Epic Escapism

Break did not start off particularly well: my cell phone died resulting in three hours in the Verizon store, $95 down the tube, and me getting cut off my mom's cell phone plan. As I went to bed after writing down the 60 or so numbers in my old half-functional phone, I kept telling myself that it had to get better than this. Not another horrible Thanksgiving, please.

Luckily, the gods fo fortune decided to shower down upon me day after day of goodness. This felicitous trend, while pleasant in the short run, is merely a bit of an escape from my ordinary existence, but I figure that I deserve a bit of the fantastic every now and then. This has been especially evidenced by a recent predeliction for pseudo-historical epics. I finished the 6th Harry Potter this weekend, a tear or two trickling down at the death of Dumbledore. Every time, I'm surprised how addicted I get to the story. Then, in a moment of perhaps questionable judgement, I decided to watch Braveheart on TV starting at 11:00 last night. That didn't end until 3:00 am, when I was feeling rather melancholic and in need of a Mel-Gibson-esque hero to pick me up. Unfortunately, those don't exist, so I bitched to C. for an hour or two until I could hardly keep myself awake.

It felt good to finally articulate some of my fears about the next few months, and come up with a game plan. The events of the summer have not quite left the corners of my mind yet, and talk of "committment" and "future" and "us" makes me pretty nervous. Moving across the country is a huge decision to make, and I don't want to make it solely based on one person. I want it to be my decision too, but it's a weighty one to make. The problem is that I haven't got anywhere else to go. I don't have a job offer anywhere, a place to go to school yet, or any feasible travel destination. I'm feeling trapped, in a bit of a corner, and starting to get skittish.

So I took another escape today. Russel Crowe this time, in all his Roman macho-ness. Really, I didn't plan on it being medieval epic weekend. Sitting by my computer with a half-finished scarf from two years ago slowly growing as my needles clicked, I felt much better. My hot new purple shoes from DSW didn't hurt either.

Then in indulgence of truly epic nature, I baked the half assembled pecan pie that was meant for Thanksgiving (we got too full on turkey with mole, black bean tamales, chili-orange sweet potatoes, and cranberry sauce to eat it). I dressed myself up in a skirt and my new heels, grabbed a rolling pin and some flour, then got to work. If I want to bake in heels, who's going to stop me? Not you, that's who! After congratulating the crazies next door on their fresh Publix christmas tree, I invited them over for some gooey sweet pie with spiked whipped cream.

I'm not sure what it is that draws me into fiction so often. Every weekend can't be like this: reading, movies, eating, cooking, and shopping, but sometimes it's nice to get away from the normal. The trouble is it's just so hard to go back on Monday. =)
I might as well just concede defeat to these guilty pleasures. At least it helps for a while. As the ever sagacious Shins tell us:

Of course I was raised to
Gather courage from those
Lofty tales so tried and true.
If you're able, I suggest it
'Cause modern thought
Can get the best of you.

So warriors and gladiators, bourbon-pecan and chocolate, pink yarn and purple suede, you help this cruel modern thought from getting the best of me.

I think I lost my routine. Can you find it for me?

My weekly schedule has been somewhat, well, inconsistent in the past few weeks. It's starting to really get to me.

In October, I got lulled into the fact that school was going relatively well, soccer improved, and my personal life seemed pretty easy to handle. Then, there was this "hurricane" and there still seem to be chunks of debris swirling around me. Some bits make glancing blows, others whip by without hurting, but no matter how I try, some grit and stone manages to zoom right into my eye and sting.

I'd forgotten that the day before Wilma hit, we got a new Assistant Principal at the "Central South Sattelite Campus" (the four-room pathetic excuse for a 'high school' that they've scraped together at Madison Middle). She seemed harmless enough when she introduced herself, but I should have known better when we were forced to have an hour-long faculty meeting the next Wednesday to "introduce ourselves." Ordinarily, I would say that this was a good idea; the staff needs to get acquainted with a new administrator, and talk about what's been working and what hasn't. Yes, that would have been productive. Instead, we did various get-to-know-you activities which involved writing poems about ourselves. Are you kidding me? Really? She doesn't seem to "get" the fact that we've been getting along just fine enough for the past three months without her. She swooped in and wanted to "take charge" and "get things done."

So now we've finally got the administrator, extra security guard, and the two counselors that we were legally required to be provided with at the beginning of the school year. It only took them a semester to do so. Yet, even with all these extra bodies, more help and advice for the students, things are starting to go to hell.

Even my own personal hero, Ms. B the ESE coordinator, is starting to get down. This is a woman who at thirtysomething owns more shoes and matching color-coordinated suits than I can ever hope to house in a closet. She is a woman who inspires the respect (and sometimes fear) of the students while making a mohawk sexy. She is amazing, and I love her. They kicked her out of the office she's been using since August, told her to clean out a janitorial storage closet to use, then proceeded to appropriate her space. If she's not daunted, how can I complain?

The kids, while they may be doing their homework a little more, are getting rowdier. For some reason, the security team can't keep track of who's in class and who's not; illicit activities in the "halls" a.k.a. grassy fields in between and behind the portables have become a problem. One of my two thumbsuckers, yes I have two of them in the NINTH GRADE, shows up to class 25 minutes late after lunch. When asked where he's been, the towering 14 year-old removes his digit from his mouth to tell me that he was detained in the office. "Why, Maurice? And don't you have a note?" "Naw, we was throwin' dice."

And how does one begin to respond to that? Somewhat at a loss, I gave him a stern teacher look, shake my head, and decide to let him in to class. At least he's honest, right?

There are several problems with crowd control and behavior managment. One of them, unfortunately, is that our new A.P. is white. The one we had before, the only competent one, was a strong black woman who probably reminded half the kids of an aunt or mother, and she didn't take any lip. The other large dilemma is that this new woman looks like she's about to have a coronary in the next three point five seconds. She races around like it's the end of the world, but what she doesn't realize is that the world already ended. It ended on August 1st when "Central South" opened its doors, and the rest of us have just learned to exist in this hell-hole by relying on our wits and each other. Fighting the system is too hard. In a place like this, you've got to "flow" as Ms. B says. She just hasn't found her rhythm, and I hope like hell she gets with it soon, because she's going to take us all down with her. I'm not much for going down with this ship, because it's going to be a titanic disaster. Pun intended.

I was starting to get my flow before the damn hurricane hit, and now it's just all messed up. With these last three weeks before break, I'm hoping to get back in the groove and trickle on in to winter break. I'm starting to get sarcastic with the kids, which is dangerous for both parties. That should stop.

Well, at least it's vacation.