Sort of Blog

'Ol inner workings...

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Fri, 20 Jul 2012 20:32:00 +0000

It's been so long that I had to reinstate my account and figure out how to post via this bloggy-thingy. I've been motivated to post, maybe more often this start up- again. *tap, tap. Is this thing on?

Depression brings me here. Its truth, realness, darkness. I'm not depressed now, you see... but the last few days have been rough on the 'ol inner workings. Depression is something I've learned about through my years-- mostly that I have it from time to time and that there isn't a magic pill that keeps it away. Though I do take medication and I've been to therapy, depression is in my DNA. It's a part of me, who I am, how I operate, why sometimes I can't get up to do anything... Yesterday I mad a sandwich. It was a breakthrough.

It's refreshing that this thing called depression isn't something I have hide so much these days. It use to send me in fits of, "I don't feel good." "My head." "My back." It wasn't a lie. But I've learned through the past few years that the actually body pains was the ramifications of said depression. It's a dark place. It's a scary place. It's a place that many don't understand, but unfortunately, it's a place that many people visit. Much less frequently for myself-- thanks to medication, therapy, wife, friends, and GOD.

I wanted to kill myself a few years ago. Actually, I had wanted to kill myself for many, many years-- I only came to a breaking point, where that thought was very real a few years ago. I was blogging a lot in those days. Looking back, I guess a lot of truth was written to hide the fact that I was going to kill myself. I had a plan. It was in the works. Everyone was going to be better off.

I'm lucky. While the last few days have been rough, I've been fighting off those thoughts-- something I use to revel and roll around in like a fat pig in the mud. Oink, oink.

It's a dark and lonely place, plotting your death. Some call it selfish, but in the inner workings, well... it's a feeling of giving up so those you love can live better, happier lives. It's not that love isn't enough. It's that you don't deserve that love and everyone would just be better off-- in the long run-- after the initial sting-- if you were just gone.

We need to rip at the truth and expose it. None of that crap is true. People do love you, me. You, me, we are deserving of that love. I have love to give. I am not spoiled goods. People need and appreciate you, me. Suicide cause deep, everlasting scares-- scares that don't fade. Find help. Say it out. Shout it.

As the death settles fromt his round of dark times, I'm so very thankful to be alive. The air seems brighter today. I see more clearly. I'm standing up straight and walking with purpose. Tomorrow will be better too. And the next day. It does get better. Promise!

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Sat, 26 Mar 2011 15:43:00 +0000

My car's engine light has been on for more than a month. The wife took that car today because hers is in the driveway because it stalls out at stop lights. I've worn the same brown and black pair of shoes since I became a teacher five-years-ago. I owe a friend a few hundred bucks. We owe Twig's babysitter a few hundred more. We turned (they shut) off our cable about a month ago. The Wife hasn't had health coverage since Twig was born. Last night I had popcorn for dinner.

I am a teacher. I get up everyday and try to put my best foot forward to lay the foundation for student learning. And since this year I was charged with teaching kindergarten, a foundation is exactly what we're trying to create-- something everlasting to build upon.

I typically arrive to school two hours before the students, though officially I'm not permitted to arrive until an hour before they enter for breakfast. When students arrive, I make sure they eat all their breakfast. I tie their shoes. If their hair is out of place, I try to help lay it flat, pin it back, or braid it in. Dirty faces are cleaned and all buttons are, well, buttoned. Sometimes if a student is cold and doesn't have a coat, I'll let him or her wear mine. This makes them feel very special. I hug tears away and chear for the slightest of gains. I try not to yell when Johnny pushes Sally, but rather talk them through it. I listen to the pencil sharpener all day, non-stop. I run for toilet paper when we're out in our little bathroom. I teach the /th/ sound and a little song and dance to help them remember. There is also a subtraction song I wrote years ago at 2AM when it came to me in a dream. The kids love it-- and pictures I show them of my daughter-- they want to know about my life and it helps me miss her a little less. There isn't much time for art, music, and physical education so I plug it into all the subjects: reading, math, remediation, science, social studies. Hell, I turn going to the restroom, getting a drink, and waiting in line for lunch a lesson one of the content areas.

When did remediation become a content area?

I take a lot of work home with me. Not as much physical work as I once did; I've found a system that works (and a part-time job that allows me to complete a lot of my teacher work), but rather mental work. I'm constantly thinking of ways to improve, to reach students, to help control behavior, to ensure they're reading. They must read! They must read! They must read!

When I was in teacher school I was not delusional about my future profession. I knew it was going to be a challenge and that I wasn't going to become a rich man doing it. Teaching was something I had to do-- it was in me, a part of me, running through my veins.

I love what I do and care deeply for the students for whom I've been charged to educate. I believe in the mission, public education, and that teachers should work hard. More so, I don't believe what I've listed above makes me any sort of special teacher, it just makes me a teacher-- I'm not so unique in my dedication, most in the profession are! I believe teachers should work hard and those that don't should really find something else to do... like, NOW!

But I've started to become cynical. I feel my bad teacher days (we all have them) are becoming less and less infrequent. I'd rather not speak to parents or get too personal with them. I shake my head and throw my hands into the air a lot more. I leave angry. I get angry. The students have started to see it.

My students arrive in new fancy cars-- two in different BMW models. They sport BabyPhat, Applebottoms, Polo, and the newest Timberlakes and Jordans. Parents write me letters that I owe them money because I let their child break his or her crayons. If a students coat or baseball cap is lost at school, I should pay to have it replaced. Many of my students arrive at 6am and leave at 6pm for the free childcare program, even though their parents do not work. Most of the students I serve (and their parents) receive free health care coverage. They talk about what they watched last night on television. I have to teach them how to respect the free breakfast and lunch they receive daily, rather than play with it and throw it on the floor.

You hear a lot about teachers in the news these days. We've been blamed by both conservatives and liberals for the failing education system. We have summers off. We don't work hard enough. We make too much money. Our unions ask for too much. We are not accountable. We simply do not care. We don't communicate. We don't reach. We don't engage. We don't need computers or technology or nice schools. We need more professional development.

Bite me!

My cynical outlook isn't about my own personal budget issues, though they don't help. Throwing more money at me would ease the additional stress I carry in the classroom. Yes, my car would run, my wife would be covered and I could provide all the resources that my students deserve and need. But still, it wouldn't fix the system. There is a misconnect somewhere.

I have no answers or solutions. I could reflect and proably shoot back at parents for their lack of involvement, the government for their lack of funding, administrators for their lack of leadership, and the community for their lack of support. But that all seems usless and rather futile.

Dialog. Honesty. Self-reflection. Compassion. Understanding. Perhaps these are the things that should be brought to the table by all stakeholders.

PS. Thanks to*Winks who didn't put a password on their router, becuase we don't have Internet these days either. You made this post possible. Wink, wink!

Why do you think...

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Sun, 20 Mar 2011 23:58:00 +0000

Despite all the kidney stone drama the past few days (ok weeks), The Wife and I were about to sneak away for a night to Colonial Williamsburg. Twig stayed with the in-laws while The Wife and I partied our hearts out (In bed by 10:00-- and that's with a 2 hour afternoon nap). It was our first night away together since Twig arrived. We didn’t feel the least bit guilty about it, either.

Cruising around town in our little Ford Focus, we stumbled upon something that bothered us both—a vanity plate. I read somewhere that Virginia has the highest number of vanity plates in the nation. I’m not sure that’s true, but we do seem to have a lot of them. Such plates typically don’t bother me, but this one read MKZYMOM.

Mackenzie’s Mom.

Really? Is that how you identify yourself? It made me itch uncomfortably. Not so much for the mother, but because I felt for Mackenzie herself.

First, to have a mother that is so wrapped up in motherhood that she identifies herself simply as "mom." Second, because she’s not just any mom… she’s MACKENZIE’S MOM!!!

Perhaps I'm being judgemental. I mean, I didn't even see Mackenzie's mom. I don't know the lady at all. It just seemed to screamed pageants and toddlers in tiaras—mothers screaming not for their daughters but because they secretly wished that could live through their daughters.

"Look at me. I’m beautiful, talented, and special. I’m Mackenzie. And that is my mom! Oh wait. NO!?! I'm Mackenzie's mom!"

It did give me a chance to reflect on the pressures society puts on mom and how under appreciated the job of mother has become. I see that pressure build as stress in The Wife’s eyes. And you see, she's pretty lucky...

I’m a hands-on type of dad. I change to poopie ones and bath the bare bottom. I’ll heat up the bottles and get up in the middle of the night when teeth or bad dreams intrude the soundlessness. I take our girl for walks, or to the Home Depot to give mom a few hours rest. I pick-up and help fold the laundrey (though I could do a bit more of that)

And people are impressed with this… I’m "a good dad."

Moms do not get the same accolades for doing far more. And though most moms and dads don’t become parents for the praise, moms most definitely get overlooked at trophy time. A hands-on dad trumps an outstanding mother any day of the week

Moms are the ones looked at with the evil eye when the kid throws a fit in the middle of the grocery store. Dads, not so much. If the little girl’s hair is a mess, mom should “do something about that.” Dad, well, “at least he tried. Isn't it adorable?”

It was cute and funny when I spaced the diaper bag the first time I took Twig to the doctor. If mom would have dropped the ball, CPS would have been notified.

Moms. They've got it rough-- unless you're Mackenzie's mom. Things must be perfect for her.

Why do you think?

Scars...

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Thu, 17 Mar 2011 22:30:00 +0000

I’m not sure how I got headed back to this here blog, but here I am, nonetheless. Gesh, it’s funny reading about some of the insights (or lack thereof) I’ve had in years past. Browsing the posts, I’ve stopped and question if I in fact wrote what I was reading—often because of stupidity, but also too because it was well written—even funny.

Awkward at times, this blog-revisit has provided a pretty cool way to capture some of the growth I’ve experienced that past few years. Dare I say growth?
And since today marks a pretty significant milestone in my life, I thought I might provide myself a little update in the off change I again become nostalgic in a few years. Hell, who knows. Maybe I’ll pick-up blogging again.

So, the milestone: Today is my tenth anniversary with The Wife. Pretty cool, huh. Why I’m a wasting time blogging about it? Well, it’s because I’m at work—my part-time gig proctoring babied athletic scholars at my former University. Did you brainy-folk know that athletes not only get a one-up on scholarships, but they’re also required to attend study halls where there are free tutors, computers, and resources to ensure they keep a 2.0 GPA. Yup, and they all bitch about it, too. I’m here, paid ten bucks an hour to ensure they stay focused and don’t try to cheat their time. Shuyeah, pretty sweet deal… especially for me because it typically provides me with the chance to get teacher work done on the University’s dime, when I’d normally do that work for free.

So, back to the milestone: Ten Years! It’s pretty amazing. Gosh, we were babies when we got married. And though much hasn’t changed, so much has!

1) My wife is an amazing woman, but I no longer put her on a pedestal. She isn’t perfect. She has faults. And though I’m certain she could have done better in way of a mate, I’m not so bad. In fact, I’m a pretty good husband. I dye her hair. I try to remember to put the seat down. I’m learning to fix things around the house.

2) Yes, a house. The Wife and I bought a house about two years ago. It’s nothing fancy. It’s a 1,300 square foot, 3 bedroom, 1 bath ranch. But it is ours and it is our home. Ownership is a wonderful, but strange thing. It’s nice being able to paint at will. It’s not nice having to pay for a broken heater or leaky roof. With our house came my 1 car man-cave. I’ve got hammers, and power drills, air guns and miters saws these days. In nearly two years, I’ve learned to lay tile, drywall, do basic electric and plumbing, and build things—like shelves for the library/guestroom and for my daughter.

3) Yup, I said daughter. Twig turned 1-year old at the end of January. Though I can’t believe it’s been a year already, it’s difficult to imagine our life without her. More so, she’s so big now that I can’t even remember what it was like to hold her when she was just an infant. I miss those days, but each day is filled with newness and happiness. She’s walking, learning to talk, problem-solving, causing problems. Last night she woke up screaming. Her back teeth are breaking though and she wasn’t taking it well. The cries were scary. They hurt me. I almost cried myself. For me, fatherhood has evoked clarity and perspective. I’m still me, but only a better version.

4) I’m fat again. It bothers me, yes. But not like before. My self-image use to be so tied into, well image. And though I’m sure that I will never be fully secure in the image of me, I’m alright with me. I’m a pretty good person. And if anyone is judging this book by its cover—even if that anyone is me—it’s not really worth my effort.

5) With that said, I miss the former fitter me. I miss the burn; the sweat; the skinny jeans. I don’t miss the constant analysis of calories; the obsession of what is going in must come out. My working out was not a one of health. Thought it brought outer confidence, I was still a mess inside—burring it all with miles, reps, lifts and laps. And when I had shed 60-pounds and could almost be happy, I was my most unhappy. I shed it, and at the core I was just a fucked up little boy trying to pretend that I was a man.

6) Perhaps it is only the happy pills I take daily or the therapy I attend (at one time weekly), but I’ve started to uncover a happiness that I never thought I deserved. I’ve spent a lot of time looking back, seeking an answer as to why I’m such a depressed and self-loathing person. I’ve looked and looked for the reason why I feel so fucked-up in my head. I wanted so badly a title or diagnosis or affirmation that there is something in fact wrong with me so I didn’t feel like there was in fact something wrong with me.

I guess I’ve learned in these last few years that there isn’t an answer for any of it. Seeking clarity from the past only fogs the present. I don’t need affirmation that I have the right to be screwed up a bit from my past. And that celerity actually makes me feel less screwed up. The bouts of depression are probably going to be a part of my make-up, as I’ve learned they’re part of my genetics. Taking a look inward, being honest, and hell writing about it here has helped recognize the onset of the lows and gives me a bit more stability when riding out the wave.
And since I’m pretty sure I’m the only person going to read this, keep that mindset if you hit any bumps in the road in the future. Bruises from bumps in the road are a part of life, no use self-inflicting scares because of those bruises.

Test of time...

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Tue, 19 Jan 2010 07:52:00 +0000

I woke up about an hour ago hacking up a lung. I've had this "cold" for little over a week, and ever time I feel I've passed through the threshold, I'm knocked back on my ass.

I realize this is, perhaps, the theme of my life I realize.

In an attempt to be productive, I signed on to my trusty computer and did my typical Facebook peak before activating the brain to do anything, well... productive.

Behold, my college roommate was online. And we did our conventional catch-up. "How's the baby thing coming. How's the LA life?" And it it all enevitably lead to quotes referening inside jokes, the gaggles of gals-past, and frat-boy bullshit. But something real was brewing and our "talk" got pretty real, pretty fast. He inspired me to jot some thoughts down here.

A year ago this month, I sat in my doctor's office for a physical I had scheduled for the kid's sake. It's something I read that expecting fathers could and should do. And though we lost that kid, I didn't think a physical and check-up was such a horrible thing, so I kep the appointment.

I remember the inner debate I had before checking the yes box to the question, "Do you ever get depressed." And the explination I'd give when he enevitably asked about the next yes I was to check, "Do you ever have thoughts of suicide."

"Sure. Everyone does. I'm fine." I mean damn, the doctor would see me as a liar if not... "It's a natural thought to have."

A year later, I'm a changed man.

If you've followed me here, I've shared much about my past. It was probably clear to see that this past defined me. It was something I held onto. It was something that haunted me. It was something that I needed to sort though, to find the answers to, to pin-point a why.

I shared a bit of this with my ol'roommate-- the guy I hated our freshman year simply because he put his shoes in front of my closet.

He responded with a verse from The Bible.

¹¹ For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. --Jeremiah 29:11

I had read it before, I had realized after Googling. But it wasn't a verse that had stood the test of time with me. Probably because at the time of reading it, I didn't quite buy into it.

A plan? Prosper? Not to harm me?

HA!

Double HA!

HA! HA!

But now it resonates.

IMG00061.jpg

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 16:26:00 +0000

I've been MIA. One day I'll give a real update- not a self indulging portrait of my new flatter tummy- all in the name of testing out my new Blackberry, of course.

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 00:54:00 +0000

I sat in the terminal watching my plane get a deicing shower, the younger, fatter boy sitting next to me. I check out all the guys now that I'm feeling fitter and trimmer. Our arms share the rest, as the the holidays have filled the port with folks running back from here and there, presents in hand, bluetooth attached to the ear. We're so connected in our disconnect. I pray there is no layover. The boy chats on his phone and I don't really hear him until he starts to whisper. I feel my ears perk and my head move slightly towards his direction. The book in my lap become an incoherent mess of nouns and verbs. Blah! Blah! Blah! What's he saying?

"I'm sad, mom. I'll miss you, mom. I don't want to go back, mom."

These are foreign sentiments to me. My saddness reflects in that of my mom's. Missing isn't much in the cards for the pain she's caused. And I was more than ready to be back. So I clicked my heals, looked at my wife and whispered in her ear.

"There's no place like home."

The visit back to where I played t-ball and spent my summer swimming miles in the community pool was not horrible. I enjoyed it, in fact, thinking that it could be home again. The city, it's offerings... it could be mine. The pro-hockey, the season tickets to the college games, the drinking with dad. I could fit here, find my way, make a life.

But my cats are chasing tail in our little apartment and there are friends there, near the ocean, that are like family. I feel some drifting away and I recognized no one is to blame. Placing blame is not important. What is is that I miss them, even though I'm home, here, today. And since this writing took this turn, I allow myself to hope. Hope we'll find a way back to that place, that place when I was younger and fatter.

Tears...

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Sun, 23 Nov 2008 21:45:00 +0000

And today there were tears.

It felt good to finally let it go, let it out, let them fall. My baby being gone knocked me into a bit of depression that I really didn't think related directly to the loss. But these tears were for the little one.

They were not all tears of sadness.

The Lord needed my child in heaven, for whatever reason, now. I'm happy this one was a chosen one, one that can watch over and do good work now.

Still, the what could have been on Earth saddens me.

I know this baby will watch over its younger brother or sister, when he or she makes it here. I know that one day we'll all be united and perhaps laugh and play together.

I loved my unborn child before I even knew it was growing inside my wife. And I still love that child, though our eyes never met.

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 13:24:00 +0000

Though I've tried to keep a bit of anonimety in this here blog, I've found that some folks I know personally read it and know that it is in fact Me. Though I try to be as honest and open, that fact clogs up the honesty in these here fingures at times. You know, because I know folks who know me that read this, I can post dirty pictures of myself from the waist down and have readers guess my age by the number of rings around my penis (Why didn't God think of that?). Nor can I announce that I have a total man crush on Michael Phelps (Alright, I totally do, but who wouldn't?).

I'm having one of those honesty clogging mements right now.

Things will be alright.

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 18:33:00 +0000

Yesterday a letter from my brother appeared in my mailbox. I was expecting it. I had recently written him in reference to The Wife being knocked up. I knew he hadn't received word that our little one was without a heartbeat and thus hadn't made it.

I normally look forward to receiving mail from my kid brother. Despite everything, I love the guy and look forward to our longhand communication; however, I wasn't looking forward to this letter. I sat it on the table and prepared myself for the excitement that would be read through his chicken scratch and horrible spelling and grammar ability-- worse than mine, even.

Eventually, I worked up the courage to open it. And it read as I had expected. He was thrilled. He was excited for me. He assured me I'd be a great father. He wished he could be around to share it with me and The Wife.

What I hadn't prepared myself for was the anger that would follow.

My little brother is a father himself. He and his girlfriend became pregnant with my nephew when she was 15 and he was 19. They had made plans to abort this child, but never got around to it. So, when my little nephew entered the world on September 11, 2001 they were not at all prepared. All of this could be forgiven, I suppose, but my brother failed to ever step up to the parental plate.

In the letter he wrote about how having a child brings such joy, how it completes you, and how it causes a life revaluation.

Yet, my brother is currently serving a 48-yearr prison sentence for murder. Clearly, I can't say he's much of a father. I can't say that he ever took his fatherly responsibilities too seriously, especially the night he became high, and put a bullet in another man's head over some drug deal gone bad. Of course that all brought to the surface that he use to keep drugs and guns under my nephew's bed, among other disgusting displays of parental irresponsibility.

Of course, he voiced all that in his letter... listing his screw ups, regrets, and remorse.

Still, it did not make it easy to read. Him and his advice. Him and his joy. Him and his talk about the child he can't raise. Sometimes life is just unfair. It's unfair that I won't be a father this go around. It's unfair that my nephew was dealt a crappy father.

I wonder who I'll be unfair to when I write him back assuring him that he does what he can to be a good father, and that I'm alright with God's plan... that things will be alright.

Untelling process...

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 18:06:00 +0000

Some folks say you should wait to share your news until after the first trimester. You know, just in case something goes wrong. After all, I've read that nearly 25% of pregnancies end in natural demise. The Wife and I couldn't hold back with our baby news and once we started to tell, we couldn't stop.

I've learned, the untelling process is an interesting one.

Some folks seem to know exactly what I need to hear. Those folks are few. Others seem to take the news harder than The Wife and I had taken it. I end up assuring those people that everything will be fine, that it happened for a reason and that me and The Wife are fine. Other find comfort in the corners of the room, diverting direct eye contact. For some I've found, it opens wounds of their own personal loss. Many hugs follow the news... sometimes tears. Is it odd that I have yet to cry? Or do I rest assure, like some friends have stated, it will come in time.

It's rainy this afternoon, the tear drops tap outside of my classroom rather than stream down my cheek. I feel a mute of depression, but it's not something unlike the cycle of depression that often seeps in from time to time. But unlike those times, I don't want to jump off a cliff or put a bullet though my brain. Something in me is still smiling, a joy much like that which invaded when The Wife told me we were going to be parents.

Those helplessly happy thoughts of what is to come are still swimming.

I don't regret the joy I spread to others, too early for some. It was a joy that should be shared, a joy that I was happy to share... that I'm still happy I shared. The pain that followed this time is just the journey to a greater good, a goodness I'm sure I can't completely comprehend.

How could I?

You see, I don't feel defeated. I almost feel inspired. And though so much of the future is unknown right now. Will we ever have children? It's a journey I'm excited to take, with my wife, the woman I love more and more each day.

I see the beauty...

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 15:39:00 +0000

When I found out that The Wife was pregnant it was a surreal experience. Cognitively, I knew that it really wasn't all that amazing in the grand scheme of things. I mean, people get pregnant all the time. The Virgin Mary... that was impressive. Still, I couldn't help but be proud, excited and thrilled. I felt like little ol' me (for the record: not a penis reference) had accomplished something pretty miraculous.

I was a man! I'd spread my seed.

Reading, it's also not that uncommon for things not to work out. Medically, doctors call it a "natural demise." Us commoners call it a miscarriage. When I told my mom this morning that yesterday our little 9 week baby had no heart beat, she asked if The Wife's body had aborted it. She meant no harm, but the term made my stomach turn.

We knew there was some issues the first time we went to see the doctor. Then, the heart rate was well below the norm. After rushing home to Google through medical journals, I knew the chances of things working out weren't in our favor. Still, I didn't think it would happen to us. My Wife is in perfect health. More, she has a sole that is filled with peace and love. Horrible things shouldn't happen to such a wonderful person. Hell, even in my unwonderfulness, I beat the odds years ago when the cancer cards were stacked against me.

People have babies all the time, yet the joy is so unique and surreal. It seems, though miscarriages are not uncommon, the pain is just as unique and surreal.

Some might call it fear, but this is when I most wrap myself around my faith. I believe that God has a plan for us. I've learned, humbly, that His does not always match my own. I'd still have a baby on the way if it did. But I've also learned, that in time, His plan has always worked for the best even when I don't fully understand it.

Is there sadness? Yes. Is there disappointment? Sure. Still, there is no anger. I don't feel rejected. There are no lingering questions of, "Why us." More so, I don't feel forsaken.

Right now I feel closer to God than I have in years. I feel closer to my wife than ever before. There is a force that makes me love her more.

Even though muted a bit by sadness, I see the beauty that is all around me. And if God willing, I can't wait to share it with my future child.

Driving...

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 18:44:00 +0000

My supervisor comes in for a classroom visit. I try to explain my approach to the subject matter and she does not understand. Worse, the students will not listen. They will not do anything I ask. Despite my every attempt they are oppositional.

I can't stop eating, even though I'm not hungry and I feel like I'm going to vomit, I keep eating. I don't even like what I'm eating, but I eat anyway.

I'm driving to the YMCA and I can't find it. I'm lost. I know the city. I've driven there 100 in the last few months, but still, I'm fucking lost.

Speaking of lost, my keys and wallet are lost. The Wife laughs as I search. She swears she did not move it. Still, it is no where to be found.

Emails from work, friends and family. They are all hateful. I can't keep them from stopping.

I dial 911 because my unborn child is hurt. The phone will not ring. There is just emptiness.

I try to talk to a friend and she just yells at me. There is no reasoning; I'm worthless.

My wife is angry and I can't explain myself. I want to help, but I'm not sure how. I don't even know what's wrong.

It's raining and I can't get inside. I try every door and window, but there is no hope. Rain. And snakes are coming.

I've quit my job six times in the last two weeks. I say I want to go back to the regular classroom. Everyone laughs because they think I'm foolish.

Someone keeps taking out the little money I have in the bank.

I keep grinding my teeth and they are loose. They're falling out and there is nothing I can do.

The cough won't stop.

My cats don't even like me.

They say everyone dreams. They say we dream every night. I'm not one of those shmuchs that say I don't dream. I do. I just don't often remember said dreams, and I do, they're not worth repeating. Typically they're a riff raff of strange memories and situations in my past. You know, say I'm married to my school girlfriend, living in my college dorm, while explaining to my mom how her favorite flower vase was broken. But my dreams the past few weeks have been vivid, immense, and coherent. And everything, EVERYTHING is out of control... mainly, out of my control.

I think that I might be going crazy.

3 AM...

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Sat, 08 Nov 2008 09:23:00 +0000

I'm going to be a dad. I see buying a house in our future. I can be a better teacher. My back still hurts. I've lost 36 pounds, I think. How I work out tomorrow with the gym being closed. I need to do some laundry, I'm out of socks. I need new underwear because mine fall off now. A boy or a girl? Will I totally change once the kid arrives? I need to start grad school. I miss school. I'm over teaching in this Gifted Program. I need to get through the year. Summer, I'll be a dad. I still want to go to the beach. Can I take a infant to the beach? I need to buy new trunks because I want to start swimming. Will Obama come through? Our country needs him to come through.

This is why I've been up since 3 AM.

Yes. We. Can... and we will, I pray.

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 12:11:00 +0000

Yesterday I arrived to vote at 5:50 AM. I stood in the rain until 8:30. Then, I entered the building to cast my vote.

The lines were long and peaceful, cheerful as the rain crashed down. The line erupted as young voters left with their sticker in hand, "This was my first time!"

Folks held places in line while others ventured off to buy coffee and hot cocoa for their neighbors in line.

The community embraced, hugged, and high-fived.

Parents stood beside their children. "This is important."

Before I voted, a little old African-American lady, frail with age, stood strong with tears running down her face. "Never in my life would I have thought... this was my first time, too!"

I stayed glued to my television and computer all night. I mastered the remote and open Windows as if my dedication show how would contribute to victory.

The rush of emotion did not overtake me until he spoke. Yes. We. Can. Unity. Future. Work.

Despite the winner, or the cast of his skin tone, this is a time for our nation to unite. Let us pack up our differences, and join together. It is time for us to work. It is time for us to rise above and be more. It is time for us to earn back our place in the world and be a country that is strong with its people, growth, and future. Let us lead from choice, and not force.

It isn't going to be easy. But damn it, we deserve it.

The real work begins. Now.

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 16:58:00 +0000

I'm over it. One week left, thank goodness. I've been wired in from the beginning and I'm ready for it to be over. But election talk is at the forefront at school. Someone thought it important that we try to illustrate to children the importance of being well informed, voting with intelligence and weeding through the political rhetoric.

It's been a challenge to undo with my gifted kids what they're regular classroom teachers have stuck in their heads:

-Obama just wants to talk, not fight.
-Obama is an Arab.
-Obama won't put his hand on a Bible.
-Obama put his hand on his heart.

It's a daunting task that also illustrates how ill-informed, naive and lazy my student's parents are at home. I'm having students write down on a sheet of paper who they are going to vote for Monday in the city-wide mock election. "Oh, and tell me why!"

-Obama is better looking.
-Obama is black and we should have a black President.
-McCain is too old.
-McCain is older and so smarter.
-McCain likes war and we need to fight.
-Obama wants to hurt children.
-Obama doesn't like to sing church songs.
-McCain likes women more.
-McCain is white and that's not scary.
-Obama was a terrorist as a kid.
-Obama never went to school to be President.
-McCain is a war hero.
-McCain can sit in the chair.

After that I have the kids sit on their vote. This is when I tell them not to fart on their vote because no one wants to smell their stinky farts and its important to respect the voting process.

They laugh and then I give a bit of background information why they might fart: air we swallow; gas that leaks into our blood and intestines; gas produced by chemical reactions in our guts or bacteria living in our guts.

Then I get close to a student and make a fart noise. I normally pick a student I saw write McCain and a stupid reason why. It's my secret way of getting back at their parents.

Laughs all around.

Next, I have the students cut out the stances the candidates have on different political issues. They are to paste the possition under the guy's face. Normally this is when the kids start looking around confused, trying to steal someone else's answer. After they're done, we go over the issues and they mark which issue they mostly agree. I'll tell them the stance is either Obama or McCain. It leads to great discussions I have to try to set straight:

-We should have the death penalty because it keeps murder down.
-War is good because its better to be over there killing people then over here killing people.
-The war has saved American lives.
-Bush is bad so we need McCain.
-If people are here illegally, just let them stay.
-"No Child Left Behind" is good because I take the bus every day to school and I don't want to walk.

Students become really shocked when they see that they really agree with another candidate:

-But I don't like HIM!
-My dad is going to be so mad.
-But I'm a Christian?
-That guy will raise my taxes.
-Will I be left behind with him?
-Boy my parents are wrong!

Then I have students write down who they'd vote for now. Typically kids still write the same guy down because they don't want to admit that they were mislead at the beginning. It's frustrating, sure, but on the rare occasion, you have a ballsy kid that will be honest with him or herself. And that feels pretty damn good, even if the brat switches from my guy to McSame.

Finally, I ask the kids who they think I'm going to vote for in the election. It's difficult to discuss all these issues without letting on the the little ones where I stand. More frustrating, however is the fact that each of my groups assume that I'm a McCain guy. I ask why:

-You're white.
-You're old, too.
-You dress like him.
-You just look like someone that would.

Yes, offended. I'd fart on them all if I could get away with it.

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Whisper of God...

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Sun, 19 Oct 2008 14:30:00 +0000

Hello blog. It's been a long time, baby. Despite your insistent tapping, I haven't missed you much. It isn't that I don't care. I do. It's just, well... I haven't needed you. I know that sounds incredibly one sided. Maybe you needed me. But I didn't need you.

Don't be sad. You should be pleased. You've help bring me to a place where I don't feel the need to purge my thoughts, my fears, my concerns, my worries. Things seem to be sorting out lately on their own. You, Sort of Blog, has made that possible.

So thank you for that.

And despite my newly found independence, how wavering it may or may not be at this point, I don't want to cut you out forever and all together. I do enjoy our little chats. You're fun to read and manipulate and hold late nights in the dark corners of the couch. Tap. Tap. Tap.

So here's what's new with me...

-I'm full-force back into the swing of school. New students and old, I don't foresee any major hurdles in way of instructing and getting these little minds motivated and on board. Relief.

-I'm an organized freak in my classroom this year. The mounds of papers that engulfed me last year or neatly organized, filed and labeled. And I can find them!

-We're paying off bills despite the economic hit The Wife's work took this month. She's looking for a new job and seems to have one in hand. We'll see.

-I'm motivated to take root in my own schooling, profession and lifestyle.

-Home ownership is in our very near future we hope and pray!

-Despite my recent back relapse (on muscle relaxers now!), I feel great.

-I've dedicated myself to eating healthy and working out. This is another reason I've been absent, my friend. Working out takes up a lot of time.

-I've lost nearly 30-pounds. My once tight 36 pants are piled high on the floor for donation. I'm sporting 34s and they're starting to get roomy. (And all my Large shirts are headed out the door, too)

-I'm running (not right now because of the back) a 27-minute 5K. I ran a 6-minute mile on Thursday (and then hurt my back; yes, a connection).

-I had McDonald's yesterday and didn't beat myself over it.

-I've discovered that I love, love, love racquetball. I'm just really, really, really bad.

-I feel more confident.

-I'm smiling more.

-I talked to my mom yesterday and I didn't want to scream. And hadn't changed one bit.

-I hear the whisper of God.

-I had a baby dream last night and saw the baby's face. Hum?

What about you?

I should spend more time showering...

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 00:51:00 +0000

I'll try this...

1) Who was the last person you gave up on?
Sort of my mom. I don't really give up on people, but she's about as close as I come. Because it's safer for me.

2) Have you talked to a complete asshole today?
No she talked to me. I've learned not to really address my supervisor directly.

3) Are you comfortable answering all these personal questions?
That's a stupid question, no?

4) Do you think relationships are even worth it?
Of course. Again, stupid question.

5) If you could pack up and move, would you?
That depends. Do I have a mover? I'm not moving again unless I have a mover. Our bedroom furniture is heavier than !uck.

6) Do your parents really know you?
I think my dad does. Sort of. My mom thinks I'm a judgmental, close-minded, know-it-all, elitist. So...?

7) When was the last time you laughed really hard?
The other day when I turned the shower on while our new cat was in the tub. He freaked out, but couldn't get out because he's too small. It was great. I think I'm going to be a great father.

8) What are you wearing right now?
My smelly workout clothes. I should spend more time showering than answering these stupid things.

9) What are you excited for?
Monday when I start receiving students. I'm a teacher. I should be teaching.

10) Has anyone told you lately that they would always be there for you?
No, but I know at least two people that will always be there for me. And that feels pretty good. It's good that it's a select few because I really don't like people.

11) What do you want right now?
Meat. I've been craving meat lately. I don't really eat meat. But I really want a taco from Taco Bell. And I just saw a commercial for Chicken McNuggets and I almost got in my car and drove down the street.

12) Are your parents divorced?
Thankfully, yes.

13) What were you doing at 8 this morning?
Giving high-fives in the hallway to kids coming off the bus and headed to the cafeteria for breakfast. I was also telling them to, "Stay on the line." But really I don't care if they walk the line. I'm just expected to say that.

14) Do you fall for people easily?
I haven't fallen for anyone since my wife.

15) What is one word that you overuse?
"Um." Even though that's not a word. I like the word ramification, and I probably use that too much.

16) Who was the last person to text you?
My neighbor. It was about the gym. It's always about the gym. Or drinking beer. I wish it would have been about drinking beer. That's more fun than the gym.

17) What’s your mood?
I'm feeling insecure right now and horny, which isn't a good combination... especially when my wife is out of town.

18) If you took a drug test, would you pass it?
Um no. It was my birthday. I was reclaiming my youth... something I haven't done since before I was married.

19) Did you enjoy your weekend?
I watched a lot of movies, took a lot of naps, and watched SNL with some friends. Yup. I enjoyed it.

20) Do you regret doing something today?
I sort of wish I would have told my supervisor to shove her lesson plan up her ass. She handed it to me and then told me to teach it to the staff... all before I had the chance to read it. Then she tore me apart in front of everyone. You know, because I wasn't prepared.

21) Are you slowly drifting away from someone?
Sometimes myself... though I am also experiencing inner clarity. Odd?

22) Last person you told a secret to?
Ha. My pal Kris. She knows almost all my secrets.

23) What’s irritating you right now?
The fact I'm sitting here when I should be cleaning because my wife is coming home tomorrow. And I always like to come home to a really clean house. So, I want the house to be really clean for her. But I'm lazy.

24) Would you ever forgive someone if they cheated on you?
I would try like hell, but it would change everything.

25) Tell me what one of your friends is doing.
One of my friends is probably thinking about sex. It's human nature. Someone I know is thinking about sex. I hope someone I know is having sex. I hope it's good sex, too. Hot and steamy and uninhibited.

26) Are you stubborn?
It depends. Mostly, no.

27) What are you looking forward to?
Didn't I answer this? It seems like I've answered this?

28) Is there anybody you wish you could be with right now?
The Wife. I know... sappy.

29) Are you gonna be home alone tonight?
I've got Jesus in my heart. I'm never alone, right? Plus I have two cats. And monsters in my dreams.

30) Who gave you your last compliment?
Kris. She said I looked really skinny and wanted to know how much weight I've lost because I didn't look so skinny last week when I saw her last.

31) What is one thing you wish you had?
A six-pack of abs. I know that's superficial, but I don't really feel like thinking about something I really wish I had. I'd say a house, but that would come with a mortgage.

33) Do you have a boyfriend/girlfriend?
Uh I'm married. 7 years. No.

Which way did both #32 and #34 go?
Maybe up my supervisor's ass... with her lesson plan.

35) Do you still talk to the person you fell hardest for?
Almost every day.

36) Last movie you saw in theaters, with whom?
Kris. It was yesterday. And I can't remember the title. How sad.

37) Would you rather go to Tokyo or Paris?
Tokyo. I'd be huge in Japan. And there is probably something to be said about knowing your penis is bigger than 99.9% of all the guys around you. You know, total confidence builder.

38) What are you allergic to?
Folding laundry and cleaning out the litter box.

39) Has anyone ever complimented your eyes?
Lots of times. I think they could be more blue, bigger.

40) Are you listening to music right now?
No, I'm watching the new 90210. It's pretty funny.

41) Who else is in the room with you?
Jesus in my heart and my two cats. We're going to party later.

42) In winter, would you rather wear jackets or hoodies?
I'm a gangster, so a hoodie, I suppose. Dawg!

43) Do you wish you were somewhere else right now?
No. I'm good. Bed?

44) How long can you go without your mobile phone?
I forget it everywhere, so I'd be alright for awhile. At least until I locked my keys in my car and needed a locksmith.

45) What are you doing tomorrow?
Sorting through that damn lesson plan, finishing up some more paperwork and sitting through another meeting.

46) Ever kissed someone else’s boy/girlfriend?
Yes. Then I married her.

47) Where did you last sleep other than your room?
On my neighbors couch. I was so drunk I couldn't walk across the hall to my own bed. I'm 30. not 21. I must remember that the next time I go out with the guys.

48) What’s the worst way to say “I love you”?
While burping?

49) Who was the last person in your room besides family?
Two Filipino girls. We were walking from the porch to my living room to play Nintendo. The White guy just walked across the hall.

50) What is one place you would love to visit?
I'd like to visit my nephew. Not really a place, but that's that.

Sort of...?

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 12:45:00 +0000

Back in June someone tagged me. I cut and pasted it here in the blog thing, but never got around to completing the damn thing. Since I took two muscle relaxers (because my doctor told me to), I thought this would be an excellent time to make up some missed blogs.

My head is heavy. Relax

1. What was I doing ten years ago?
Ten years ago? Wow, I was about to turn 20. So, I was sitting in my fraternity "house" drinking free beer and smoking all the Japanese pot I could get my hands on. They always had a mad stash and were always willing to share-- something about their culture. The Japanese totally rock!

2. What are five things on my list to do today?
Run 5K (Check); Staff development 8-4 (Check); Do laundry (check); Blog (check); Don't scratch out eyes (check)-- really, that was on my list.

3. Snacks I enjoy?
Anorexics don't eat snacks. Ok, I had two pieces of cheese after the gym. But I threw it up right away and ran around the block three times.

4. Things I Would Do If I Were A Billionaire?
I think I'd buy everyone in Japan a bag of weed. Then we'd invade Chine, I'll build a really big boat, and free Tibet.

5. Three of my bad habits?
Looking so damn find in the mirror. Unconsciously reminding folks that I'm the King of the Word. Quoting stupid Leo movies

6. Five places I have lived?
I've lived in hell.
I've lived in happiness.
I've lived in denile.
I've lived in truth.
I've lived in love, though maybe had sex in it too..?

7. Five jobs I’ve had?
Ice cream scoop man
JCPenny model
Babysitter
Library God
Porn watcher-- no really, I got paid to watch porn.

8. How did you name your blog?
I sort of didn't know what I wanted to say, and it stuck. Sort of...?

Simply perfect...

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 11:34:00 +0000

Seriously, I have the best friends. They're always looking out for me. This morning, after my 5K 5:00AM run at the YMCA, I checked my email and discovered this link from a friend:

They're perfect. Simply perfect! And I think worth every penny!

PS. Why are smoothies so damn cold. They give me brain freezes in my throat. Owch!

Off to school...

Gangst'a Paradise...

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 00:31:00 +0000

If you're not a teacher, you won't want to read about me boo hooing about how I have to go back to work tomorrow. For me, the summer is officially over... before it even felt like it began. The next few days will be jammed with boring meetings I've already heard about because I was on the committee to plan them. It all seemed despretely dreadful to me then, but I was the young dawg on the street and everyone looked at me cross when I mentioned ways to spice things up.

The highlight for me will come when I actually get to unglue my ass from my seat and do a little song and dance all by myself. And since I'm presenting towards the end of the week, singing and dancing might not be too far off base. By that time, we'll all be glassey-eyed and in need of something stimulating. Perhaps I'll wear a tutu and perform a personal interpretation of Dangerous Minds. Where I teach isn't far from a Gangst'a Paradise.

Though I'm sad to see the dog days come to a close, I have big hopes and dreams for this, my third year of teaching. Mainly, I'm just excited to be doing something the same. It might just not feel like a first year for me...

Hopes for the new school year.
-Good health for myself, collegues, students and our families. Last year I lost a student and it was one of the hardest things I've had to deal with both professionally and personally.

-Professional clearity. I'm teaching gifted and talented again, but I'm not sure it's my calling. Rather, I'm not sure its my calling in this setting. I may need to head back to the regular classroom or to a district that offerce GT services all day.

-Promtness and passion. I never fully dedicated myself last year to the gifted program. As a result, I was never happy. I don't want to delay and I want to enjoy every aspect of my job, including stuffing envelopes. Ok that might never happen, but it still needs to get done and I might as well find some sort of meaning in it.

-Better health. I want to eat better, or simply eat. Lunch every day is a priority-- make that a healthy lunch, not one I pick up in the cafeteria.

-Better communication skills. I sat silent a lot last year and when I did speak, I spoke out of turn. I'm going to work on that and find a happy balance where I can speak my mind while being diplomatic.

-Continue my own education. I'm once again marking time in way of my own educational goals. I'm going to make it a priority this school year and devise a plan. A lot of decisions need to be made personally to make this happy. I'm going to make this happy.

-Find balance. I not just a teacher. I'm not just an educator. I'm also a husband, son, grandson, friend. I am myself... I'm not sure what that all means except that I don't want to be living at the school as I have done in the past.

-Have fun. Teaching and learning should be fun. I need to find more inovative ways for my students to have fun in my classroom while they are learning.

-Teach the whole child. I need to each students' stregths and weaknesses. I must make it a priority that students are learning through problem based learning

Insistent bitch...

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Wed, 20 Aug 2008 00:37:00 +0000

The cat we have left, Frankie is driving me freaking crazy. It's not that I don't love her. I do. And really, we've become much closer since we lost Jo Cat. I think that's because when Jo was alive, he didn't let her get too close to me. Well he would, but after she left, he'd attack!

Needless to say, she didn't get too close.

But Frankie is so demanding these. Dare I say, she's a bit of an insistent bitch. She's always yelling, "Pet me." "Play with me." "Rub my belly." "I know I have food, but I want more." She's been waking us up, too. If we try to sleep in, she's bedside demanding action... and not the kind of action I really want to be having. I mean if I'm going to be petting, playing, or rubbing anything anything in the morning, it's not going to be a freaking cat.

I know, I know. The chemistry in the house has changed now that we're short a cat. She's never been alone. She's now in charge. She needs attention. She's sad too. Blah! Blah! Blah! Folks, including The Wife, have said she needs a friend-- another little cat to play with. And I'm sure that is true. I'm just not sure if I'm ready.

But really, this cat is driving me crazy.

I wonder if that's why parents have a second child-- the first is just too demanding of attention.

I did hear, "Go play with your brother" a lot once the little kid was around...?

They're both blue...

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Wed, 20 Aug 2008 00:24:00 +0000

I had a migraine today. My doctors gave me these awesome blue cow pills that work wonders. I was told to take them at the first sign of a migraine to ward of the thunder clouds. So today, when I felt the shooting pain creep up my neck and start to pulsate through my eye, I popped one of my pills like it was Viagra and I was a 90-year-old who just won a free pass to the whore house-- not that I'll need a free pass to the whore house when I'm 90. I'm going to be fresh at 90, sporting my old man hat and pimped out walker. And I'll be damned if I'll be blogging about taking Viagra then, either. I'd never admit to that shit... I just say I'm popping one of my magic migraine pills. They're both blue.

Where the year takes me...

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 01:08:00 +0000

Today was clean up day at school. (That's me above, protecting myself from the harsh dust and mold!) I can't say I got as much done as I would have liked. They didn't have my floors done, as I was told they would, so I couldn't start arranging and unpacking things. But that's life in the school house-- or out back in the tailor, in my case. I'm not trying to stress over it. Things will get done in their due time. They always seem to, anyway.

I bought my new school planner today. This normally brings a rush of an excitement, because I love plotting out my goals and ideas in a new spiffy planner. But today I didn't get the same race of heart rate. To me it signaled an ending of a really great summer. And though I didn't get nearly as much done as I had hoped, I was able to relax a bit. I've found that maybe I don't do that enough.

Sure, I'm the king of naps. But I'm also very high strung. I freak out. I often act out of impulsive emotions when new things are thrown my way. I need to stop that. I need to breathe. I also need to read more. That seems to calm me. And read I did this summer. I brought me to many wonderful place. It also brought me to some not so wonderful places. And I learned a lot.

Learning rocks!

So yes, I'm sad to see the summer vacation end. But I'm also thrilled to start a new year. It will be the first in my teaching career that I'm sitting in the same spot, doing the same thing. Sure, I'm going to mix it up, bring in what I learned from my struggles last year, try out some things I read about this summer... but basically, I'm the same guy working with basically the same group of smart kids. I'm so excited to see those kids. Though it will be a week or two into the year before I see them, they'll still wear their best new clothes. They'll come with the favorite summer stories. They will have grown, lost teeth, grew new teeth. I just can't wait.

And though I'm pretty certain that gifted education isn't my classing, I mean I love the content but I feel I'd be better served elsewhere, I'm going into this year will a positive attitude. I'm going to push the limits and really put my all into this year. I'm going to do things that I want to do, that I think are important. I seemed to mark time last year, playing it safe and easy. As a result, I was miserable. I don't want to be miserable this year.

I guess we'll see where the year takes me.

Things I want to say, but can't...

noreply@blogger.com (SORTof BLOG) — Sun, 17 Aug 2008 22:36:00 +0000

Tomorrow I pack up my little Ford Focus and head to my tailor of a classroom to get started with my cleaning routine before the kids start arriving. Though my summer doesn't official come to a close until next Monday, I'm headed back early to get a hop on things... plus, I've been asked to present at the new employee orientation for my school district at the end of the week, and I've done little in preparation to inspire the new blood. So after the cleaning, I need to prepare something inspiring and motivational... Here are things that I'll want to say, but can't:

There is no class that will prepare you for what you are about to experience. Throw away all you think you know, and pray to God that you're creative enough to come up with ways to keep the kids from killing one another or their teacher.
You are their teacher. Watch your back as it will take awhile for that to sink in completely.
If it seems that the students are out to get you, it's because they are (which is why I said watch your back!). They smell fear; they prey on fear. You are going to be very, very, very fearful.
Assume that things went well your first day of school if you can't remember a damn thing that happened.
If you can recall an event from the first day, it was probably a tragic misstep on your part: you lost a kid, a kid lost his arm on the playground, you threw a kid so he'd get lost-- if this happens, do as Jenny does and blame it on Johnny.
In a few weeks from now, when you wake up at 5:00AM in the shower and you're not sure how you got there, remember that teaching was your dream. You love this!
Oh and when you look in the mirror and wonder why you've aged ten years, it's because you have. The kids think you're old because you look it. You're a teacher now. Get use to it.
Before the students arrive, write everyone you know a letter. Apologize for not being available for the next six months, for not returning calls, for not responding to emails, for talking only about school, for falling asleep at dinner or in the middle of conversations. They are going to be pissed. They are not going to understand.
Your going to scream, yell, throw, and kick things. I'm going to tell you not to, because it REALLY doesn't work. But you're going to do it anyway. This doesn't make you a bad teacher. This makes you a first year teacher.
You're also going to scream in your sleep, because when you're not spending every waking moment in school or thinking about school, you're going to be dreaming it.
Don't befriend the teacher next to you and tell him there is an apartment available below yours. He might be a freak and hire male prostitute drug dealers. (Allegedly!) He might develop a crush on you. (Allegedly!)
Some teachers think teaching is a competitive sport. If nice things are said about you, they're going to talk shit about you. If you're willing to share resources, they're going to steal them. If you need help, they'll laugh in your face. Stay clear of these teachers. Don't become one.
Don't spend hours on your lesson plans. Shit is going to go down that you can't prep for in a lesson plan. Plus, the administration is never going to look at them.
If for some reason things move smoothly, and you're able to complete that crap of a lesson plan, have a box of tricks to pass the time. Math races, Hang-man, Stump the teacher, Around the world. Silent reading? Well, of course! Hell, practice fire drills. Just don't put in a movie.
Know that the administration isn't going to look at your lesson plans, but believe they'll be knocking at your door if they are late. Promptness is a virtue ever teacher must hold close, even if the administration never does.
When specialists and administration use all those fun educational buzz words in staff meetings, you know, to help you to "enhance student engagement in the classroom," what they really mean to say is, "Teach to the test." Your scores will define you as a good or bad teacher. Be a good one! Do whatever it takes.
When all else fails, use bribes. Stickers, candy, pencils, let the kids eat glue if they want. Whatever. I can't count the number of pizzas I sneaked into my classroom. But my scores were solid!!!
Oh, the administration is never there when you need them-- unless of course you're screwing up or breaking rules. They're always there to see that. When this happens, offer them pizza.
The secretaries are a bunch of bitches. Give them pizza, too! It might just save your life.
You're going to want to smack the parents harder than you'll ever want to smack a student (though you'll want to do that, too). Since both would result in the loss of your job, I suggest subliminally brainwashing the students to smack their parents for you.
Lie. Tell the kids whatever it is you think they might need to hear to get them to do what you want: I love you all so much; You're all so smart; I care too much for you to let you treat yourself that way; I'm going to miss you over the break. If you do this enough, you might actually start to believe it yourself. And in the end, it will be the truth...

**If you don't know me, you might think I hate being a teacher. I don't. I love my job and I love the students with whom I work. Teaching is an amazing experience. It is also one the pushes you to insanity. Humor, I have found, is the best remedy.