4-1 Tu 8:3o AM
If I hadn't been so fucking stupid and drunk and stoned and careless all those years after high school, I might really be somewhere now. If only I had listened to my asshole father. I might have some profession I could respect. It's not that exactly, though. I respect teaching children, but I was capable of more, but when the time came to prove it, I wasn't mature enough. I was carrying-on like an ass, wrecking things and scaring the people I loved. Now I work for people I can't stand when I should be finishing up a PHD on scholarship somewhere.
It's not too late. First thing I do: I work my ass off for a few years and go from 15g in debt to 15 in the black. I think a professional woman is integral. I'll work until she finishes her doctorate, then she works while I finish mine. Then I work while she nurses our baby. Something like that. Can I get that far in ten years?
I dreamt of her last night. I have the fleetingest memory of her image only. I can't see what happened. I woke up at 4:25 AM and again an hour later. Each time I said, why not get up now? Why not get an early start? But I answered, just sleep twenty minutes more. Get your rest. I fell back to a deep sleep. When the alarm went off at six, I could barely move. My alpha waves had turned back to beta waves. I could have slept another three hours or so. I laid there for 15 minutes, the inane chatter on the radio going through my ears. I managed to get to the shower, but I felt drugged. I got dressed, but I sat on the end of the bed, unmoving for twenty minutes.
The kids are looking up a list of words in the dictionary. Oddly enough, it is something they seem to enjoy. I'm glad of that.
Baseball season starts today. I was supposed to go to the opening game at Dodger Stadium, but I got buttfucked by some totally unnecessary, state-mandated training.
What else? I've got to stop by the credit union and deposit this forty dollar check. I've got to cancel my subscription to the New York Times. I've got to inform the manic, Jesus freak on my couch, whose chick is digging him and whose about to be dumped, the bum, to pay up or move on. I played a little guitar before bed last night. I need a new nine-volt battery for my tuner. I gave the Jesus Freak ten bucks to bring back a book of stamps and some double-A batteries for the clock in the kitchen, but even with the batteries in it now, it still will not tick nor tock. I got a bran muffin and a quarter pint of orange juice and twelve ounces of coffee from the cafeteria. Sandi Olguera and Shelly Kumaus said I should have gone to the game. Roy said the best bilingual teachers would have to teach kindergarten and first grade next year. I said I would quit first. I said being bilingual shouldn't LIMIT what I can do. I've got to call Tech Ed again today. I'll look in my bag for the number. I have to poop. I have to work tonight. Last night's class turned out ok. Emmanuel says, "How much did you write today?" I show him these three pages. I say, "How much did you write today?" He says, "None." I say, "You'll never be as smart as I am." He said, "You're a teacher; You're supposed to be smarter than everyone." I said, "No."
If I hadn't been so fucking stupid and drunk and stoned and careless all those years after high school, I might really be somewhere now. If only I had listened to my asshole father. I might have some profession I could respect. It's not that exactly, though. I respect teaching children, but I was capable of more, but when the time came to prove it, I wasn't mature enough. I was carrying-on like an ass, wrecking things and scaring the people I loved. Now I work for people I can't stand when I should be finishing up a PHD on scholarship somewhere.
It's not too late. First thing I do: I work my ass off for a few years and go from 15g in debt to 15 in the black. I think a professional woman is integral. I'll work until she finishes her doctorate, then she works while I finish mine. Then I work while she nurses our baby. Something like that. Can I get that far in ten years?
I dreamt of her last night. I have the fleetingest memory of her image only. I can't see what happened. I woke up at 4:25 AM and again an hour later. Each time I said, why not get up now? Why not get an early start? But I answered, just sleep twenty minutes more. Get your rest. I fell back to a deep sleep. When the alarm went off at six, I could barely move. My alpha waves had turned back to beta waves. I could have slept another three hours or so. I laid there for 15 minutes, the inane chatter on the radio going through my ears. I managed to get to the shower, but I felt drugged. I got dressed, but I sat on the end of the bed, unmoving for twenty minutes.
The kids are looking up a list of words in the dictionary. Oddly enough, it is something they seem to enjoy. I'm glad of that.
Baseball season starts today. I was supposed to go to the opening game at Dodger Stadium, but I got buttfucked by some totally unnecessary, state-mandated training.
What else? I've got to stop by the credit union and deposit this forty dollar check. I've got to cancel my subscription to the New York Times. I've got to inform the manic, Jesus freak on my couch, whose chick is digging him and whose about to be dumped, the bum, to pay up or move on. I played a little guitar before bed last night. I need a new nine-volt battery for my tuner. I gave the Jesus Freak ten bucks to bring back a book of stamps and some double-A batteries for the clock in the kitchen, but even with the batteries in it now, it still will not tick nor tock. I got a bran muffin and a quarter pint of orange juice and twelve ounces of coffee from the cafeteria. Sandi Olguera and Shelly Kumaus said I should have gone to the game. Roy said the best bilingual teachers would have to teach kindergarten and first grade next year. I said I would quit first. I said being bilingual shouldn't LIMIT what I can do. I've got to call Tech Ed again today. I'll look in my bag for the number. I have to poop. I have to work tonight. Last night's class turned out ok. Emmanuel says, "How much did you write today?" I show him these three pages. I say, "How much did you write today?" He says, "None." I say, "You'll never be as smart as I am." He said, "You're a teacher; You're supposed to be smarter than everyone." I said, "No."
posted by johnz at 9:44 PM
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