, we went to Westborn.  (This was NOT my trip to Target, because it was a tab under $50) 

After all the vegetables, fruit, wine and dessert were purchased, we went to Holiday Market.  Holiday Market was a bit tricky because I had purchased cheese but I thought we just had to run in to get meat.  I forgot about the bottles.  So Spider Monkey returned bottles while I picked up the items we did not get at Westborn . . . notice I that did not say "didn't have" at Westborn.  There was a slight disagreement about the purchase of raspberries due to my failure to take inventory of a refrigerator that I do not own.

As I was driving back to Spider Monkey's, I made the mistake of driving down Main Street, which I found out that I should never, ever do . . . so as I was looking for a place to turn off the evil that is Main Street, my brain began thinking "Do I really want to spend the rest of my days with a person that has to go to separate stores every time he wants vegetables AND meat?"  But again, I was cranky today.  And the Main Street thing was throwing me over the edge.  And I didn't turn . . . I drove all the way to his house using Main Street.  Think that meat is perfectly fine at Westborn.  I've bought meat there.  AND I have bought vegetables at Holiday Market. 

But I did not punch anyone in the face.

And most of the time, these little idiosyncrasies are charming . . . or at least usually I find them charming.  And Spider Monkey's parents were charming.  And the cooking took my mind off of things.  And the food was good. 

And I still have Serrano chili oil on my hands which is limiting the things I touch . . . especially the eyes.  Need to make sure I get gloves next time. 

Now I'm watching Longmire . . . interesting show. 

School tomorrow.  And then more applying.  What is it?  100 applications before an interview?  And then at least ten interviews before a job . . .

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Get Over It . . . and Make Some Guacamole

So I'm not going to talk about work . . . another than I really, really wonder if I shouldn't go in another direction . . . but I have to think about retirement and stuff.  And isn't that a downer?  When you are so old that you have to wonder if a career change is the right thing to do because of your retirement?  Because fourteen years is not as good as fifteen years somehow?

Anyhoo . . . yeah, I've been gone awhile but this is a good outlet and I would really like a book deal (in a year, thus not messing up that retirement thing) and I'm currently agoraphobic, so I might as well write things down.  Otherwise, I might be bored enough to leave the house and end up curled in a ball at Target due to a panic attack.  And although many of my co-workers openly talk about the amount of psychotropic drugs they are on to get through the day, I would like to continue the drug-free nature of my existence.  Darn those "back to school" sales starting in early July.

It is too hot to go outside and so I'm living on what food I can gather from my kitchen . . . and guacamole.  Much like my mother, I have a whole lot of food that cannot be combined to actually make anything.  And guacamole.  I have developed a love of making guacamole from scratch.  Mashing up avocado.  Chopping up vegetables.  Adding a serrano chile when I can find one.  This current batch has too much lime and not enough onion.  I have a very loose recipe, which I derived from some show that I caught ten minutes of on a Saturday morning.  Some very perky woman, who insists that Mexican food is easy to make.  I don't believe her, but the guacamole seemed doable with four ingredients.  Plus it is something to do with cilantro, which I grow on the porch and usually let flower because I don't use enough cilantro. 

And I tell myself that if I really, really wanted I could start a guacamole business because my guacamole is better than that hipster restaurant with the good chicken tacos (The Imperial, but I have to leave something to write about) and the Spider Monkey even says so . . . although he has not had this overly limey batch.  And that makes me breathe a bit more easily.  Even if I have to get fifteen years in for that retirement thing.

So tomorrow I have to shower and do something other than watch CNN and be depressed.  Because no one wants to hire a depressed person, even if they are up on current events.  I need to be the person I want to be, rather than the person I feel like right now.