#my spanish 2 teacher wasn't very good so i struggled a lot and i ended up hating the class

[luvxiem]

in my downward spiral of simping over miguel i realized that spanish is SO sexy. i've been blind this whole time

[invincible-selfxmade-punk]

After this weekend there is only six more weeks of school.

They finally started spacing out the benchmarks so that we would not have 3 back-to-back 4 hour tests for those poor kiddos. So next week we'll have 2 benchmark tests and then a third test the week after.

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I finally started working on my resume today after work. My computer is an absolute piece of crap and if you barely touch the touchpad the cursor goes to another part of the document.

If you're not conscious of it the entire time your text will appear everywhere. It's a 10-year old Lenovo and weighs at least eight pounds. Sometimes it boots up and sometimes it doesn't but every other laptop I have ever had has started coming apart around where the power cord is supposed to be plugged in. The plastic just starts separating and after awhile it will no longer charge.

The principal has gone out of her way to be nice to me this week and it turned out I definitely was not the only one who was completely offended by the superintendent's remarks about how the only teachers and classes that mattered were the ones who taught to the STAAR test.

We were already working on a skeleton crew of teachers and now at the end of this year there are six more that are leaving.

I honestly don't really care whether I get this job or not, even though it will mean a ton more money. I started thinking today all the things I will have to move if I get it: all my books, all my professional development materials, my refrigerator and all my supplies.

But you never know. God's will be done and I will be happy either way because I have a job.

At 10 tonight my test score will be posted and I'm trying to decide if I want to stay up or just access it when I wake up tomorrow morning. I tried really hard, I took my time and I studied for months for this test so I really do hope that I pass it, even though it won't mean any more money or respect or anything good other than the experience of having the knowledge.

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One good thing that happened today is that I had some girls come in and eat lunch with me and it wasn't the usual Bunch that always come in. One girl is a struggling student and an English language learner, another girl is a good student but does not speak much English at all, and the third girl is very smart but doesn't go to school sometimes because she has seizures. There are usually two or three other girls that are kind of bossy that show up but for whatever reason they were not there today( if students get rewarded for good behavior they get to come into my room on Fridays and eat lunch with me and watch YouTube).

I asked the girls what they wanted to watch and they said crafting so we started looking up crafting videos and we stumbled onto this one with a lady and her two daughters and I think she called herself Mama Cray Cray or something and she just kept screaming crafting with Mommy during a hurricane!!

I laughed more during that 10-minute video that I have all week. I put the captions on Spanish subtitles and we all just laughed ourselves silly and it was the best bonding moment. 💙💚💕 it made April Fool's Day a lot better.

I hate April Fool's Day and I have hated it my entire life.

On the Whiteboard I drew a court jester and put this is a no fool zone

In 9th period one of the kids asked why I hated April Fool's Day so and I just blurted out

BECAUSE I HAVE AUTISM.

Since I found this out three years ago I've only told two students and so it was kind of unlike me to do that. But I have one girl in there who looks and acts exactly like Luna Lovegood and I'm pretty sure she is somewhat autistic. She came up to me and asked me "Is it bad to have autism?"

I assured her it wasn't and told her it was just rough for me because I had gone my entire life not understanding why I was different from other people and I did not get diagnosed until I was in my forties.

Anyway here is to surviving another week.

I am so glad it is Friday.

[drlindamurraytenacity-blog]

WHAT FOLLOWS IS A BOOK - COMPLETELY UNEDITED-- TO READ THE EARLIEST ENTRIES GO TO THE OLDEST BLOGS © Dr Linda Murray “I to you will open the book of a black sin deep printed in me my disease lies in my soul” . . . Thomas Decker in The Noble Spanish Soldier. . .   Book, “The Silkworm” - Robert Galbrath Grade ‘3' Saying ‘3'-----When I left Scotland in December 1963, 1 was half way through grade 3. Desmond was in grade 2 and Kevin was struggling in day care. When we reached Winnipeg my father had us enrolled in a Catholic school with nuns in habit teaching. In our appropriate grade levels as they were in Scotland. This turned out not to be as smooth as he thought it would be. I remember a very bad day at the hands of these nuns. They could be brutal. All of us had clear Scottish accents and the teacher was having a tough time understanding me. On one of these occasions, I was reciting numbers and she kept stopping me at the number '3'. She made a big deal out of my pronunciation. Three had an ‘R’ in it so I obviously rolled my Rs and she kept trying to correct me. She made a huge deal out of this in front of class. Desmond was also having trouble with his accent. These nuns were cruel and called my father to talk. According to the nuns, we were not as emotionally developed as the other children in the grades we were in and we were having language problems because of our accents. We were possibly a little more needy than our classmates but given our experiences during the last three years it wouldn't be a big surprise. In my opinion some TLC would have helped us out instead we were demoted a grade. Where the nuns said we should be because of our ages. Then my father moved and we went to a different school. Near the end of this school year and my father got married we moved into our house in Fort Gary and another grade three class. I spent time in four grade three classes in a one year time frame “For darkness restores what cannot be repaired.” . . . Joseph Brodsky M-I-C-K-E-Y  M-O-U-S-E-----I have a very clear memories of watching the Mickey Mouse Club on TV when I was 8 or 9 years old. I liked the show because I remembered it from being younger in Scotland. Watching just made me feel better somehow. Like I was still connected to my old home. The home my mother lived in. It's funny I did not think of this connection till recently. We were also allowed to watch Disney on Sunday nights while eating dinner. I wanted to belong to that Club but I never told anyone until much later when our neighbours boys were in my life. It is funny though. When I won a trip to Orlando Florida I insisted that we spend I day in Disney, more on this later. Sick From Soup------My father was lousy cook. But he had to make lunch for us before he got married and after he let the nanny go. He had a blender and he was too cheap to pay for canned soups. This was a known fact even to me at the time dried Chicken soup existed then. His blender was the blender from hell. He used to try to create soup for us for lunch. You would not believe the stuff he threw into that blender in the name of soup. I was usually the first person to try the soup he would ‘cook’. Some of them I could tolerate and I ate but the boys were not as receptive. One day, I tried his latest concoction but it was brutal. Even I couldn't eat it nor could I keep it down. The boys were not forced to eat it that day like on most other days he cooked. If I wouldn’t eat it must be bad because. I would eat almost anything he cooked. At the time I did not want to hurt his feelings. Once again I became my father’s keeper. I felt responsible for his problems his needs and the needs of my brothers. Sharing Skis------One day I remember going up to the Highlands of Scotland with my father and his friends. We were skiing. I clearly remember skiing on the back of my fathers skis. I loved to ski even though I had not done so on my own. There was just something about the sport. I guess it could have been because I was alone on the skis with my father. Whether it was the sport itself or the good memories with my father I am not sure. Sometime near when my father and stepmonster married we actually went to a ski hill and tried skiing. This was the first time I remember having a recreational day with my father in a very long time. My father was not one to waste money, especially on children. I remember he rented one set of boots and skis for Desmond and I to share. Talk about cheap. We had to trade off approximately every half hour. I loved skiing and took to it very quickly. I was learning how to bob up and down on the bunny hill. What a rush. But I would just get started and I would have to give the skis to my brother. I think he liked it too but we both hated having to share the set of skis. I am not sure why this was such a problem for the two of us. But it is possibly because we were also having to get used to sharing our father with her. Its funny when I go back and think through these memories as an adult. I still love skiing and there will be more on this later. 185  Osborne Street----When we were living the Osborne Village long before it was trendy we had to cross Osborne Street to get to our school. We also walked on Osborne Street for a few blocks. On this street there was what you called a five and dime store. They carried candies and children's stuff much like the Dollar Stores do today. I started going into the store. There was a ‘nice’ old man who owned the store and he lived in the rooms behind the store front. Having spent so much time in my gran's store I felt safe and it helped me get over some of the loss and loneliness I was feeling. The old man used to give me candy. You all know where this is going now. I was a prime target for this paedofile. I look back and I realized that he capitalized on his being my grandfather’s age and candy like in my gran’s store. The store door even had a bell on it like my gran's store. His interactions with me started off pretty harmless but within a few weeks he was used to me coming in and sitting on his lap eating candy. Then he had me come into the back rooms to show me something. I cant remember what now. But, then he became a lot bolder getting me to lie with him on the bed then he moved on top of me. Before I knew it he had me pinned on the bed and was forcing himself inside me. I kept saying no but he wouldn't listen. Suddenly that bell went from the front door. Someone came into the shop. I was saved by the bell on the door. He had to get up. And I ran out of the store. Never to return. I never told anyone about this till I told my psychologist in the late 1990s. I never did anything about this until the late 1990s. More on this later. Stealing----Shortly after being molested, when we were still living on Stradbrook I started to hang around with another Kim and her friend. One day we were outside the drug store on Osborne street, the store with the big rounded window in the front, and we had no money for candy.  The company now in the building was “The Cheese Cake Factory”. I am not sure how I was the one to go into the store but I was. They wanted me to steal some candy. OK! I was going to try this. I felt fearless. I figured in the sphere of all that has happened to me, this was nothing. So in I went and the salesperson started to talk to me. So I backed up into the rack of candies and with my hands behind my back I grabbed a bag of toffees and stuffed them into the back of my clothing. I did this while I was talking to the sales girl no less. I wasn't a bad kid or anything. I knew it was wrong. I knew what the consequences would be if I was caught and I did it anyway. I needed to impress these kids more than I was afraid of the belt when my father found out. I left the store sick to my stomach but I had the bag of toffee. The kids were amazed that I could do that while I was talking to the salesperson. So was I. I did not steal anything else until I had no money to eat, later on in life. This was also the last time I would do something I knew was wrong to make friends. Cleaning With The Nanny-----When my father decided to leave Scotland for Canada he hired a nanny to take care of us kids. He brought her to Canada with him. The local newspaper ran a story on us in November 1962 and in the story, under our pictures, he advertized for a live in nanny to go to Canada with us. He told us later that he picked a nanny that he was not the least bit attracted to so there was no chance he would land up with this uneducated person. I learned that my father was an education snob. For her, it was an opportunity to become a landed immigrant. She would not have had this opportunity because of her lack of education. She took care of us whenever we were out of school and my father was at work and took care of the apartment. I am not sure of her last name but her first name was Jean Niven? She had to share a room with me. My father said she was lazy. I remember that when we moved into the apartment we found a box of make up in the porch and we were excited to play with all of it. Somehow she thought that this was a bad idea and she took custody of the useable makeup. I have some very positive memories of her. Whenever she waxed the floors. Especially in the hallway. She would tie rags around our bare feet and we would race down the hall cleaning the waxed floor. We were normally not allowed to run in the apartment. But she said if we didn't tell, our father didn't need to know. This nanny also taught us how to make plaster-of-Paris maracas with old light bulbs. This was great fun. I wonder how we would have faired if she had stayed with us instead of stepmonster. My father thought that she was lazy and let her go shortly before he remarried. I think that we would have had a much better life with her in it, rather than the stepmonster. At least she was never nasty to us and tried to ameliorate my fathers strictness. I often wonder what happened to her. If you are out there Jean get in touch I would love to get your perspective on the way things were. Shirley and Sheila----When I was about nine years old my father met Shirley and Sheila F. They were twins and they were both working as nurses in the Misericordia Hospital. They also lived together. Dad started dating Shirley, soon to be the ‘stepmonster’.  Much later in time Sheila also married a widower with three kids. And she managed to isolate the man from his children also just like our stepmonster managed to do with us three. Even worse in our case we did not have Mike as our father. I loved this man, he was so gentle, he clearly loved his children, and even more he was not the authoritarian my father was.  Unfortunately, even Mike could not save his children. Luckily they had their mother much longer than we had. Dad, Shirley, and Sheila were fairly heavy smokers. More on this later. Our First Cigarette-----Our first cigarette was provided from out stepmonster to be. We were in hers and Sheila’s apartment when my brother Desmond took interest in her cigarettes. I was 9, Desy 8, and Kevin was 5. She took a cigarette out for each of us and lit them for us. She told us how to smoke it and laughed as we choked on the smoke. I was so sick. I felt like puking. I didn't touch one of those things for a very long time. I never became a smoker either. Both of my brothers did take up smoking in their teens. It is interesting that this first experience smoking cigarettes was so negative. I was so sick and this was a real red flag for what was to follow. As I grew, I constantly ragged on them for smoking. It made sense later that I often was sick with colds and sore throats and I later became so allergic to tobacco smoke. The Perm----When I was about nine and we were getting ready for my father's marriage to 'step monster' to be. I had to have my hair done. All I remembered was sitting in the chair a long time with her and we both got perms done. Much later she told me later that it was me who wanted the prerm in my hair. Not her. But I don't remember that. What I do remember is the mess my hair turned out to be. It was fried, a big ball of static fizz, a tangled mass that was next to impossible to get a brush or comb through. What I know now is that you cant use an adult perm on a child’s very fine hair. They must have known even then by the outcomes that the adult perm would damage a child’s hair. I remember standing on the couch in the living room of the apartment and looking at the friz ball that was my hair. Nothing worked to control it we just had to cut it out as my hair grew. For the wedding my hair was sprayed and back combed. It took forever, and it hurt. I still hate to go to a hairdresser and opt for a really short cut. Sleepwalking on Stradbrook-----Before the ‘marriage’ my brothers and I were living with my dad and brothers and a nanny on Stradbrook street. I still had a problem wetting my bed at night. Although we did not know at the time we  know now that this was another early sign of a serious depression problem. Anyway, the routine was that either the nanny or my dad would get me up at about 11 P.M. or 12 A.M. and take me to the bathroom. Most of the time I would not remember this happening. It was like I was in a fog. One night the nanny placed me on the toilet and was called away for some reason. All I remember of the night was her asking me if I would be O.K. on my own to go back to bed. I can hear myself telling her I would be fine. I remember the actual configuration of the bathroom and that it was right across from my bedroom. Apparently, when she went to check on me she found me missing and the search was on. The finally found me wandering around on Stradbrook Street in my pajamas. I had left the bathroom, unlocked the apartment doors, walked down one or two sets of stairs and let myself out of the locked apartment block. In most areas of town this would not have been too bad, but Stradbrook street is near Osbourne Street. It was in the middle of the Osbourne Street Village and there was a rough bar on the comer. The area was in very rough shape. It was not ‘The Village’ as it is known now. The Yellow Dress----When my father was to marry the step monster I was supposed to be a flower girl along with the step monsters young sister Francine. The bridesmaids were dressed in pink so were to have pink dresses. I remember always hating pink. I am not sure where this dislike of pink came from but it was intense. As it turned out, there was not enough pink material to make both the flower girls dresses to match the bridesmaids so one of the flower girls dresses would have to be made out of yellow. I begged to be given the yellow dress but I was forced to wear the pink and Francine was given the yellow dress. Francine teased me about it mercilessly. It was such a simple request ‘let me wear the yellow dress’. But step monster said that Francine looked better in the yellow and I looked better in the pink. This is one of the many pink battles I would have to fight. And, to this day, I still don’t like pink. I also still do not know why. Twisting at the Wedding-----I have some ‘positive’ memories about my fathers wedding. I loved to hear bagpipes and there was a piper. I also remember dancing at the wedding. I was doing the twist and I was on a stage of some sort from what I remember of the event. I cant remember much else for some reason or another. I also remember my father and step monster leaving for their honeymoon. But I am not sure who took care of us. I think it was a family friend ‘Curley’ and her boys. It is interesting some of the things you remember while other things you cant remember.

Kilts in December-----My father decided to leave Scotland in 1963 just after/before Christmas. I was eight and a half, Desmond was seven, and Kevin was four. He had a number of reasons to leave. There was opportunity, a fresh start, and there was escape from my grandmother. The two of them never got along. He was an authoritarian rebel ex-Catholic bully and my grandmother was a meddling narrow minded Protestant. He hated my mother’s family. I think that he blamed them for my mother’s death while they blamed him. As it often is in life there are three versions of reality, his, theirs, and the reality of depression. My mother had been dead for three years now and he saw little future for us in Scotland. I did not know much about why my father took us away from the only family and support we had, I was to find out about the reasons much later in life. I realized much later in life that my father was a coward who ran away from his problems instead of dealing with them. I do know that my grandmother’s heart was broken and he didn’t care. We were her only grandchildren, and all she had left of her eldest daughter Joy our dead mother. In preparation for the trip my grandmother wanted to buy us new clothes to make the trip in, she dressed both Desmond and I in a kilt made from the Murray tartan and royal blue sweaters. I cant remember what Kevin was dressed in he was too young for a kilt. She also sent each of us off with a bible with an inscription. Mine read "Linda Murray is my name, Scotland is my nation, Canada is my dwelling place but Christ is my salvation"....Johan Latimer (my maternal gandmother). I still have both the kilt and the bible. Unfortunately for us, we arrived in Winnipeg Manitoba in late December. There was snow everywhere. The snow in Winnipeg can be six feet deep at this time of the year. The air was so cold and there was no walkway from the plane to the airport gate. We had to walk down the stairs with uncovered legs. My gran and my dad didn't have a clue what to expect. It was cold, Damn cold.