While I was eating breakfast this morning, I got online and saw that my ex-boyfriend had sent me a facebook message.
This probably wouldn't be a big deal for a lot of people, but I haven't spoken/seen/emailed/IMed or even "texted" him since May 2004. Well, there's been some very tiny contact through facebook this year when I realized he'd left a VHS tape at my parents' house of home movies of him when he was little. I told him I had it and that I'd give it to him through my sister, since her band was playing a show with his band. Months later he told me he got the tape and briefly answered my questions about how his family was doing and if his dog and cat were still alive and kicking.
We broke up in December 2003, and it was not a nasty or messy breakup, though for both of us, it was the end of our first real romantic relationship and it had lasted two and a half years. I remember that he gave me my Christmas present early--these cool little paper lights that I strung up over my bed--and we lay on my bed and talked. I don't remember which one of us said it, but one said "We're broken up, aren't we," and the other said "Yeah, I think so" and I think we cried. For a really long time we'd been having nasty, resentful fights and we'd hung on until we'd had absolutely no steam left. I was scared of breaking up because I didn't understand the concept of cutting off someone you're emotionally close to. I thought if you're close, then there's no undoing that and going back to being un-close: even if the relationship is unhealthy, you can't stop loving the person because you already love them. Of course I know now that caring about someone doesn't mean you respect them and love being around them, and understanding each other isn't enough to make you want to be generous to each other. Our dynamic was unhealthy: our interactions were geared toward focusing on his problems and accommodating him, which grew into me resenting the fact that he had so many problems and him resenting me when I started to get controlling and told him what I thought he should do all the time because I couldn't stand that he wasn't addressing the problems. He was pretty unfair and passive aggressive toward me, saying spiteful things to hurt me, then apologizing, then repeating the behavior the next day.
The last time I saw him was pretty ridiculous. I had started seeing Leif about two months after we broke up, and he wasn't seeing anyone. I had met Leif through him, so I'm sure that part was weird for him, though I have to believe it's inevitably weird to see your ex with anyone else at all. At first, we were still communicating. I was completely honest about what was going on with Leif anytime he asked, and there was never any secret about my desire to date other people after we broke up, while he wanted to be single for a while. We were living in the same apartment complex at the time, and I knew it couldn't have been easy for him to see Leif's car parked by my place, and I didn't like that part of the situation at all. I never wanted to rub it in that I was dating someone else: I viewed my new relationship as something completely separate and unrelated to him, and something I deserved in my own life. Some of my friends (who were also his friends) were saying my new relationship was "controversial" (though I thought that was an overly-dramatic term, as me and my relationships don't seem like they'd be important or "hot news" to anyone else) and I gave him some space to hang out with our friends without me since I figured it was only fair. He stopped talking to me, and eventually, avoided me altogether. He taped my Liz Phair cds to my door and got his roommate to deliver me my birthday present (which I guess he bought a long time before he started avoiding me). He gave the phone to someone else if I called their apartment. I tried not to let it get to me too much, but one of the aspects of our relationship was that I gave him too much control over my emotions and took him too seriously, so I ended up feeling guilty when I had no reason to.
When one of our friends was going to have an end-of-the-year party, I emailed him and told him I wanted to go, but I didn't want to make him uncomfortable. I was basically still accommodating him and stepping around him, and I was allowing myself to feel as if I did him wrong in some way. I realized my mistake when he responded saying that he didn't want me to go because it would in fact make him uncomfortable. I thought, hey: I'm letting him determine whether or not I go to a party to see my friends. This is ridiculous. I'm going.
I showed up (without Leif, of course--I'm not inappropriate) and had a good time talking to my friends and hoped he wouldn't make a scene (still worrying about him and giving him control of every situation) and I saw that he looked very much in the mood to make one. He'd sort of glare angrily and leave the room if I came in to talk to someone, and if I went outside, he'd go inside. I remember being embarrassed that he was bringing out our shit in front of people, and I didn't want to be one of those ex-couples that ruin everyone else's time. One of my friends came and told me that he was telling people he was pissed that I had come and he started making other people uncomfortable, then he left to get food and came back and we went outside on the side of the apartment building to go talk (which I should not have even cared enough to do). I don't remember what was said exactly, but I know he told me I shouldn't have come and something to the effect of how dare I say I wasn't coming and then show up. I said I had just as much of a right to see my friends as he did and he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and put one in his mouth defiantly as if I was going to fuss at him for smoking (he didn't smoke) and then he'd have a reason to pick another fight or something. When I didn't say anything, he offered me one as if to push the envelope, and I said you know I don't smoke. At some point I was crying, and he got to say "why don't you go fuck your new boyfriend" and sort of storm off. I remember that I was half laughing incredulously while we were talking and that I was mad at myself for letting him make me cry. He got back in his car and left and then came back later. We somehow got to the point where we were both separately coexisting at the party and I started having a good time again. He came inside before he left and walked up to me to say "Thanks for ruining my night" before walking away. The whole thing was embarrassing and it was silly how much attention he was getting. I haven't seen him since then.
I used to ask about him a lot when I saw our mutual friends, but over the years I've tapered off and have been able to gradually remove myself from the thought of him. Many times I had the urge to contact him (I couldn't stand the idea of having to basically pretend he was dead indefinitely) but I was able to reason with myself about what that would actually accomplish. I used to have dreams about him all the time where we'd talk and I'd find out he didn't actually hate me and we'd resolve things, and I'd wake up mad at myself for even caring whether or not I ever see him again. I used to wonder what I'd do if I bumped into him (which was and is a very real possibility) because I'm pretty positive he wouldn't smile and ask me how I was doing.
I still have some pretty unresolved feelings about our relationship, though they've lost intensity as I've gained more perspective about how ridiculous his behavior towards me was and how he made a really big deal out of a situation where there was no one to blame. But I don't believe that other people owe it to you to make "closure" and that you have to be the one to give yourself that feeling and to have enough self-love to move on. I also have much higher standards of what I will tolerate with regard to the way people treat me, and the healthy love I experience now makes me surprised that I ever put up with (and gave power to) such self-centered spiteful behavior.
So when I got an email saying that he's working in town now and he thought it'd be a good idea for us to meet and was I free Monday, I thought: did he go through some kind of religious experience? But I found that I was excited about it and I immediately agreed to it. I figure it'll be cool to make peace, or at least talk to each other on purpose before we inevitably run into each other by accident. I'm trying not to make too big of a deal about it, because I feel like the situation is already dramatized by the fact that we haven't been in the same room in over three and a half years. I told Leif about it and he thinks it's a really good thing. He is friendly with all of his exes, but also he knows the distant silence has always bothered me. It should be interesting.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Stasis
While I was walking with Sarah yesterday in the heat, I was thinking: this is summer. This is a summer of change. Things are happening to me. Or because of me. Or around me. When you stop working long enough to sit around for enough days, you realize yourself all over again. I'm me, just like every summer, relaxing and doing everything too slow and being generally unproductive, with a few improvements. Escaping into books and TV, thinking about my internal life. Almost feeling like a teenager again. Having dreams where I am a high school student arguing that I am a high school teacher. Dancing around the house. Chopping vegetables. Starting stories and not finishing them. Worrying about myself as a writer and wondering if I'm an artist of any kind. Hating my clothes and wanting to throw them all away. Driving around singing. Calling my parents and my brother for no reason. Fearing tasks.
Doing what people call "nothing" for so long that the things we perceive as "something" have grown big and terrifying. Sarah's (awful) boss said work is a series of tasks to be completed. Like that's the easiest concept in the world. But you have to find something in you to do the completing. You can't just let yourself jump out whenever it gets too...something. And you have to first perceive the tasks in a series--it's never a series, one after the other. It's a big wad of tasks, some huge and looming, some tiny, hiding and unexpected. You have to untangle. And that in itself can wipe you out so fast that you have nothing left for the tasks themselves.
It was only months ago that I was tackling tasks and handling my work in an efficient and timely way. I don't know why, but now I feel like I've never taught a day in my life. Like breaking down a unit into 50 and 90 minute segments might kill me.
I have to find a way to stay focused on my mom's advice: I don't get paid to worry about this all summer. It's a job--it's not who I am. I will go and do my job when it needs to be done. Breathe in, breathe out. I will wait until the last minute and take Leif with me to help me arrange my classroom how I want it and put up some posters or something.
But something about being an English teacher is more consuming than that. There's a drive and a momentum that runs you over if you're not careful.
Doing what people call "nothing" for so long that the things we perceive as "something" have grown big and terrifying. Sarah's (awful) boss said work is a series of tasks to be completed. Like that's the easiest concept in the world. But you have to find something in you to do the completing. You can't just let yourself jump out whenever it gets too...something. And you have to first perceive the tasks in a series--it's never a series, one after the other. It's a big wad of tasks, some huge and looming, some tiny, hiding and unexpected. You have to untangle. And that in itself can wipe you out so fast that you have nothing left for the tasks themselves.
It was only months ago that I was tackling tasks and handling my work in an efficient and timely way. I don't know why, but now I feel like I've never taught a day in my life. Like breaking down a unit into 50 and 90 minute segments might kill me.
I have to find a way to stay focused on my mom's advice: I don't get paid to worry about this all summer. It's a job--it's not who I am. I will go and do my job when it needs to be done. Breathe in, breathe out. I will wait until the last minute and take Leif with me to help me arrange my classroom how I want it and put up some posters or something.
But something about being an English teacher is more consuming than that. There's a drive and a momentum that runs you over if you're not careful.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Blowout
Oh Lord (that's about the extent of my dialog with myself and everyone else for the past three days). I feel quite homeless. Every time I leave this new place, I feel that I should be going back to my old place, but instead, I come back to this place, which is a bed and a bunch of boxes. "Unpacking" isn't exactly what's ahead of me: I feel like I'm building a new home. With stupidly weak upper body strength and a terrible tolerance for the feeling of being overwhelmed.
Leif went to work. I didn't get out of bed until 11:45 because I was thinking about how my coffee pot and toaster oven weren't hooked up and my clothes are in drawers on the floor. Everything feels like improvising. I need to get some things done today so that he doesn't have to come home to no progress, but I have to go to Lafayette for a dentist appointment.
Our kitchen blew out, to make things extra fun. It couldn't handle the toaster oven and the coffee pot running at the same time because I think the fridge and the window AC unit are sucking up all of the electricity in the kitchen and dining room. I had to go flip the breaker switch, and then I ran them separately. Any coffee drinker can imagine what I felt like when the power went off mid-drip. I need to call George about this. I have yet to see what effects the microwave has.
I think I'll go take a shower, shave my legs, get dressed, and work on setting up the kitchen for a little while.
One good thing was that Leif's parents had us over for dinner last night, and when we left their house, we realized that I didn't have to drop Leif off at his place and tell him goodnight.
Another good thing is that I'm stealing someone's internet.
Leif went to work. I didn't get out of bed until 11:45 because I was thinking about how my coffee pot and toaster oven weren't hooked up and my clothes are in drawers on the floor. Everything feels like improvising. I need to get some things done today so that he doesn't have to come home to no progress, but I have to go to Lafayette for a dentist appointment.
Our kitchen blew out, to make things extra fun. It couldn't handle the toaster oven and the coffee pot running at the same time because I think the fridge and the window AC unit are sucking up all of the electricity in the kitchen and dining room. I had to go flip the breaker switch, and then I ran them separately. Any coffee drinker can imagine what I felt like when the power went off mid-drip. I need to call George about this. I have yet to see what effects the microwave has.
I think I'll go take a shower, shave my legs, get dressed, and work on setting up the kitchen for a little while.
One good thing was that Leif's parents had us over for dinner last night, and when we left their house, we realized that I didn't have to drop Leif off at his place and tell him goodnight.
Another good thing is that I'm stealing someone's internet.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Washing Dishes
I find myself worrying a lot about things in the future. It could be small, like "What am I going to do for dinner and what time will I coordinate my dinner with X?" or big, like "How will I possibly get myself ready for when school starts?" It's probably the source of my procrastination: I'm paralyzed with fear about the future and overwhelmed with the many steps of preparation, so I do something else instead to soothe myself, which is pretty silly since the thing that makes me feel the best is starting on the steps. Stress is really a conscious choice. I choose to let the fear rule instead of choosing to start on the task and subdue the fear (because almost always, I find myself saying "it's not so bad."). And then, like so many other people I know, I start telling everyone about my stress as if they can make it go away. That has got to stop. I hear myself, and I'm like god, I would tell me to shut up if I weren't me right now.
This excerpt is good for these thoughts:
While washing the dishes, you might be thinking about the tea afterwards, and so try to get them out of the way as quickly as possible in order to sit and drink tea. But that means you are incapable of living during the time you are washing the dishes. When you are washing the dishes, washing the dishes must be the most important thing in your life. Just as when you're drinking tea, drinking tea must be the most important thing in your life. When you're using the toilet, let that be the most important thing in your life....Each act is a rite, a ceremony. Raising your cup of tea to your mouth is a rite. Does the word "rite" seem too solemn? I use that word in order to jolt you into the realization of the life-and-death matter of awareness.
from The Miracle of Mindfulness by Thich Nhat Hanh
This excerpt is good for these thoughts:
While washing the dishes, you might be thinking about the tea afterwards, and so try to get them out of the way as quickly as possible in order to sit and drink tea. But that means you are incapable of living during the time you are washing the dishes. When you are washing the dishes, washing the dishes must be the most important thing in your life. Just as when you're drinking tea, drinking tea must be the most important thing in your life. When you're using the toilet, let that be the most important thing in your life....Each act is a rite, a ceremony. Raising your cup of tea to your mouth is a rite. Does the word "rite" seem too solemn? I use that word in order to jolt you into the realization of the life-and-death matter of awareness.
from The Miracle of Mindfulness by Thich Nhat Hanh
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
I like this:
"Replaying everything was just like what I did when I got a shot: I'd pinch myself so I could feel like I was in charge of the pain."
from The Wonder Spot by Melissa Bank
Unrelated, I'm moving on Saturday and I've started packing books, binders, and other horrid crap I'm finding on bookshelves that I'll probably need for teaching, which is the only thing stopping me from chunking it into the recycling bin. Those stupid binders and loose manilla folders are a big dusty reminder of how disorganized I can let myself get.
Thinking about hauling all of those books in boxes brings to mind an excellent point Jerry Seinfeld made to George, who was lamenting the fact that a girl he just broke up with still had some of his books. Jerry asked, "Have you read them?" and George said "Yeah," and Jerry said "Well what do you need them for? What is it with books? People stack them around the house like trophies, but what do you do with them after you're finished reading them?" But I will continue to hold on to mine and stack them on shelves in the new house. I suppose I could loan the really good ones out to people who might enjoy them, like a library. And naturally I'll re-read Harry Potter.
I also have this dust encrusted CD "discman" or "walkman" (or whatever you call it) on my dresser. I can't believe I have let it sit there for years and I've pretended it's not there. It has no headphones and no batteries. I'm thinking about cleaning it up and buying it some new headphones and a pack of batteries, though I wonder if I'll ever use it. I don't have an iPod. I don't listen to CDs except in the car, but I like the idea of books on CD. I'd have to visit a library to check those babies out.
I don't know how to decorate a living room. I like having things on the walls, but I'll have to start framing stuff. I'll have to get pictures developed to go in the empty frames I've gotten for gifts.
It's hard for me to believe that in less than a week I'll be sleeping in a different house and Leif won't have to pack a duffle bag to come and see me. Heather asked if I was excited and I said no, because it's not a real thing to me. I don't feel sentimental about this house or my bedroom and I don't feel anxious to move to the next. Roommate-wise, I think I will miss living with Reid, but I anticipate him coming over to hang out. I am curious about what it'll be like to live with my boyfriend and do the whole "Hunny, I'm home" thing. I like the idea of cooking with him and setting up a little table with an umbrella out back. Reading in bed with him before we go to sleep. Mingling our toiletries together in the bathroom cabinet. I like that he'll figure out a good way to organize all of our things. We'll have an office where our computers and my teaching stuff will live. I like the idea of not calling and trying to coordinate our weekends to where we can spend time together and then never getting around to doing what we wanted to do by ourselves. Maybe we'll wake up on a Saturday and he'll say "I'm going to record some stuff" and I'll say "I'm going hang out with so and so" and we'll say "see you later," and when I come home without calling, I'll see him. I'll see him, and I'll be, simultaneously, at home. That'll be cool.
from The Wonder Spot by Melissa Bank
Unrelated, I'm moving on Saturday and I've started packing books, binders, and other horrid crap I'm finding on bookshelves that I'll probably need for teaching, which is the only thing stopping me from chunking it into the recycling bin. Those stupid binders and loose manilla folders are a big dusty reminder of how disorganized I can let myself get.
Thinking about hauling all of those books in boxes brings to mind an excellent point Jerry Seinfeld made to George, who was lamenting the fact that a girl he just broke up with still had some of his books. Jerry asked, "Have you read them?" and George said "Yeah," and Jerry said "Well what do you need them for? What is it with books? People stack them around the house like trophies, but what do you do with them after you're finished reading them?" But I will continue to hold on to mine and stack them on shelves in the new house. I suppose I could loan the really good ones out to people who might enjoy them, like a library. And naturally I'll re-read Harry Potter.
I also have this dust encrusted CD "discman" or "walkman" (or whatever you call it) on my dresser. I can't believe I have let it sit there for years and I've pretended it's not there. It has no headphones and no batteries. I'm thinking about cleaning it up and buying it some new headphones and a pack of batteries, though I wonder if I'll ever use it. I don't have an iPod. I don't listen to CDs except in the car, but I like the idea of books on CD. I'd have to visit a library to check those babies out.
I don't know how to decorate a living room. I like having things on the walls, but I'll have to start framing stuff. I'll have to get pictures developed to go in the empty frames I've gotten for gifts.
It's hard for me to believe that in less than a week I'll be sleeping in a different house and Leif won't have to pack a duffle bag to come and see me. Heather asked if I was excited and I said no, because it's not a real thing to me. I don't feel sentimental about this house or my bedroom and I don't feel anxious to move to the next. Roommate-wise, I think I will miss living with Reid, but I anticipate him coming over to hang out. I am curious about what it'll be like to live with my boyfriend and do the whole "Hunny, I'm home" thing. I like the idea of cooking with him and setting up a little table with an umbrella out back. Reading in bed with him before we go to sleep. Mingling our toiletries together in the bathroom cabinet. I like that he'll figure out a good way to organize all of our things. We'll have an office where our computers and my teaching stuff will live. I like the idea of not calling and trying to coordinate our weekends to where we can spend time together and then never getting around to doing what we wanted to do by ourselves. Maybe we'll wake up on a Saturday and he'll say "I'm going to record some stuff" and I'll say "I'm going hang out with so and so" and we'll say "see you later," and when I come home without calling, I'll see him. I'll see him, and I'll be, simultaneously, at home. That'll be cool.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Watcha got to eat cause I'm hongry
Now that I'm thinking of it, I had a good exercise week last week. Monday I walked with Sarah, Tuesday Ann and I went to modern followed by ballet both Wednesday and Thursday, I walked with Sarah again Friday, and I walked with Mom and Whitney Sunday. Woot. Now the challenge: to be consistent.
We went to eat at Applebee's (Crapplebee's) last night because Whitney now works there. It was interesting seeing my sister as a server. She was having a bad night and she got some really horrible tips. She's already getting those server mannerisms of throwing things around in the kitchen and walking in a hurry around the house. And looking sort of put-upon like the world is against her. I think she likes the job overall, though. She's very compassionate and natural--she has no trouble paying close attention to other people and it looked like she was doing a good job. I was proud. She crammed some of my veggie "pizza" (a soggy tortilla with cream of spinach and unripe tomatoes) into her mouth before we left.
I grew up eating mostly home cooked meals, but when my family went out to eat we frequented places like Outback and Chili's, Mexican restaurants, or semi-local Cajun places that served fried seafood. We always ate until we felt like we were about to bust. We don't eat like that much anymore, for some reason. All three of us kids prefer sushi over just about anything, and we eat a lot of Greek and lighter Italian things (crispy pizza with loads of veggies, but not creamy mounds of pasta). Mom and Dad eat better, too. The days of Little Debbies in the pantry are over. Somewhere along the line we started seeking out foods that are healthier. This is not to say that we don't gorge ourselves on bread when my dad makes olive oil dip, or make three tostadas at a time, but we do better than our previous fried shrimp or ribs. We haven't been to Outback in years, and we never even considered Applebee's an option because my dad had a rubbery steak there once. Though I know I am a food snob for saying this, after eating delicious Thai food earlier this week, Applebee's was total ass.
There's almost nothing on those American chain restaurant menus except dry chicken breast in various forms, slabs of greasy beef, or creamy truckloads of pasta. And people LOVE this place. Reid says I'm too picky and that I think I'm a connoisseur, but I hate boring food. And I hate when their idea of vegetables is a bowl of steamed cauliflower and broccoli that feels like a chore to eat. Anyway, Reid said his "Tuscan" chicken pesto sandwich was dry and bland. My mom stayed positive about the food (probably in support of Whitney, though she doesn't cook it) and was complimentary of the same pizza I didn't like, but it is true that my French onion soup was really good. Dad said his steak was "not bad." Maw Maw and Paw Paw have questionable tastes, and my cousin is ten.
My little cousin (she rode in with my grandparents) ordered cheese pizza and was praised for finishing it. I don't even want to get started with how problematic this is, especially since she came in with half a happy meal when she showed up to our house earlier that afternoon. Kids eat crap, and they are encouraged to continue eating it as long as they aren't super fat. Kids menus consist of some form of fried chicken, french fries, pizza, hot dogs, burgers (without the veggies), and grilled cheese (Velveeta on white bread). Crap crap crap. Most aren't even asked to try anything besides this (or this is what I've seen). Earlier that day, my cousin had Cheetos for a snack, though it was probably because my grandma wanted to eat them and it was a good excuse to open the bag. And I think she had orange sherbet somewhere in there. Though this is an excessive example, people do this kind of thing a lot, and then they say: "Oh, that's all she'll eat," or "Well I don't want her to starve" like they're doing their kid some kind of service. I'm no health Nazi: I fully intend to allow my children to experience the joys of dessert or fried food every once in a while, but damn. It can't be hard to put out something that's nutritious and that tastes good and tell your child, "This is what we're having." Like a turkey sandwich on wheat bread, or pasta with vegetables--it doesn't have to be exotic. Grapes. Apples. Crackers and cheese. If they don't want to eat it, they can sit there until they decide that they do. I mean they're not going to starve by choice. And I wish people would quit giving their kids coke and chocolate milk and "fruit" punch like it's crazy to drink plain old water. But I digress.
The question of "what should I eat?" is still one I'm always unsure of. I'm in the process of trying to become more mindful of what I eat and how I eat it. Tasting the food before shoving the next bite in, etc. Noticing how my body feels after eating certain foods. Most of my rant comes from the frustration that most people have to figure this out as adults because of the way we're raised to eat as Americans. Healthy foods and healthy eating styles are almost counter-culture. And I'm not talking about buying fat free sugar free things or withholding meals or living on yogurt and salads and then shoving cake in secrecy. I'm talking about being able to eat without indulging or gorging, choosing stuff that has nutritious value (and enjoying it!) and stopping way before we're about to throw up. It would be pretty cool if those eating habits were the cultural norm. Then we could all think about something else.
We went to eat at Applebee's (Crapplebee's) last night because Whitney now works there. It was interesting seeing my sister as a server. She was having a bad night and she got some really horrible tips. She's already getting those server mannerisms of throwing things around in the kitchen and walking in a hurry around the house. And looking sort of put-upon like the world is against her. I think she likes the job overall, though. She's very compassionate and natural--she has no trouble paying close attention to other people and it looked like she was doing a good job. I was proud. She crammed some of my veggie "pizza" (a soggy tortilla with cream of spinach and unripe tomatoes) into her mouth before we left.
I grew up eating mostly home cooked meals, but when my family went out to eat we frequented places like Outback and Chili's, Mexican restaurants, or semi-local Cajun places that served fried seafood. We always ate until we felt like we were about to bust. We don't eat like that much anymore, for some reason. All three of us kids prefer sushi over just about anything, and we eat a lot of Greek and lighter Italian things (crispy pizza with loads of veggies, but not creamy mounds of pasta). Mom and Dad eat better, too. The days of Little Debbies in the pantry are over. Somewhere along the line we started seeking out foods that are healthier. This is not to say that we don't gorge ourselves on bread when my dad makes olive oil dip, or make three tostadas at a time, but we do better than our previous fried shrimp or ribs. We haven't been to Outback in years, and we never even considered Applebee's an option because my dad had a rubbery steak there once. Though I know I am a food snob for saying this, after eating delicious Thai food earlier this week, Applebee's was total ass.
There's almost nothing on those American chain restaurant menus except dry chicken breast in various forms, slabs of greasy beef, or creamy truckloads of pasta. And people LOVE this place. Reid says I'm too picky and that I think I'm a connoisseur, but I hate boring food. And I hate when their idea of vegetables is a bowl of steamed cauliflower and broccoli that feels like a chore to eat. Anyway, Reid said his "Tuscan" chicken pesto sandwich was dry and bland. My mom stayed positive about the food (probably in support of Whitney, though she doesn't cook it) and was complimentary of the same pizza I didn't like, but it is true that my French onion soup was really good. Dad said his steak was "not bad." Maw Maw and Paw Paw have questionable tastes, and my cousin is ten.
My little cousin (she rode in with my grandparents) ordered cheese pizza and was praised for finishing it. I don't even want to get started with how problematic this is, especially since she came in with half a happy meal when she showed up to our house earlier that afternoon. Kids eat crap, and they are encouraged to continue eating it as long as they aren't super fat. Kids menus consist of some form of fried chicken, french fries, pizza, hot dogs, burgers (without the veggies), and grilled cheese (Velveeta on white bread). Crap crap crap. Most aren't even asked to try anything besides this (or this is what I've seen). Earlier that day, my cousin had Cheetos for a snack, though it was probably because my grandma wanted to eat them and it was a good excuse to open the bag. And I think she had orange sherbet somewhere in there. Though this is an excessive example, people do this kind of thing a lot, and then they say: "Oh, that's all she'll eat," or "Well I don't want her to starve" like they're doing their kid some kind of service. I'm no health Nazi: I fully intend to allow my children to experience the joys of dessert or fried food every once in a while, but damn. It can't be hard to put out something that's nutritious and that tastes good and tell your child, "This is what we're having." Like a turkey sandwich on wheat bread, or pasta with vegetables--it doesn't have to be exotic. Grapes. Apples. Crackers and cheese. If they don't want to eat it, they can sit there until they decide that they do. I mean they're not going to starve by choice. And I wish people would quit giving their kids coke and chocolate milk and "fruit" punch like it's crazy to drink plain old water. But I digress.
The question of "what should I eat?" is still one I'm always unsure of. I'm in the process of trying to become more mindful of what I eat and how I eat it. Tasting the food before shoving the next bite in, etc. Noticing how my body feels after eating certain foods. Most of my rant comes from the frustration that most people have to figure this out as adults because of the way we're raised to eat as Americans. Healthy foods and healthy eating styles are almost counter-culture. And I'm not talking about buying fat free sugar free things or withholding meals or living on yogurt and salads and then shoving cake in secrecy. I'm talking about being able to eat without indulging or gorging, choosing stuff that has nutritious value (and enjoying it!) and stopping way before we're about to throw up. It would be pretty cool if those eating habits were the cultural norm. Then we could all think about something else.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Crippling Clouds
I had another dream about school last night. I was a student at Baton Rouge High and I couldn't find my homeroom, but I was the age I am now and aware that I was older and that it was some kind of special circumstance. I needed to find room 205 or something. I kept going one floor too high or one floor too low again and again, up and down the staircase, up and down the halls. When I found it, it was some foreign language teacher with an ugly room with blank walls. We sat with our desks in a circle and she made each person do something. She was pushing the girl next to me to sing.
Today I am feeling scared of school. I flipped through some of my unit binders and wanted to cry. They're so unorganized that I feel like I'm starting all over from day one. And there's so many new things I want to do: I want to create a writing binder with writing activities that have nothing to do with literature. The first thing I thought of focusing on is the descriptive paragraph. Naturally, we'll have to do some grammar on adjectives first. Then a style lesson on strong adjectives.
Then I started thinking about teaching parts of speech and how we'd need to start on nouns, so would we do nouns and adjectives relatively at the same time, and is there enough time to cover both in the first six weeks, and what about starting those bell ringer lessons on correcting grammar and punctuation in bad sentences?
This is the way my teacher brain works. The moment I try to create something linear, it reminds me of all the stuff I'd have to cover first in order to be sure they had some success with the initial lesson. Then I want to run away from it all or cry because I'm required to plan everything in an exacting linear fashion if I want to get anything accomplished. It feels like stuffing a big plastic ball into a cardboard box. I have no idea how to be effective yet retain protocol.
I thought about making myself sit down again with this inspiring book on writing Dr. Guillory suggested we buy that I started last summer. I thought about bringing it to a coffee shop and sitting with it and underlining. But part of me is scared (how stupid is this?) of getting more ideas because there's no room for them. It's like I'll be learning more and more about good teaching that I'm too incompetent to do, or that I cannot properly organize or integrate into an orderly school day. And especially without overloading the kids.
I want to be that teacher with a fun classroom (I've got nothing to put on the walls). I want to be a lot of things that I feel like I can't be. What is this feeling of incompetence? Why do I feel crippled like running in a dream when I think of the upcoming school year? Why am I scared out of my mind? I've done it already for a year. And then Holmes before that.
I'm scared of the binders and folders and paper. The lesson plan grids. The time frames. The puzzle pieces. The portfolio. The post-observation conversations. The literature decisions. Running off questions and more questions and feeling stuck in questions. The expectations and demands. Feeling like I'm not good enough. Feeling like I lost my keys. Never being able to organize a fucking binder to completion. Never being able to make a decision and stick with it because that means ignoring the complications that arise. Staying afloat but never climbing out of the mess.
Somehow in the midst of all this I still feel that need to excel in this. The need to be really proficient and to get the kids really involved. To be an inspiration, to do something worthwhile. To connect with people in a way that changes both of us. To figure out a way to get them good at writing. But being at the point where I'm just trying to carry out a lesson plan in a functional amount of time.
Maybe that's the most overwhelming part.
Today I am feeling scared of school. I flipped through some of my unit binders and wanted to cry. They're so unorganized that I feel like I'm starting all over from day one. And there's so many new things I want to do: I want to create a writing binder with writing activities that have nothing to do with literature. The first thing I thought of focusing on is the descriptive paragraph. Naturally, we'll have to do some grammar on adjectives first. Then a style lesson on strong adjectives.
Then I started thinking about teaching parts of speech and how we'd need to start on nouns, so would we do nouns and adjectives relatively at the same time, and is there enough time to cover both in the first six weeks, and what about starting those bell ringer lessons on correcting grammar and punctuation in bad sentences?
This is the way my teacher brain works. The moment I try to create something linear, it reminds me of all the stuff I'd have to cover first in order to be sure they had some success with the initial lesson. Then I want to run away from it all or cry because I'm required to plan everything in an exacting linear fashion if I want to get anything accomplished. It feels like stuffing a big plastic ball into a cardboard box. I have no idea how to be effective yet retain protocol.
I thought about making myself sit down again with this inspiring book on writing Dr. Guillory suggested we buy that I started last summer. I thought about bringing it to a coffee shop and sitting with it and underlining. But part of me is scared (how stupid is this?) of getting more ideas because there's no room for them. It's like I'll be learning more and more about good teaching that I'm too incompetent to do, or that I cannot properly organize or integrate into an orderly school day. And especially without overloading the kids.
I want to be that teacher with a fun classroom (I've got nothing to put on the walls). I want to be a lot of things that I feel like I can't be. What is this feeling of incompetence? Why do I feel crippled like running in a dream when I think of the upcoming school year? Why am I scared out of my mind? I've done it already for a year. And then Holmes before that.
I'm scared of the binders and folders and paper. The lesson plan grids. The time frames. The puzzle pieces. The portfolio. The post-observation conversations. The literature decisions. Running off questions and more questions and feeling stuck in questions. The expectations and demands. Feeling like I'm not good enough. Feeling like I lost my keys. Never being able to organize a fucking binder to completion. Never being able to make a decision and stick with it because that means ignoring the complications that arise. Staying afloat but never climbing out of the mess.
Somehow in the midst of all this I still feel that need to excel in this. The need to be really proficient and to get the kids really involved. To be an inspiration, to do something worthwhile. To connect with people in a way that changes both of us. To figure out a way to get them good at writing. But being at the point where I'm just trying to carry out a lesson plan in a functional amount of time.
Maybe that's the most overwhelming part.
Monday, June 11, 2007
She don't want
What is it about summer and bedtime? I'm like a toddler again. I don't want to brush my teeth. I don't want to put myself to bed. I don't want to sleep. Until morning, and then I want to keep sleeping and sleeping and I don't feel rested.
I don't have the ability to enjoy sleeping until noon anymore. I hate that feeling of waking up all sweaty, stuck to the sheets and cursing because half the day's gone. Squinting at the red numbers because the sun is making a glare. I like mornings. I got up at six or earlier all year--I know it's possible to make eight a habit.
But then the kicker: you have to go to bed at midnight if you want to get up at eight. Or I do...or I have come to think that I do. Less than eight hours makes me feel deprived. And sluggish. I'm naturally sluggish, so I can't afford any extra fatigue.
But I can't put myself to bed! I hunt around for all these stupid things to do to put off bedtime. I pretend to be excited about the fact that ET's on. I hate ET and their stupid boring Paris Hilton coverage. But in my mind, it's "Well look. ET's on. Guess I can't go to bed yet."
Or the websites. I visit the same stupid sites: my email, facebook, nataliedee, a few blogs if I'm in the mood, homestarrunner, mugglenet if I'm feeling impatient about the next Harry Potter. I realize, mid-click, that I'm starting the cycle over, somehow without my own knowledge of it. No matter how un-updated these sites are, it takes a really long time to drain my hopes. That little feeling of anticipation that there's something new I didn't catch. I must have extra hope reserves compared to normal people. Either that or it takes me a long time to give up on something.
So I allow myself to stupidly click around with both the laptop and the remote. I'd be a good lab rat--or a bad one, depending--always going back to the same stimuli. Laptop, TV, tortillas and butter.
Then my rational side fusses: "interacting" with digital screens are about the worst thing you can do before you go to bed. "Go read your book!" I say half-heartedly to myself. "It will make you tired in a healthy way and then you'll fall asleep without your mind acting all disobedient" (you know what I mean--your mind mocks you by fixating on a scene or a song and you can't make it stop).
Why's it so much more fun to fall asleep on the couch than in your bed? It feels so good to succumb to that beat-you-in-the-head sudden sleep that only happens on couches and in cars.
I know what's really going on: I'm my father. Hogging the couch, owning the remote, flipping through channels determined to find something when I know I should be in bed. Falling asleep with the remote on my chest, or clutching it while unconscious. Sometimes when I go to Lafayette, Dad and I stay up watching stupid TV and fight over the remote. He'll fall asleep while I'm still up, and he won't let me steal the remote. I kick him and tell him he needs to go to bed because he's already asleep, and he murmurs some garbage half-sentence and stays put. Mom comes down the hall in her big T-shirt squinting and yelling-whispering, "Ya'll, it's two o'clock! What are you doing up?" I yell-whisper back at her whatever defense I can think of, she lowers the AC a few notches and tells us whatever, but we're going to be tired tomorrow and goes back to bed. And all I want is for Dad to go to bed so I can stretch out and make all the channel decisions.
And never go to bed!
I don't have the ability to enjoy sleeping until noon anymore. I hate that feeling of waking up all sweaty, stuck to the sheets and cursing because half the day's gone. Squinting at the red numbers because the sun is making a glare. I like mornings. I got up at six or earlier all year--I know it's possible to make eight a habit.
But then the kicker: you have to go to bed at midnight if you want to get up at eight. Or I do...or I have come to think that I do. Less than eight hours makes me feel deprived. And sluggish. I'm naturally sluggish, so I can't afford any extra fatigue.
But I can't put myself to bed! I hunt around for all these stupid things to do to put off bedtime. I pretend to be excited about the fact that ET's on. I hate ET and their stupid boring Paris Hilton coverage. But in my mind, it's "Well look. ET's on. Guess I can't go to bed yet."
Or the websites. I visit the same stupid sites: my email, facebook, nataliedee, a few blogs if I'm in the mood, homestarrunner, mugglenet if I'm feeling impatient about the next Harry Potter. I realize, mid-click, that I'm starting the cycle over, somehow without my own knowledge of it. No matter how un-updated these sites are, it takes a really long time to drain my hopes. That little feeling of anticipation that there's something new I didn't catch. I must have extra hope reserves compared to normal people. Either that or it takes me a long time to give up on something.
So I allow myself to stupidly click around with both the laptop and the remote. I'd be a good lab rat--or a bad one, depending--always going back to the same stimuli. Laptop, TV, tortillas and butter.
Then my rational side fusses: "interacting" with digital screens are about the worst thing you can do before you go to bed. "Go read your book!" I say half-heartedly to myself. "It will make you tired in a healthy way and then you'll fall asleep without your mind acting all disobedient" (you know what I mean--your mind mocks you by fixating on a scene or a song and you can't make it stop).
Why's it so much more fun to fall asleep on the couch than in your bed? It feels so good to succumb to that beat-you-in-the-head sudden sleep that only happens on couches and in cars.
I know what's really going on: I'm my father. Hogging the couch, owning the remote, flipping through channels determined to find something when I know I should be in bed. Falling asleep with the remote on my chest, or clutching it while unconscious. Sometimes when I go to Lafayette, Dad and I stay up watching stupid TV and fight over the remote. He'll fall asleep while I'm still up, and he won't let me steal the remote. I kick him and tell him he needs to go to bed because he's already asleep, and he murmurs some garbage half-sentence and stays put. Mom comes down the hall in her big T-shirt squinting and yelling-whispering, "Ya'll, it's two o'clock! What are you doing up?" I yell-whisper back at her whatever defense I can think of, she lowers the AC a few notches and tells us whatever, but we're going to be tired tomorrow and goes back to bed. And all I want is for Dad to go to bed so I can stretch out and make all the channel decisions.
And never go to bed!
Monday, June 4, 2007
Afraid the 'something' will cut into your 'nothing,' and then where will you be?
A review of last week's exercise:
I went to modern Tuesday, ballet Wednesday, took myself for a walk/jog Thursday. It was the first time I can remember going for a walk by myself, and it was one of the very few times I've jogged outside. It had just rained, so it was all cool and misty outside and it was six something in the evening. It was really nice and I felt very proud of myself. I want to keep it up.
We went tubing on the Bogue Chitto Saturday and drank a bunch of beer. It was fun, but I was definitely off the health train. Topped off a day of drinking with some pizza, though I stopped after two pieces of Papa John's veggie something and two cheesy sticks. That sounds like a lot, but I could have eaten so much more, so I'm patting myself on the back. Sunday I did zero exercise as well, unless you count walking around a few furniture stores and Winn Dixie. I'm bothered by the thought that my body was moving and active during school hours. I know my goal of daily exercise this summer will be good for me, but will it be effective when I'm laying around the house during the hours I'm not exercising?
I'm slightly stressed by the prospect of having to buy a couch. Buying a new one is a big deal: I could be stuck with it for decades. Besides moving in together, Leif and I are marrying a couch. And a chair. We found one at Haverty's called "Urban Loft" which is pretty cool: http://www.havertys.com/catalog/group.do?group=HVTUAEE-A. Although we won't have that weird chair thing sticking out of the couch, and we won't be buying red furniture. I saw a pistachio green on another couch that I liked. Man...listen to me.
I'm on page 230 of 713 pages of Dan Brown garble. At least the plot is picking up nicely. Progress. Leif and I are listening to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone on CD (started it in the car on the drive out to Covington this weekend). He's never read/listened to any of the books: he's only seen the films. He likes it a lot so far, which is exciting. I plan on eventually owning all of the audio versions--I've ordered the second one already. It'll be fun listening to them on car trips this summer.
I keep having dreams about school. In almost every one of them, I go back and forth between being a teacher and a student. I am in high school, and then I realize I'm a teacher, and then I go back again. I can't wrap my brain around the fact that I'm out of high school in these dreams. Like college never happened: just high school and then teaching high school (if anyone wants to interpret this for me, your guess is as good as mine. Maybe it's the whole "trouble with transitioning into adult responsibilities" conflict). I'm supposed to be taking a break from this stuff. It's scary to be doing nothing school-related for weeks at a time: I can't shake that feeling that my school to-do list must be building up if I'm not busting my ass all the time. It's still finding a way to hang over my head. I thought about the first day of school yesterday and freaked out a little bit. The thought of standing in a room full of strange kids for 90 minutes. What do you do with them? Read the syllabus. Then something. Then something else. Crap. I need to rewrite my syllabus now that I actually know how my class goes and what my teaching style is like. The longer I'm away, the rustier I must be getting. It's not like riding a bike at all.
I went to modern Tuesday, ballet Wednesday, took myself for a walk/jog Thursday. It was the first time I can remember going for a walk by myself, and it was one of the very few times I've jogged outside. It had just rained, so it was all cool and misty outside and it was six something in the evening. It was really nice and I felt very proud of myself. I want to keep it up.
We went tubing on the Bogue Chitto Saturday and drank a bunch of beer. It was fun, but I was definitely off the health train. Topped off a day of drinking with some pizza, though I stopped after two pieces of Papa John's veggie something and two cheesy sticks. That sounds like a lot, but I could have eaten so much more, so I'm patting myself on the back. Sunday I did zero exercise as well, unless you count walking around a few furniture stores and Winn Dixie. I'm bothered by the thought that my body was moving and active during school hours. I know my goal of daily exercise this summer will be good for me, but will it be effective when I'm laying around the house during the hours I'm not exercising?
I'm slightly stressed by the prospect of having to buy a couch. Buying a new one is a big deal: I could be stuck with it for decades. Besides moving in together, Leif and I are marrying a couch. And a chair. We found one at Haverty's called "Urban Loft" which is pretty cool: http://www.havertys.com/catalog/group.do?group=HVTUAEE-A. Although we won't have that weird chair thing sticking out of the couch, and we won't be buying red furniture. I saw a pistachio green on another couch that I liked. Man...listen to me.
I'm on page 230 of 713 pages of Dan Brown garble. At least the plot is picking up nicely. Progress. Leif and I are listening to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone on CD (started it in the car on the drive out to Covington this weekend). He's never read/listened to any of the books: he's only seen the films. He likes it a lot so far, which is exciting. I plan on eventually owning all of the audio versions--I've ordered the second one already. It'll be fun listening to them on car trips this summer.
I keep having dreams about school. In almost every one of them, I go back and forth between being a teacher and a student. I am in high school, and then I realize I'm a teacher, and then I go back again. I can't wrap my brain around the fact that I'm out of high school in these dreams. Like college never happened: just high school and then teaching high school (if anyone wants to interpret this for me, your guess is as good as mine. Maybe it's the whole "trouble with transitioning into adult responsibilities" conflict). I'm supposed to be taking a break from this stuff. It's scary to be doing nothing school-related for weeks at a time: I can't shake that feeling that my school to-do list must be building up if I'm not busting my ass all the time. It's still finding a way to hang over my head. I thought about the first day of school yesterday and freaked out a little bit. The thought of standing in a room full of strange kids for 90 minutes. What do you do with them? Read the syllabus. Then something. Then something else. Crap. I need to rewrite my syllabus now that I actually know how my class goes and what my teaching style is like. The longer I'm away, the rustier I must be getting. It's not like riding a bike at all.
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