Ever since I left for vacation in July, things have been happening in my periphery which effect me. For some reason, the powers that be have decided not to involve me in their decision-making process.
At first, it was professional; I was transferred to a new school, our administration left and the district didn't see the need to hire new people to help us do our jobs.
Then, wheels started moving in the educational department. The eternal summer semester at FIU turned sour (as if it weren't awful already, right?), and finished off with a pathetic whimper. Scheduling was a bitch as usual; we got locked out of one class, another was on Monday nights, and suddenly there were no options left. With two angry emails and very little protest on the part of the administration, I quit the masters' program.
Then, it turned to my everyday life. Things every day at work happen while I'm totally in the dark. They hired a new assistant principal, unbeknownst to me. This man in a suit walks into my class, yells at some boys, drags one off by the collar, and disappears. Bewildered, I turn to my students and ask *them* if they knew who this strange man was. Nobody really knew, but they had the vague impression that he "works for Central." Superb. I return to the main campus after 4 weeks, and on a whim go to the main office to see if my mailbox was still there (I have a new one at the middle school). Sure enough, there was my box, spewing papers and memos out onto the floor. In it I found such gems as "the uniform policy" "professional development" and trivial things like memos about curriculum changes and, oh, the hiring of a new principal. Way to keep everybody informed.
Now, it seems to have become personal. I don't really give a shit if he reads this, because we're not "together" anymore; if he doesn't want to think about me, then he doesn't need to read this. D. left Miami just about two weeks ago, mentioning in passing that he'd gotten a second interview with a prospective job. He leaves a note on my pillow, and that's the last I hear from him, more or less, until I get a phone call saying "I'm moving to Washington." Oh, that's nice.
Nothing for 5 more days, so I go about my shitty life down here, staying up late on the weeknights, getting up at 5:45 to rush off to a 9 hour day of teaching ungrateful, insulting children assisted by an either nonexistent or incompetent administration. I spend ten hours of my Saturday at professional development training that I'VE ALREADY HAD LAST YEAR, then sleep all Sunday because I'm so exhausted. If you're trying not to think about someone, take my advice and don't do their laundry. It's quite difficult to keep someone off of your mind when you're folding their underwear and washing their socks.
Monday rolls around, and it's more of the same old shit. Then, on a beautiful Tuesday night, me none the wiser minus a vague sense of foreboding, I make the drive up to Ft. Lauderdale to pick him up at the airport, using a third of a tank of gas to do so in my rickety old car. Right now in South Florida, that's $10 worth.
On the way home, I'm informed of his plans. He's leaving "Wednesday or Thursday." For those of you unfamiliar with the Gregorian calendar, that's tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. Oh, that's nice of you to let me know.
Back at the ranch, he's decided that he "needs some time to figure things out," and that we shouldn't be together because he's not sure that he really wants to be with me. Again, great advance warning. Exactly how long has this been going on? Not really sure, but maybe after he met my entire family this summer. That must have been the clincher.
It was fantastically cliched, my reaction. It disgusts me how sickeningly predicatable I am; at first I wanted to cry (check, already done that this week, last week too); then, I get nauseuous. I go outside to get some fresh air, and what should happen? What would be the most ridiculous situation to be in? Oh, it starts pouring rain. Somewhere up above (because when in search of spiritual guidance in this all-too-random and meaningless existence, we look to the sky), there's someone wiht a dark sense of humor, maybe as dark as mine, and they're having one hell of a laugh at this. I hope someone's getting some enjoyment out of it, because being on the inside of the irony isn't all that fun.
If, on a winter's night a traveler outside the town of Malbork, leaning from a steep slope without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down into the gathering shadow...on the carpet of leaves illuminated by the moon around an empty grave, what story there awaits its end? -italo calvino
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Monday, August 15, 2005
What I Want
And that's really the question, isn't it. What do I want?
This weekend, it was pretty clear; I did exactly what I wanted for about 30 hours. After taking a final exam which wasn't supposed to be cumulative (but was), saying one last "fuck you" to my Professor in which I stated "this is without a doubt the worst class I have taken in my graduate or undergraduate career," the MTV, along with AH hoofed it to Hialeah for pedicures.
It's amazing how good that can feel. It's amazing how having your own free time can feel too. We even had the chance to go to the *mall,* a mundane activity which I have not indulged in since the beginning of July.
We took our time savoring an all-Amerian dinner of grilled steak, dill potato salad, fresh salsa and homemade tortilla chips, whilst debating the fate of the American public education system. Yes, this is what teachers do on their time off. I felt like my time was my own, and that I didn't feel guilty for hanging out with my friends and wasting the night away with food and drink.
I stole Sunday morning for myself as well, refusing to acknowledge the clock until 12:00. My body needed to have an unrestricted rest; there's not enough of that around my house. Lately it seems like I spend too much of my time snatching bits of rest and private time from the corners of my life, without really feeling the benefits of it. Weekends are nice, but they haven't revived me yet.
Maybe without FIU, without the insanity of the beginning of school, I'll have more time to myself. But I still don't have any books for my Reading class to read, and I can't use the eight computers in my room. There is still no coherent administration at school, and nobody seems to know quite what is going on.
I don't know how much longer Dave is going to be here, and I don't know what's happening to us when he goes. Eventually, I'm going to have to make some plans for next year, and that's pretty scary. The GRE's are scary. Life is kind of scary right now, and I don't know what to do about it. I can't seem to rid myself of this anxious feeling, and that's really all I want
I want to relax, calm down, and get things together. It's better than last year, for sure, but life is still not quite the way I want it to be.
This weekend, it was pretty clear; I did exactly what I wanted for about 30 hours. After taking a final exam which wasn't supposed to be cumulative (but was), saying one last "fuck you" to my Professor in which I stated "this is without a doubt the worst class I have taken in my graduate or undergraduate career," the MTV, along with AH hoofed it to Hialeah for pedicures.
It's amazing how good that can feel. It's amazing how having your own free time can feel too. We even had the chance to go to the *mall,* a mundane activity which I have not indulged in since the beginning of July.
We took our time savoring an all-Amerian dinner of grilled steak, dill potato salad, fresh salsa and homemade tortilla chips, whilst debating the fate of the American public education system. Yes, this is what teachers do on their time off. I felt like my time was my own, and that I didn't feel guilty for hanging out with my friends and wasting the night away with food and drink.
I stole Sunday morning for myself as well, refusing to acknowledge the clock until 12:00. My body needed to have an unrestricted rest; there's not enough of that around my house. Lately it seems like I spend too much of my time snatching bits of rest and private time from the corners of my life, without really feeling the benefits of it. Weekends are nice, but they haven't revived me yet.
Maybe without FIU, without the insanity of the beginning of school, I'll have more time to myself. But I still don't have any books for my Reading class to read, and I can't use the eight computers in my room. There is still no coherent administration at school, and nobody seems to know quite what is going on.
I don't know how much longer Dave is going to be here, and I don't know what's happening to us when he goes. Eventually, I'm going to have to make some plans for next year, and that's pretty scary. The GRE's are scary. Life is kind of scary right now, and I don't know what to do about it. I can't seem to rid myself of this anxious feeling, and that's really all I want
I want to relax, calm down, and get things together. It's better than last year, for sure, but life is still not quite the way I want it to be.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Quitter.
I'm having a serious moral dilemma. Ever since I got back from Minnesota, life just keeps sliding closer and closer to the shitter. For some reason, every organization in Miami-Dade County wants to lie, manipulate, and otherwise make my life hell.
I reported to work on Monday, went to my required innane, sometimes painfully boring meetings, still with no definite teaching assignment. School started in 10 days, and they still didn't have 75% of the students scheduled. Hey, could we have forseen this problem? Oh, maybe we could have seen it when the School District couldn't get their fingers out of their asses for long enough to make a decision about the Zone until July 14th. The plan from the Superintendent didn't trickle down until nearly July 20th. Then, Central's computer database crashed during a power outage on July 22nd. What a stellar way to start the year.
As of Thursday evening (yes, that's four days before school started), I was teaching some form of 10th Grade English. I would be staying at the 95th street campus.
Friday morning (yes, that's three days before the start of school), I was informed in no uncertain terms from my Assistant Principal that I would be teaching at Madison Middle school, 9th grade. I left school, went home and cried in a ball for an hour, before moving 10 boxes of books in my own minivan (the movers left without me) in 90+ degree heat over to my new portable classroom (no computers, for my "computer-based" classes, no internet, no teacher desk, mountains of fire ants.).
Saturday, I said a great big "fuck you" to all things high school. I seem to be doing a lot of that lately.
Sunday, I went to school, put up posters, arranged desks and cleaned my room.
Monday brought the students, in scant numbers. All the assholes with the bad attitudes decided to take the extra Zone week off and come back to school on the 9th. Oh, what's that? What day is today? Oh, shit, that's right. They all decided to come back today.
Week 1 of school consisted of complete disorganization on the part of the administration. We had no principal at Madison, no Assistant Principal. They finally decided to hire someone circa Wednesday. Smart move, School District. Way to really support your staff which is implementing reforms that you threw down from on high without actually thinking about. Kids are fine the first week, they can't figure you out, especially this crazy white lady that wears trendy clothes and talks about literature. I turned in my Midterm for one class, scrambled frantically to write the lamest paper I have ever written: a summary of a scientific research study. 15 pages. Gag.
On Wednesday, at lunch, I opened my lunch box to find every ziploc bag covered in a slowly-moving black mass. Oh, you guessed it, those were ants. 10:15 am, my lunchtime (does that seem logical? no, it doesn't), also seemed to be insect chow hour. De-anting my lunch didn't really excite my appetite, but that wasn't really the problem. These wonderful bugs were fire ants, to which I am extremely allergic.
By Thursday afternoon, I couldn't move my left thumb, which was twice its normal size and a nice hot reddish color. Did I mention that fire ant bites also itch? That evening, I noticed a large red streak moving down my arm from the ant poison. Super. Super-de-duper. The red streak stayed till Friday, and my ant bite continued to ooze puss from the swollen thumb until Saturday. Excellent. I love my new classroom.
Saturday brought another exemplary class from the master professors at FIU during which I fell asleep I was so bored. The only entertaining part was when EIGHT people whined at the professor about getting an extension on their paper because they were "too busy." Right, I forgot, "I didn't feel like it" is a great excuse to use for not completing school work. Why on earth should we expect our students to take school seriously, or even bother to complete their work when their TEACHERS have such lame ass excuses for their own work. Way to set an example, Miami-Dade.
No wonder, then, that by the time Sunday rolled around I was ready once again to say a big "fuck you" to all things Florida International University. I proceeded to do so, having a wonderful day on South Beach: brunch with Dave after an envigorating run, and a haircut at the Aveda Salon with VA.
Monday. Oh, Monday. On Monday morning, the administration switched us over to block scheduling (100 minute classes instead of 50) with absolutely no warning. "Hmm," I thought to myself "1st period is really long this morning. I wonder why." Gee, it's so good that I have barely enough lessons planned for the day, I wasn't worried at all about filling twice the normal amount of time. Whatever.
Then, today happened. This morning, in a truly unimaginable development, I arrived at my classroom to find all of my desks replaced with broken ones, my filing cabinet gone, all of my papers taken from any horizontal surface, and my desk gone. Slightly confused, I presented an inquiry to the administration regarding the whereabouts of my belongings. "Oh, Ms. Williamson, you're in room 6." I don't have a key to room 6. The last time I was in room 6, there was another teacher's things in it, and no desks.
Apparently, last night someone packed up all of my things and put them in boxes, then threw them in room 6. At 7:45, fifteen minutes after school started, with my class of confused students in tow, we finally got someone to open room 6. There were 32 desks, 6 6foot by 3 foot tables, 8 computers on 2 more 6 foot by 3 foot tables, and 14 boxes of textbooks. Room 6 is not large. My sudents had to climb over the desks and sit on top of them, because they could not fit in the chairs. Apparently, the administration does not understand that students, especially ones with bad attitudes who finally decide to show up a week after class started, are not apt to be on their best behavior in a room that looks and functions like A STORAGE CLOSET.
Oh, but it was fine, because I have white boards now. White boards, no markers. Several hours later, when I finally found a marker, it was orange. New-Girl-From-The-Back: "Miss, I can't see that. You have to write with something else. I can't read that. You can't make me read that." Of course New-Girl-From-The-Back-Who-Missed-Last-Week, I would be *more* than happy to accommodate your aversion to orange ink.
The old kids are pissed at the new kids for missing last week's work; the new kids are pissed to be here, and about 20% of them are just those kinds of kids who are pissed all the time; I'm pissed as fuck at the administration, who keeps coming in and smiling, telling me how nice I'm being, and interrupting the sad excuse for a lesson that was my class today. Movers came in during 4th block, 7th period, and 6th period to cart off several large tables, and somehow one class actually got through Rudyard Kipling's "The Elephant's Child," with me doing animal voices.
I worked through lunch, felt ready to keel over at 3:30 when the kids finally left, and proceeded to have my first bite of food since 6am while I worked on my paper, which, I might add, is due tomorrow evening. I drove home in a daze and proceeded to fall instantly asleep while talking to my cat.
While I was ignorant in dreamland, blissfully ignorant, if you will, the forces of evil known as Floriday International University were conspiring against me. I learned, upon waking, that....[drumroll please]
1. I cannot register, due to a database malfunction. Hmm, these seem to be contagious lately. Maybe every Webmaster in Miami is a fucking idiot.
2. One of the classes for which we cannot register is already filled up, by people who somehow miraculously CAN register.
3. The only other class which is available to Urban Masters students is on Monday nights, the evening which I attend the only activity which keeps me SANE in this fucked-up-upside-down-perverse infrastructure of the Miami educational world: soccer.
4. Neither the web tech support people, or the Registrar, who I spoke to on the phone, can fix this problem.
I sent an email to our dean's secretary saying that I would be withdrawing from the program. I still have a paper due tomorrow night.
I am so upset. I don't quit things easily; true, we got roped into this shitty program under false pretenses AND blatant lies by TFA and FIU, but in spite of unethical acronyms, I have devoted a year to the program and thousands of dollars. The ignominy of being beaten by THIS system, of all the asisnine idiotic systems in the world, is acrid. It makes me want to vomit when I think of all the nights I spent trapped in meaningless classes wiht vapid students, doing absolutely no worthwhile work at all. I feel surrounded by the vile putrescence of quitting, and I can't seem to rid myself of it.
I shouldn't care. It's a stupid program. It's not intellectually validating, nor will it really help my future career goals. That doesn't change the fact that I'm a quitter, or that I still have that damn paper due tomorrow.
So, friends, I turn the music up very, very loud and close out this post to the wise words of Wilco...
"Monday, I'm all high
Get me out of FLA
I fooled ya, in school, yeah.
Now, I know I made a mistake...
I only wanna go where my wheels roll"
I reported to work on Monday, went to my required innane, sometimes painfully boring meetings, still with no definite teaching assignment. School started in 10 days, and they still didn't have 75% of the students scheduled. Hey, could we have forseen this problem? Oh, maybe we could have seen it when the School District couldn't get their fingers out of their asses for long enough to make a decision about the Zone until July 14th. The plan from the Superintendent didn't trickle down until nearly July 20th. Then, Central's computer database crashed during a power outage on July 22nd. What a stellar way to start the year.
As of Thursday evening (yes, that's four days before school started), I was teaching some form of 10th Grade English. I would be staying at the 95th street campus.
Friday morning (yes, that's three days before the start of school), I was informed in no uncertain terms from my Assistant Principal that I would be teaching at Madison Middle school, 9th grade. I left school, went home and cried in a ball for an hour, before moving 10 boxes of books in my own minivan (the movers left without me) in 90+ degree heat over to my new portable classroom (no computers, for my "computer-based" classes, no internet, no teacher desk, mountains of fire ants.).
Saturday, I said a great big "fuck you" to all things high school. I seem to be doing a lot of that lately.
Sunday, I went to school, put up posters, arranged desks and cleaned my room.
Monday brought the students, in scant numbers. All the assholes with the bad attitudes decided to take the extra Zone week off and come back to school on the 9th. Oh, what's that? What day is today? Oh, shit, that's right. They all decided to come back today.
Week 1 of school consisted of complete disorganization on the part of the administration. We had no principal at Madison, no Assistant Principal. They finally decided to hire someone circa Wednesday. Smart move, School District. Way to really support your staff which is implementing reforms that you threw down from on high without actually thinking about. Kids are fine the first week, they can't figure you out, especially this crazy white lady that wears trendy clothes and talks about literature. I turned in my Midterm for one class, scrambled frantically to write the lamest paper I have ever written: a summary of a scientific research study. 15 pages. Gag.
On Wednesday, at lunch, I opened my lunch box to find every ziploc bag covered in a slowly-moving black mass. Oh, you guessed it, those were ants. 10:15 am, my lunchtime (does that seem logical? no, it doesn't), also seemed to be insect chow hour. De-anting my lunch didn't really excite my appetite, but that wasn't really the problem. These wonderful bugs were fire ants, to which I am extremely allergic.
By Thursday afternoon, I couldn't move my left thumb, which was twice its normal size and a nice hot reddish color. Did I mention that fire ant bites also itch? That evening, I noticed a large red streak moving down my arm from the ant poison. Super. Super-de-duper. The red streak stayed till Friday, and my ant bite continued to ooze puss from the swollen thumb until Saturday. Excellent. I love my new classroom.
Saturday brought another exemplary class from the master professors at FIU during which I fell asleep I was so bored. The only entertaining part was when EIGHT people whined at the professor about getting an extension on their paper because they were "too busy." Right, I forgot, "I didn't feel like it" is a great excuse to use for not completing school work. Why on earth should we expect our students to take school seriously, or even bother to complete their work when their TEACHERS have such lame ass excuses for their own work. Way to set an example, Miami-Dade.
No wonder, then, that by the time Sunday rolled around I was ready once again to say a big "fuck you" to all things Florida International University. I proceeded to do so, having a wonderful day on South Beach: brunch with Dave after an envigorating run, and a haircut at the Aveda Salon with VA.
Monday. Oh, Monday. On Monday morning, the administration switched us over to block scheduling (100 minute classes instead of 50) with absolutely no warning. "Hmm," I thought to myself "1st period is really long this morning. I wonder why." Gee, it's so good that I have barely enough lessons planned for the day, I wasn't worried at all about filling twice the normal amount of time. Whatever.
Then, today happened. This morning, in a truly unimaginable development, I arrived at my classroom to find all of my desks replaced with broken ones, my filing cabinet gone, all of my papers taken from any horizontal surface, and my desk gone. Slightly confused, I presented an inquiry to the administration regarding the whereabouts of my belongings. "Oh, Ms. Williamson, you're in room 6." I don't have a key to room 6. The last time I was in room 6, there was another teacher's things in it, and no desks.
Apparently, last night someone packed up all of my things and put them in boxes, then threw them in room 6. At 7:45, fifteen minutes after school started, with my class of confused students in tow, we finally got someone to open room 6. There were 32 desks, 6 6foot by 3 foot tables, 8 computers on 2 more 6 foot by 3 foot tables, and 14 boxes of textbooks. Room 6 is not large. My sudents had to climb over the desks and sit on top of them, because they could not fit in the chairs. Apparently, the administration does not understand that students, especially ones with bad attitudes who finally decide to show up a week after class started, are not apt to be on their best behavior in a room that looks and functions like A STORAGE CLOSET.
Oh, but it was fine, because I have white boards now. White boards, no markers. Several hours later, when I finally found a marker, it was orange. New-Girl-From-The-Back: "Miss, I can't see that. You have to write with something else. I can't read that. You can't make me read that." Of course New-Girl-From-The-Back-Who-Missed-Last-Week, I would be *more* than happy to accommodate your aversion to orange ink.
The old kids are pissed at the new kids for missing last week's work; the new kids are pissed to be here, and about 20% of them are just those kinds of kids who are pissed all the time; I'm pissed as fuck at the administration, who keeps coming in and smiling, telling me how nice I'm being, and interrupting the sad excuse for a lesson that was my class today. Movers came in during 4th block, 7th period, and 6th period to cart off several large tables, and somehow one class actually got through Rudyard Kipling's "The Elephant's Child," with me doing animal voices.
I worked through lunch, felt ready to keel over at 3:30 when the kids finally left, and proceeded to have my first bite of food since 6am while I worked on my paper, which, I might add, is due tomorrow evening. I drove home in a daze and proceeded to fall instantly asleep while talking to my cat.
While I was ignorant in dreamland, blissfully ignorant, if you will, the forces of evil known as Floriday International University were conspiring against me. I learned, upon waking, that....[drumroll please]
1. I cannot register, due to a database malfunction. Hmm, these seem to be contagious lately. Maybe every Webmaster in Miami is a fucking idiot.
2. One of the classes for which we cannot register is already filled up, by people who somehow miraculously CAN register.
3. The only other class which is available to Urban Masters students is on Monday nights, the evening which I attend the only activity which keeps me SANE in this fucked-up-upside-down-perverse infrastructure of the Miami educational world: soccer.
4. Neither the web tech support people, or the Registrar, who I spoke to on the phone, can fix this problem.
I sent an email to our dean's secretary saying that I would be withdrawing from the program. I still have a paper due tomorrow night.
I am so upset. I don't quit things easily; true, we got roped into this shitty program under false pretenses AND blatant lies by TFA and FIU, but in spite of unethical acronyms, I have devoted a year to the program and thousands of dollars. The ignominy of being beaten by THIS system, of all the asisnine idiotic systems in the world, is acrid. It makes me want to vomit when I think of all the nights I spent trapped in meaningless classes wiht vapid students, doing absolutely no worthwhile work at all. I feel surrounded by the vile putrescence of quitting, and I can't seem to rid myself of it.
I shouldn't care. It's a stupid program. It's not intellectually validating, nor will it really help my future career goals. That doesn't change the fact that I'm a quitter, or that I still have that damn paper due tomorrow.
So, friends, I turn the music up very, very loud and close out this post to the wise words of Wilco...
"Monday, I'm all high
Get me out of FLA
I fooled ya, in school, yeah.
Now, I know I made a mistake...
I only wanna go where my wheels roll"
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