insomnia rambles.

Want some insomniac thoughts for your Wednesday (or whenever)? Here's a sampling of what goes on in my mind when unable to sleep:

1-Well, crap, y'all. I had to close comments again for awhile. Two people left me some thoughts about my holiday struggles. I'm not mad about them, but they weren't really what I needed to see at 3 AM when up with insomnia, thinking about my lot in life. (Both basically said I need to stop this foolishness and go back to my husband. One said do it for my daughter, she needs her father. Basically making a judgment call on me and my life without knowing me, him, or her, or the full nature of the situation. I have written copious amounts of other blog entries about it - had they read those and absorbed them, along with all of my other ridiculous inanity here, I bet they would have understood this is just how things work here and I'm a very this-too-shall-pass kinda gal. However, for now, I think no comments are best.) 

But you know. Such is the nature of social media and being open/vulnerable on the Internet. I hope this means my skin is getting thicker. I really, really want thicker skin. I sense it'll help me later in life. 

2- Mysteriously and without telling you the specifics (because this is the Internet), I got a message from a man the other day on the Internet. He was a stranger, and he wanted to take me on a date. He said I was beautiful. And then he said he changed his mind about taking me on a date, because even though he thought I was really pretty he could never date someone like me. And the reason he couldn't is because, politically, I lean left. And then he went on a really long rant about how leftie liberals are destroying America and the world, and we're the reason for all the bad things. And he concluded his strange rant with: too bad, because I'd totally sleep with you. Message me if you're interested.

Internet, you are a strange, bizarre world. 

(A) First, what? I bet he's a super fun first date. (I'm being sarcastic.) (B) Second, what?? Why would I want to sleep with someone who thinks I'm the source of all evil in the world? and (C) Third, what??? 

I'm not opposed to remaining single and alone for the rest of my life, if THAT is all I have to choose from. (But it didn't bother me; I really do think my skin is getting thicker. I just deleted and moved on. He'll find his Anne Coulter one day, and they will make hideous Donald Trump babies.)

I also think it didn't bother me because...you know what he really sounded like? One of those guys who gets all his information about how women work and how to get women from those misogynistic websites and organizations. You know the ones - they're the ones that tell men women are all bitches, and feminism is why. That you just have to keep your woman in the kitchen and let her know who's REALLY in charge, because that's what women all secretly desire no matter what they actually say. Women were created to be conquered. 

(uuuhhhh....NO. False. No, gentlemen. Not even remotely close.) (Unless you are Jamie Dornan...read further.)

3-I went to a former co-worker's retirement party yesterday. Sweet, lovely, amazing lady. Seriously. Like, Martha Stewart and Florence Nightingale and the Melanie Wilkes from Gone With The Wind, all wrapped up on one person. Breast cancer survivor. Artist. Immensely kind human being. The standard to which all humans should strive to be. Kind and creative and beautiful and lovely person. We were both on staff when the place opened, and so I have so so many memories she's attached to...lots of memories. 

The sweet lady who was our school secretary when I started there came, and she occasionally reads this blog (hi, M! If you're here!), and she came over and gave me the biggest, longest hug and let me know she understands how this is. Her situation was much harder, and far different than mine. Sadder. But it's all kind of the same, when you end a relationship. Even when it's the best thing to do. And she made me cry. Kindness and love always makes me cry, because my heart...my heart. 

Anyway. She told me to make my own memories now and to stay strong. What she said meant a lot to me. (Sometimes I think we are placed exactly where we need to be, at just the moment we need to be there, with just the people we need to be with. Don't you?) And I think people who are gentle and kind and non-judgmental are the best kind of people to be around. Also: hugs are nice. Way more helpful than anything else. Just be supportive when someone is having a hard time. Hug them. People need hugs and hugs are nice. That's all.


4-I've watched two movies recently that are about sex. Let's get the first one out of the way: Fifty Shades of Grey. Yes, I admit it: I watched it. But only for Jamie Dornan. And I will ALWAYS watching anything that Jamie Dornan is in now. Oh, Jamie Dornan. Beautiful Jamie Dornan. 

I haven't read the book. I refuse to read the book. The book annoys me. How many superbly amazing writers are out there right now, desperate to be published? And some fan fic chick not only gets pubbed but also becomes a famous millionaire on top of it AND Jamie Dornan stars in the movie version of her book??????? Goddammit, Humanity.  (There are some very talented fan fic chicks out there who ought to have this happen to them...not convinced E.L. James is one, but then. Confession: I refuse to read her book.) 

SPOILER ALERT:

But the movie, surprisingly, wasn't bad. I think because Jamie Dornan saved it. My overall reaction: I would be totally okay with Jamie Dornan's "playroom." And I think Don Johnson and Melanie Griffith's daughter was nuts for leaving Jamie Dornan. At the end (I'm just going to tell you the ending...if this is going to upset you, quickly scroll past all this) (though I must tell you that if hearing the end of this story is going to upset you, you may need to re-evaluate your entire life).........................at the end, she tells him to show her exactly how he wants to punish her. She wants to understand his fucked up psychology. (Girlfriend, he's been slapping at you with whips and a cat o'nine tails for 2 hours. You need further explanation?) So he shows her. And basically, it's that he wants to paddle her behind. He told her exactly how many times he'd do it, and on top of that they weren't even that hard (I could tell they weren't very hard hits because when I was in 1st grade, I got paddled at school) (I know, I KNOW!! I know you want to hear that story, but it'll get us off-track...I'll come back and tell you it this weekend). 

At any rate, she gets SO upset about it. She walks away from jet airplanes, fancy cars, expensive dinners, and you know..amazingness. And a man who secretly loves her, just in a really fucked up way. 

The main problem I had with Jamie Dornan/Christian Grey is that he was too controlling. I have a big, big issue with people who need to control other people. If you need to put someone in a cage to make them yours, then they were never yours to begin with. Constantly calling her, wanting to know where she was/what she was doing, showing up at the restaurant and interrupting dinner with her mom without permission - that's the kind of shit that would end things for me. She loved all that; yet it was a paddling session that ruined it for her. His need to paddle her butt was just too much. But not all the "What was that? That's right: 'Yes, sir.'" and the you-belong-to-ME issues. 

Though I'd have kept the car, dammit. That was a nice car. (It's because I'm constantly terrified my car is going to break down on me and I'll have to put $2000 into it to fix it, and I'll be totally screwed.)

Also, there are really, really angry people out there who think this book and movie propagates domestic violence. I get it. On the surface, BDSM looks like a strange, effed up mess. I once hung out, reading for a bit, a submissive lady's website. I could never submit like that to a man...I could submit in a lot of other ways. But I would not be okay having a man tell me to clean this up or do your hair like this or I want you in black today. This raises my hackles and my latent anger issues really start percolating. But for some women, this works. I'm not going to judge them. Because I don't think BDSM is really about domestic violence, is it? Domestic violence is unwanted, unwelcome. People get rushed to the ER or die. In BDSM situations, everyone appears to be in agreement, there are safe words, and it's about weird psychological needs more than a need to own another human being because you can't handle your own shit. If this is what brings someone else peace and love, then it's not for us to say what's weird and messed up and what's not...right? I don't eat escargot because eating snails looks weird and messed up to me. Others think snails are incredibly delicious things to chew on. 

So - and this is probably going to garner me some more unsolicited commentary from Internet strangers stopping by (except they'll have to keep them in their brains because comments closed) - I don't have a problem with BDSM people in general. I think they may need some therapy maybe, but therapy isn't cheap and if this is what gets them from point A to point B to point C in life? Then maybe that IS their therapy, and so it is not for you or I to try to make them feel bad about it. We all have our own little vices, don't we? Some of us binge watch Breaking Bad whenever we get a chance, some of us eat too much brownie brittle (it's a thing now, did you know?), some of us use our credit cards too often and freely, some of us spend too much time thinking about Jamie Dornan...wait, those are my vices. But you understand what I mean, yes?

The other movie I watched was called Shame and it starred Michael Fassbender and Michael Fassbender's junk. Here's the thing about this movie: if you're watching it because you like Michael Fassbender (and who doesn't like Michael Fassbender??) and just want to see his junk and/or you've heard there's a really graphic threesome scene and you're all about those because yay threesomes? Then you aren't going to enjoy this movie. 

First of all, it's a long movie (about 2 hours). Second, it's a quiet movie, with really long scenes. God bless those actors, they all deserve an Oscar. I get nervous when someone won't quickly take my picture on school picture day; I can't imagine having a camera trained on my face for 200 minutes, while I'm supposed to just use my eyes to express my feelings. These are the kinds of scenes you'll watch in this movie. 

Also, the subject matter of the movie was disturbing. This is a story about fucked up people doing fucked up things. Fassbender's character wasn't erotic; he was a gigantic mess. The threesome scene wasn't erotic; it was a gigantic mess. I don't mean how it was directed, I mean what and why a threesome happened in this movie. Because this was a story about someone who isn't just occasionally cuddling with his inner demons, this was a movie about someone who consistently allows his inner demons to have their way with him in the most inappropriate of ways until, finally, they just throw their hands in the air and say "Fuck it!" and rape him. This is a movie about sex, but it's not the least bit sexy. Is what I'm saying. Fifty Shades of Grey was also about sex, but they really tried hard to make it sexy. This movie was just about raw human stuff. With really long, quiet scenes in which there was a lot going on. (It was Art, is what I'm telling you...Fifty Shades of Grey was a book-turned-movie. Steve McQueen's Shame is Art.)

Having said that, this wasn't a bad movie; it was really well-acted, directed, cinematography was gorgeous. Carrie Mulligan, you can SING, love. And Michael Fassbender can walk through my apartment naked anytime he'd like. Anytime. But not as this character. And also, Michael Fassbender can tell you his feelings just with his eyes, and that's nice. I think more people should do that - talk with their eyes. 

So here's what happened with these two movies and me: First I saw Fifty Shades of Grey, and I was all: hmmm...BDSM doesn't look so bad, not if you're doing it with someone like Jamie Dornan. Then I saw Shame, and I was all: Whoa! If Michael Fassbender's guy went to Jamie Dornan's playroom, somebody wouldn't make it out alive. So think I'm going to table that for awhile. A long, long while. 

(Unless I meet Jamie Dornan's Christian Grey and he takes me to Europe.)

5 - It is almost 5 AM now and my alarm is about to go off. Insomnia, I give up. I'm not even going to fight you anymore. I'm just going to let you have your way with me. Take me to your playroom, but let's not tell the Internet in case the Internet wants to judge us. 

miracles (in the dark).

I know sleep experts say: turn off all electronics one hour before bedtime so your circadian rhythms don't go wacky (this COULD be my sleep issue--too much electricity prior to bedtime effing up my circadian rhythms). But I'm desperate to take my mind off of extraneous, stressful things, and so I needed something flippant and fun to do; I decided to write tonight before going to bed and I landed here for some reason. I'm writing in the dark; I'm sure my circadian rhythms aren't confused. At. All. 

One of the things I occasionally do with my class, whenever we need a brain break or have time to kill (we never have time to kill; are you kidding me? This is 21st century public school) is we play a quick round of WOULD YOU RATHER? It's a game of moral dilemmas and gives you great insight into what you and people around you value (when dealing with 7-8 year olds, it can also be a great predictor of who's going to have a well-stocked pantry and bank account and who's going to be living hand to mouth and filing their taxes at the stroke of midnight). 

So I googled "Would You Rather for adults." And I got a Nigerian BuzzFeed link with (supposedly) 100+ funny Would You Rather? questions. (This is what I do late at night, sometimes, by the way: google randomly bizarre things.)

Can I tell you a quick story about a Nigerian I once knew? 

Right after graduating university, I had a temp job in a bank for the summer. There was a team of 5 of us, and our job was to enter data and file car titles. One of my team members was a man from Nigeria. I don't remember his name now, but we're going to call him Joe. He always feels like a Joe to me, in my memory.

So Joe had a crush on me. The problem with Joe was (a) he was 45 and I was 23 and (b) he smelled like garlic. I'm sorry, I know that's superficial and garlic is supposed to be very healthy for you but I don't hang out with people too long who constantly smell of garlic. Take a bath. With lots and lots of soap.

But I'm (generally) a very nice person, and I didn't want to hurt Joe's feelings, so often he'd invite me to eat lunch with him and I would go. And man, the things I learned about Joe and his land. A few things I remember:

1-Joe was a Nigerian prince. (Years later I learned that, apparently, Nigeria has exactly 10.5 billion of them running around and they all either emigrate to America or they email random people promising them 75% of their father's wealth if the people will send them all their financial account numbers. I am certain Joe was just a data entry clerk, not a scam artist. I simply refuse to believe MY Joe would scam anyone. He may try to lure them into a sexual tryst laced with strange chemicals in tea, but he wouldn't even THINK of touching your money. God would smite him.)

2-Garlic IS a very healthy food. And Joe ate whole bulbs of it like six times every day. He also drank this mysterious tea that was inky black (blacker than black, none more black) and tasted like what I'd imagine goat saliva must taste like. Joe promised me it would do miracles on my body and so I drank four sips of it and then just couldn't go on with it. Now, at 42-almost-43, I look back on that idiot 23 year old girl trustingly, so trustingly, sipping at that tea and I just shake my damn head. Shaking it right now, as I type this. (I'm just thankful I was able to finish that one box of car titles and made it home lucid.) (And it gave my body this many miracles: 0.)

3-Joe couldn't pronounce Amy. He called me Emmy. He believed in God, and he taught me how to pray to the Lord properly, especially whenever you need something. This is how you should make requests of the Infinite, should you find yourself desperate (via Joe, the Nigerian Prince temping in the bank):

One day at lunch, I told Joe I was getting really nervous about finding a job now that school was done. I was also desperate to move away, and live in the Sonoran Desert for some ungodly reason, and wanted a job there. Joe asked if I was very, very, very serious about this. I said yes I was. 

And then Joe said, "Emmy. If you really wont someting, you must beg Gott. Beg him, Emmy. It is the only way."

"How do I beg God?" I asked.

"You must do it like this," said Joe, "First, you must wait until it is dark. Wait until it is very, very dark. Then, you must take off all of your clothes, Emmy. Take them off! All of them! Then you must turn off all of the lights. Turn them off, Emmy! All of them! Then? You must get on your knees. Get on your knees, Emmy. Get on them! And you must lift both of your hands to the air, and then you must beg. You must beg Gott. And Gott will hear your cries." 

Joe took a sip of his tea and looked at me with a lot of intensity for a few seconds. Then he announced, "This is the only way to get Gott's attention. Nekked. In the dark. Kneeling."

I looked at Joe with amused uncertainty. There were two chairs separating us that day because he'd felt a cold coming on that morning and had eaten an extra bulb of garlic just in case.

"But why do I have to be naked?" I asked.

"Because nekked is your godliness, Emmy! This is how Gott knows you are you. It is your Truth. We are never truer than when we are nekked on our knees before Gott."

I was naive, but not naive enough to not wait for the punch line, for Joe to let me know Gott also would need photographic proof of my naked pleas. But he didn't. Joe just quietly sipped his inky black tea, thoughtfully chewed up the rest of his stinky white garlic, and 20 minutes later we went back to filing car titles and typing in data.

And you know what? Dagnabit if Joe wasn't right! I went home that night and did it. About three weeks later, I was on a plane headed for Yuma, Arizona and my first teaching job.

And you know what else? Sometimes? When it gets really bad? I don't have a problem waiting until it's very dark and the house has gone quiet. I'm not ashamed to admit I've taken off some clothes now and then, gotten on my knees, and...begged. Begged Gott. 

But I will not drink inky black tea from Nigeria and I refuse to eat raw garlic. (The End.)

Now. I told you THAT story so you'd appreciate what I'm about to share below--I'm hoping you may have a good sense of Joe from Nigeria now, so you'll be able to really grasp why at least 3 of these Would You Rather? questions made me chuckle my ridiculous butt off when I found them:

(Nigerian) Would you rather...

....be invisible or able to read minds? I think I'd rather be invisible. You get to see an awful lot of interesting things, and no one's the wiser. I'd rather stay the heck out of some people's minds. 

....end hunger or hatred? Hatred. Because I think once hatred ends, so will hunger.

.....be stranded on an island alone or with someone you hate? It depends on who it is that I hate. Rush Limbaugh? I'll take Solitary Existence. Ted Nugent? I don't know--he's pretty reprehensible, but he's outdoorsy. No! No. I'll just channel my inner Tom Hanks and deal with the learning curve. 

....kiss a horse or lick a cow? Kiss a horse. I'm a Kentucky girl, so I've kissed many a horse in my lifetime, as a matter of fact. It's not bad. They have soft, velvet noses that are perfect landing spots for a kiss. (I wish I could find a far wittier response to this ridiculous question, but the truth of it is: horses are sweet, and deserve our kisses.)

....be trapped in an elevator with a fat lady and her 3 wet dogs or 3 fat men with bad breath? Fat lady and dogs. I suspect these 3 fat men and their breath will all smell of garlic and may attempt to get me to drink some inky black tea.

....make out with the lights on or lights off? (I feel certain Joe himself may have written this question.) Off. I'd make out with the lights off. 

'Cause that's when Gott works the miracles.

gutted isomniac.

<------ Pretty much.  I can get to sleep, it's that I can't stay there. On the nights I do sleep all the way through, when I wake up? I feel like I just won the lottery (oh, what I wouldn't give right now to win a lottery--I'm not greedy, I'd just like $500,000. Just enough to quit my job so I can figure out what it is I could do for a living that wouldn't crush my soul all the time.)


I had a discouraging week, Internet. Are you insomniac, too? Let's talk for a bit.

So I've made a really hard, big life decision: to put in for a transfer to a different school. The school I'm at, I've been at almost my entire career: seventeen years. Seventeen years of little poor kids, many of them from other countries. When I was in college, all I ever wanted to do was work with little poor kids from other countries. I got into teaching to help children, to make a difference. I wanted to leave my little corner of the world better than how I found it.

I am not a stellar, award-winning teacher. Teaching someone how to read or do math or use correct punctuation and capitals does not come naturally to me. Over the years, I've learned some techniques for how to do these things, but I've also learned that if they don't get it this year, they'll get it next year. And if they don't get it next year, then they'll get it the year after. And if they don't get it the year after, then something may be wrong in their brain or their home. And that this has been an ongoing issue since humans started walking up right. And I've also learned that some kids love to read, some prefer math, some are better at music or physical education or selling stolen goods off the black market. Everyone has a talent; sometimes it's not school. We should all  know how to read, write, and do basic math, though. I think because...I hope it will keep our traffic accidents down.

But telling stories and listening to others' stories does come naturally, and so does fixing boo boos on lost lambs' little broken hearts. That I could do all day long, and weave some reading/writing/rithmetic in between. But they don't really want that anymore; they want 100% engagement and test success, and if you're going to do Art, it better be mostly learn-y and not artsy. They want talented teachers who will magically yank little kids out the dream that should be childhood and get them to pass tests so adults can feel good. (You do know that kids only feel good when they pass tests because they know it's going to make some adult in their life very happy, yes? Kids don't give a crap about passing tests...unless it's part of a video game.) This is very, very, very hard to do without proper home support.

I think I've made it abundantly clear here that I'm about 2 steps away from being a card carrying Socialist. I'm a left-leaning, borderline Commie pinko. I think it's possible for everyone to get along, enjoy the same spoils of the hunt, and just generally be awesome. And I think people who want to hoard wealth for themselves and turn around and tell poor people and others who are struggling to make ends meet: "We're doing this for YOU; it's helping us help YOU" are a special kind of low life. I hope there's a really horrid 10th circle of Dante's Inferno for them.

What's happening today is that we are no longer doing what is best for other human beings; this is a GLOBAL problem, you guys. I'm not just talking about teaching, though that's where I'm personally seeing it happen. We're doing what's best for someone somewhere very far removed from us, from our situations, and they're reaping the spoils of the hunt we're doing all the work on, and then they aren't sharing. I know that sounds like I'm crazy and I'm not going to apologize because it's 2 AM and you're allowed to be crazy when it's 2 AM and you're an insomniac constantly operating on 200 hours of sleep deprivation.

I just...I can't do poor people's kids anymore. This hunt has exhausted me, and I'm not even getting to enjoy the spoils. But I got into teaching to help children, so I'm going to try a different demographic and see if that helps. I struggled and struggled with the decision, but I pulled the plug last week and announced I'm going to try to transfer to a school in a different area. I'm going to see if that freshens and changes my perspective on what's happening in education. It'll also give me a chance to work closer to my house and be at a school my daughter can go to (are you reading what I'm saying there? I can take Miss M to the school that I work at...but I can't. And that's all I will say about it. Well, wait--I will say one more thing about it: the school faculty is not why I can't place her here. And THAT'S all I'll say about it).

I am all kinds of gutted about this. This was the school that taught me how to actually be a teacher. I've made countless friends here--people who are long gone from my work environment but I still stay in touch with because I just think they're fabulous. I have memories of my father walking around this school. I pass by classrooms and go: Oh, I remember when I taught 1st grade there. Oh, I remember when my friend X taught there--so many memories there. Some of my highest highs and my lowest lows have been spent at this school. I've gone through most of my rites of passage here--my dad's death, my marriage, buying a house, one separation, one reconciliation, my baby, turning 40. I started teaching here when I was 26. Now I'm about to turn 43. I've worked for 7 different principals here, 100 different assistant principals (not that many, but that's how many it feels like). I've worked with hundreds and hundreds of kids and families; I have thousands of stories that'll break your heart and renew your faith. THAT'S how dedicated I've been to this school and these low income families and their sweet babies.

But 1998 was a lot different than 2015. Teaching doesn't look anything like it used to. It's become something I didn't really sign up for. Usually, I can adapt and change and roll with the punches but...this feels different. This feels very, very different. And many of the families that are in my school's area right now are absolutely uninvolved and I don't think it's disrespectful to say this out loud; I think I'm making a firsthand observation that I could back up with a lot of hard data (which they love so much). Anecdotal data example: in 1998, there were posters plastered all over my school with an image of a house and an image of a school with the message, in English and Spanish, What happens HERE (the house) affects what happens HERE (the school). Now, we have posters about how programming code is going to be part of school curriculum just like learning to read and write and do math (this is elementary school, y'all...some of us are still trying to learn our addresses and tie our shoe laces). And posters with pictures of student chairs and desks with messages that say The more you are here, the more you'll learn and succeed.

Which is true! It is true: the more you're at school in your chair, the more you'll learn....if you're not too distracted by mommy and daddy's big fight last night...or hungry...or worried about being hit again...or worried about whether mommy will have to work late again...or freaked out by mommy's new boyfriend. There's a lot going on in some kids' homes these days, and it's a daily struggle. To get them engaged and 100% successful and able to pass tests. With little or no home support. And a lot of pressure to show growth in the data. Somebody somewhere always wants to see growth in the data. (What if you're at 100%? How do you grow past that? What if you're just having a really bad year and you're not able to show growth and need about 180 days to just suck--do we have room to let people have a really bad year and really suck?) (The quick answer to both appears, to me, to be: NO. No perfection or suckage allowed.)

So I'm going to try to get closer to home, and I'm going to try a different demographic of student. I'm nervous about it; I'm worried my decades of teaching low achievers will leave me unprepared for families who are involved in ways that I'm not used to--I don't work well with people breathing down my neck. I'm worried the work I give them will be too easy or too hard or I'm just not talented enough.

I worry, daily, that I'm in the wrong profession, that I'm just not talented enough. I think I'm a good teacher. I just don't think I'm naturally talented at it, and there are some things I just don't do well...like, say, Math. Because the feeling I get these days is they want talented at everything--they want 100% exemplary and talented and good at everything, and they want it for as cheap as they can get it. (This is how 21st century corporations think--if we can't get cheap talent here, we'll outsource to India. If we can't get it there, we'll outsource until we find it.)

I am tired, you guys. I am overwhelmed and disorganized and really tired. And I want to spend more time with my own little girl...this week, she celebrated 100 Day at school. I couldn't go to her program because I couldn't get a sub that fast. She sobbed, "But mommy! We're singing 2, 4, 6, 8 who do we appreciate? and then we're going to point at the audience! And you're not going to be there so I can point at you!"

And there were really, really big tears running down cheeks, hers and mine.

I am at work from 7.45 AM til 5.30 PM most days. Wednesdays I leave early because M has a gymnastics class and I've been asked to participate in her after school activities more. C is doing a lot of the mommy things because of my teaching job. Isn't that crazy? Teaching has traditionally been a female career because people think the hours are 8-3 and, really, 2+2? How hard can that be to teach? (Oh, you'd be surprised.) If you're a traditionally-minded dude who'd like a wife to do traditionally-oriented home life roles? Don't marry a teacher. And if you AREN'T a traditionally-minded dude, then still don't marry a teacher because you're going to be doing a lot of (translation: all of it) laundry, cooking, and child rearing. (I don't do M's homework with her, C does. M and I read, we read lots. But I can't bear to sit and do writing and math and handwriting and all that...after just finishing 12 hours of doing it with 25 other kids.)

This is a really stressful career to go into. You are responsible, now, for more than just teaching 2+2...you are responsible for things other people refuse to be responsible for. The forces at the top don't want to hear about how X's mom keeps switching schools so he can't be placed in special ed, meanwhile it's affecting your entire classroom environment and how much you can teach. The forces at the top don't want to hear about how children are coming to school TWO YEARS BEHIND, with few social skills because they got parents who think good parenting means feed 'em, bathe 'em, put 'em to bed. (No. That is not parenting. That is keep your butt out of Social Services jail time.) The forces at the top just want their data increased, the end. Git 'er done.

When I was in high school, my Advanced Placement U.S. Government teacher (where are you, Lucinda?) told us a story about her first teaching job. It was in the backwaters of Kentucky, and when she opened her classroom door she realized she had no textbooks, not a single thing in the room except desks and a chalkboard. So she went to the superintendent and said, "Where are my textbooks? How am I supposed to teach with no textbooks?" And he said in a thick Kentucky drawl, "Good teacher just teach. Good teacher don't need no textbooks. Good teacher just need chalk."  And she said, "Well, I have no chalk either."

And the next day, in her workroom mailbox, there was one piece of chalk.

That's what I feel like is happening in teaching right now except it's not textbooks and chalk, it's human resources and a basic understanding of some of our poorer families' challenges.

I am most heartbroken that we don't seem to care about what's going on in the homes, or we do but aren't willing to do what's right and necessary to rectify it. (Quick: which is worse? Knowing there's a problem and turning a blind eye to it, or knowing there's a problem and having the resources to do something but in the interest of time/money management and political posturing turning a blind eye to it?)  I suppose I could find a way to deal with the lack of human resources (I hate talking business speak about education; I find it highly inappropriate)...what I need is to know you deeply acknowledge and understand how a child's home life can and does affect what happens at school, and an acknowledgement that all children can and do learn...but at different speeds and ability levels. We are no longer doing what's best for other human beings; we are focused on doing what's best for us. And I am now one of them. They have turned me into one of them. I have to do what's best for me, for my family. And I am absolutely gutted about this, most days of the week but particularly at night.

There are other reasons I have insomnia a lot. But that's a big one right now. And hurrah! You got to be in my brain for a bit (I hope you're reading this over your morning coffee, after a long restful sleep).