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[zoeloveswade]

A Woman’s Work is Never Done

My mother warned me of this when I was a little girl but I didn’t believe her.  “I’ll never be some housewife,” I thought.  Unfortunately, I’m a wife with a home.  Therefore, I’m still a house wife, I just spend some of my time at something called a full time job.

For the record, the decision to send my last husband packing came after he left me completely hanging on preparation for a trip.  Sure, he’d been cheating for some time, but the act of leaving all travel prep on my shoulders is the surest way to get yourself snapped at, and today is no different.

At this point, my husband is acting salty because, after two days of doing the preparations for a cross country trip without any help, I snapped.  Somehow, he works full time and gets to spend his days off relaxing.  Mine are spent cleaning.  He’s had four months to complete a digital media task for this trip and he’s on the floor in front of his computer working on it with less than three days left.  Why?  Because I finally spoke up and offered to add the project to my list because it wasn’t getting done.  Had I “trusted him” to self motivate, we would be in a bigger argument and worse situation hours before our flight.  I did not nag or bitch.  I kindly told him I was severely stressed and he didn’t let me finish before mumbling about how he’s sore and tired.

Who do men think packs their fucking suitcases?  Who do they think orders the tickets, structures the trip schedule, and prepares for TSA? Doby the Goddamn Housewife.  That’s who.

[zoeloveswade]

School is Hard When You’re Old

I don’t know the last time someone made me a big meal of comfort foods.  When I was in college I would go home to write the really big papers, so that I could focus away from the chaos of roommates.  My mom would always make sure I was well fed, particularly with mashed potatoes, gravy, and something hearty like meatloaf.  

Now that I’m taking a class, I find I long for that comfort although it is no longer there.  I’m the adult.  I’m the wife.  If I don’t cook it there’s a good chance I’ll end up being the one doing the dishes, which just kind of ruins the relaxation of the meal.

Oh, I miss walking into the family farm to work on my schoolwork while waiting to hear the familiar, “Ellen! Dinner is ready!”

Food tastes so much better when you’re not the one to cook it.

[zoeloveswade]

Moments of Realization

Sometimes the most random memory can lead to a realization.  Tonight I was thinking about a positive memory from eight years ago.  They’re few and far between in the time frame I spent with my ex, but they’re there.  

The memory was about an old friend named Brooke, whom I had run into at a going away party that was being held for myself and my ex.  He and I were moving to another state and the party had been planned by his friends.  Anyway, awhile after catching up with Brooke, I realized I couldn’t locate my ex.  He had been missing from the party about an hour.  I wanted to introduce him to Brooke but all the friends at the very loud and intoxicated party were sending me in circles looking for him.  

Since he was the type to not think about others, I just gave up for awhile and walked Brooke to her car.  We then found him seated on a tailgate with two guys and a woman we didn’t know.  He said he had been out there the whole time but Brooke and I had looked.  Given the area of the party was large, I wrote it off and went back inside.

While I was doing the dishes tonight I was thinking about Brooke and I had an epiphany.  Knowing what I know now about my ex, I believe he was doing something nefarious that night.  The probability includes anything from coke to Ritalin to cheating.  Based on the context clues in my memory, my guess would be a female.  His buddies were covering for him when he was missing, I was being sent in circles, and we were leaving in 36 hours.  There was a handful of waitresses there from his work that night.  It’s the M.O. he went by.

I’m not particularly hurt by these realizations anymore.  I almost find them interesting.  I view them as if I’m watching a film; as if it was not my life.  These little realizations are like little flaws in a woven blanket, that tell a deeper tale about the time when it was made. 

[zoeloveswade]

10 Signs of Crazy

I work for a completely crazy bitch and that’s no exaggeration.  Allow me to give you some examples that will display this statement further. 1. She screams and yells at her special needs students and at other staff members. 2. She triggers negative behavior in students because of her need to control things and take credit for the successes of others. 3. She openly judges people based on what they drive, where they work, what they wear, etc.  She wonders why she’s single in the same conversation in which she admits to turning down a date because he drove an old Subaru and she has “standards” to maintain. 4. She refers to me as her “friend” but has logged into my email and Google Docs on our shared computer, and perused my documents. 5. She begs me to help her “stop” bad situations in the classroom and, when I do, she tells me she owes me something of which I will never see.  At this point, she owes me a glass of wine, a coffee, and two lunches. 6. She requires me to stay “off the clock” and calls it “volunteer time” and promises I can leave early on Wednesdays to see my spouse.  Then, she takes her comp time on Wednesday afternoons so I can’t leave. 7. She manages and controls the communication between myself and the assistant in the classroom, in order to prevent us from planning and utilizing anything close to teamwork. 8. She promises students and staff things and then does not follow through, then wonders why her kids blow out and hit things.  The same wonder occurs when one of the staff says to her, “I would appreciate if you would speak to me like I’m an adult.”  She blinks and says, “Okay, well right now I don’t care and I need you to suck it up and.......” 9. She bullies staff and students by withholding, teasing, and condescending.  She purposely sends staff to do things she knows will make them uncomfortable.  Example, if she knows a student’s sexual comments make me uncomfortable, she’ll purposely put me in one of the tutoring rooms, alone with the student.  When I reminded her of what I’ve been through she said, “Look, I don’t care of you were raped or whatever happened, I mean, I care, but not at school.” 10. She tells everyone in the school (many don’t like her) that I’m one of her best friends.  This has made it nearly impossible for me to build relationships with coworkers because they automatically distrust me.  It took three months before many would talk to me. Regarding advice:  I am getting to the point where I’m going to start verbally hitting back at people who tell me “it can’t be that bad” or “don’t take it personal”.  I work for a woman who has less experience than I do, but she commands that I do things in a manner that says she may have owned me in a past life.  I have a degree, twelve years of experience, and masters credits.  There’s no need to point at the floor and say, “Sweep up that glass!” in a tone that says you expected me to move faster.  There’s no need to mock me and others in front of the students.  There’s no need to continually comment on how I shouldn't be tired because I’m so thin, when she knows it’s because I’m not making enough to buy groceries.   I am happy in my relationship.  When I am not at work or dreading going back, I’m happy.  However, when I’m at work, I find myself wishing I were dead.  I’m contracted until June and any other school district is going to see my resume and put me in their behavior program.  I’m branded and, even if I finished my masters, schools would likely still want me handling behavior instead of academics.  The only reason I’m good at what I do is because I would have been a good parent.  I became a teacher for a love of knowledge, but I have continued to teach because I can make kids behave, which is something I despise having to do. Temporarily, I need to be able to indulge a bit to feel better.  I need to spend a few hours staring at the ocean or having a massage and soak or eating a big meal, but those are options I cannot afford.  The Crazy Bitch can, she bragged about making more than double what I do a year.

[zoeloveswade]

Otter belly slide

[zoeloveswade]

Writer’s Laziness

There is a trend in the writing community to refer to laziness as writer’s block.  Writer’s laziness involves surfing the internet, playing video games, watching Netflix, or staring blindly into space.  You’re in a place in your work where you can easily pick up and continue the story but, instead, you slowly scroll your Facebook feed.

Writer’s block is where something has just occurred in the storyline and you aren’t prepared to turn the corner.  It is when a character chooses to do or say something you didn’t agree with and you’re not ready to pick up where they left off.  Writer’s block is constipation of the brain; a jamming of the works.  It is like insomnia when you have something pending the following day.  Some people can push through it, others must drink through it.  Some can walk away and return refreshed.  Many will beat their fist on the desk and throw balls of paper into the trash.  That is writer’s block.

[zoeloveswade]

The Abnormal Couple

Now that Anthony and I work different schedules, at different places, we must function like the rest of the world.  None of this will make any sense to many of you but the more we’re together, the less we argue.  It’s true.  Now that we don’t work together we’re pathetic.  Either we’re miserable because we’re apart, texting ‘I love you’s every three minutes, or we’re arguing about things other couples argue about, for the first time ever.  

How to be a normal couple: Don’t shower together Argue about dirty dishes and clothes on the floor Schedule everything based on an intricate calendar 

How we were when we were constantly together: Teamwork

Sorry, I know some unhappy bitches who would say your man should not be your best friend or that you don’t need to be around each other all the time. Well fuck off. 

Well, we’re clingy and we like it.  I believe something otherworldly brought us together or, as Domh said, fate was pulling for us.  Therefore, why should we be normal?

Furthermore, as long as we live in a world that loves Jamie and Claire Frasier, people can deal with Anthony and Ellen.  I miss him when he’s gone and I don’t want to be like a normal couple.

[zoeloveswade]

I’m more Shane than Barbie

I’ve always felt a bit like DJ in the episode about being the chunky girl.  I never could make myself look amazing like some women can.

I do what I can with what I have and what I can afford.  Discounted drug store makeup covers my acne scars and large pores.  Sale rack finds poorly hide the stomach I cannot lose and the thick arms that are inherited instead of earned.

At this point, I’ve learned to use the mantra, “It is what it is” because that is all anything can be.  Ten or fifteen years ago I could have done something about all of “this” but today I accept that I am just not girlie enough to hide that I’m not girlie. I want to look like Peaches and Cream Barbie, but the reality is that I’m externally more Shane from L Word.

There are two beautiful dresses in my closet.  One white Greek cut gown and one backless black lace cocktail dress; neither has ever been worn.  After all, this is East Portland, where dressing up is for strippers.

I tried to do my makeup differently the other night and just ended up looking like a clown whore. I can’t blend to save my life.  I am a tomboy and I accept it.

[zoeloveswade]

Smiling before 7am

Before many people have climbed out of bed on the West Coast, I’m smiling and awake, with a gorgeous man next to me.  He shares coffee with me every morning because, like Johnny Cash once said when asked about Heaven, “It’s sharing coffee with her, this morning.”

Anthony took a personal day for some job interviews and application stuff.  In the course of three or more job interviews and applications completed in the double digits, he managed to clean the apartment, and turn my bathroom into a romantic spa for when I arrived home.  So, thanks to my man, I was relaxing with a snifter and some chocolates.

When he returns home, tonight, I’ll have homemade pad thai and a beer waiting for him.  He’ll kiss me and remove his shirt and tie and we’ll sit down to dinner.  Then, we’ll catch up on our shows until we’re nodding off on the couch. 

This is my life now and I love it. 

[zoeloveswade]

Alone Together in the City

After a year of “freedom” from my previous life, I’ve had a lot of time to reflect and there’s something that’s been on my mind that, I think, I need explained to me.

When I was with Voldemort, I was always fascinated by how willing people were to help him.  When he lost his license, people started driving him everywhere and were oblivious to the fact that he was using them.  People he barely spent time with became his taxi and they thought the friendship was valid.  Some became hurt when they finally caught on and he would cut them off.  Somehow, Voldemort could get anyone to do just about anything for him.  All this man would have to do is text a request and someone would drop everything to drive him somewhere, bring him lunch, loan him a vehicle for me to run groceries, etc.  The list is endless.

Here was a man who was drinking his income away in front of people, then asking them to cover his tab, and they were doing it.  Here was a man who was gambling and then telling people I was the bitch for not covering more of the bills.  Here was a man that was perfectly okay with his wife walking a mile, in the dark, in an unsafe location, to get to a minimum wage job.  While I am not saying I expected him to buy me a car, I am saying that I don’t think any man should be comfortable with his wife being in danger like that.

The thing I’m struggling with understanding is how so many people did what he asked like he was some demi-god.  Did it really come down to the high school mentality of people wanting the fun time jock to like them?  What made people drop everything to do things for him and why do so many continue to do so?

You see, I’ve been away from his lifestyle for a year and I lost most of my “friends” to him.  People who were my friends have decided the fun boy, abusive or not, is a better option. Fine, I can accept that most of my friendships out here weren’t friendships.  However, I’m still smarting from the complete isolation I’ve been forced into.  His family supported me leaving him because of the abuse, they just didn’t want me to talk about it or tell anyone OR talk about my new relationship.  They don’t like his new girlfriend but I can’t talk about my newfound happiness.  To his friends, I’m the evil bitch that was finally ousted and he’s the innocent party, convincing them my injuries were from a fall and not him.  I continue to live in isolation and I maintain a relationship, partially in secret, to protect myself from Voldemort; yet he’s the victim who is supported.

His sister used to show up to my place just to bring me a coffee, when I was with him.  My friends back home used to want to spend time with me.  Now I have Anthony, which is amazing, but I miss friendships.  I miss comfortable relationships and people who supported me.  Anthony and I look to each other for everything, which is great, but where are those friendships I once had? Where people really so “in love” with Voldemort that they pretended to be my friend?

Are they loyal to Voldemort or was I just not worth it after I kicked the fun boy out?  Whatever happened to supportive friendships?  I had them in Michigan and North Carolina so why not here?  Is it a city thing? Whatever it is, he seems to have these friendships wherever he goes; people who would do anything for him.

Today, someone paged Anthony to the front and he returned with two large drinks.  It turned out, they were for students, but I had a moment where I thought one of our local friends had dropped them off as a surprise; a “sorry your job sucks” gift.  I guess this is more of a Midwestern thing, since people don’t seem to do those considerate things here.  I mean, I KNEW those drinks weren’t for us but the Midwesterner in me still got their hopes up that they had friends.  What it comes down to, is that I miss “pick me ups”.  If my mom knew I had had a rough week of finals, she would take me to Big Boy for pie or we would get a Coke and a candy bar at the park.  If my best friend knew I had been depressed, she’d send her husband to kidnap me for wine time.  Back when I was in Voldemort’s family, his sister would take me out for a drink after my mom died, just because.

It’s this lack of support, now, that is bringing me down.  It’s this feeling like Anthony and I are alone out here.  It’s my desire to fully understand why people will continue to support someone like Voldemort, but can’t throw me a compliment.  Recently, an encounter with a friend reminded me that some of our biggest haters are our friends.  Did some of the people who stuck by me, only do so in hopes of watching me fail further? For one friend, that is the case.  

I don’t ever expect much from anyone, but I wouldn’t mind if someone reached out a hand and said, “Today’s soak and sauna is on me, you need a break,” or “Let’s go hiking”, but that’s not going to happen.  No one is going to show up at our apartment with a bottle of wine or a cobbler. We’re truly on our own out here.

[zoeloveswade]

Country Girl in a City World

“You ***damn city prick, learn how to f*(^ing drive!” I yelled and pounded the steering wheel.  This is how I knew I was back in Portland, at the end of our trip to the coast. After spending two days maneuvering beautiful mountain passes and hairpin turns, I was more frustrated with the five lanes of flat driving before me.  The thing about living in Portland is that it’s both wonderful and unpleasant.  The city is beautiful and historic, and the food is amazing. The marijuana is legal and more accessible than a liquor store on a Friday afternoon.  

Unfortunately, it feels crowded here in Portland. People seem angry and impatient with one another.  In the seven years I’ve lived here, it seems that safety issues on transit have greatly increased. Scientists say the “big ‘quake” is overdue and I wonder if, like other animals, we are sensing the disturbance ahead.

Even though we barely left our condo on the coast, and we barely spoke to others but for customer service purposes, it felt like we “did more” there than we would like to here in Portland.  Every time I get antsy and venture out into the city, I end up wishing I could just go back to my apartment. 

A cocktail for $11 and two hours waiting for a server to remember to serve you, while you nibble overpriced appetizers, and watch hipsters be weird; that’s your reward for life out in Portland.  It’s become far more worth it to hold out for a sunny day, when you can escape to Forest Park or the coast.

Recently labeled one of the most traffic congested city in the country, it feels that way. Six years ago I used to drive home from work at 2:30 on a Friday and it would take some extra time due to traffic across the river, but it wasn’t a complete standstill. Yesterday, I made the same trip returning from the coast and was shocked at the traffic backed up to “the Curves”.  I wisely opted to bypass it by taking the clearer route on I-5, and was amazed at the people putting their cars in park to wait for the entrance to I-84.  “This really didn’t used to be like this,” I said to Anthony.

Whatever it is that really did change Portland (locals blame transplants, transplants blame Californians, politicians blame each other), I want out. While we may have to stay longer so Anthony can build credits, work opportunities elsewhere have not opened up, either.  I’m sending energy to areas of the Midwest and South but nothing’s returned to sender, yet. I guess I’ll have to send more.  If there’s one thing I know about East Coast people, they won’t open their mouth to find you connections.  You gotta do that yourself.  Maybe I will miss Portland, where people like to network....

[zoeloveswade]

Choices and parallel realities

Years ago I read a book about the idea that all of our more serious life decisions had “alternate and parallel realities”.  By choosing A over B, a shadow of the life that could be B, is created.  Now, watching 11.22.63, I have to wonder if we don’t have access to the past or our own past.

As a teen, I had numerous choices as I examined life after high school.  The military was not an option due to my height falling just below their minimum requirement.  My incredibly “helpful” parents played a major role in the decision-making, which was the greatest mistake.  I was yearning to pursue a degree in writing or editing but that wouldn’t make enough money, I was told.  There’s a shadow of a life that could have been.  Maybe I would be working a low paying copy-editing job, in a pretty similar living situation, in a city.  There’s one possibility.

Another possibility is one that I favored but was intimidated by, as well.  My high school science education had been subpar so I veered away from my desire to study Forestry/Wildlife or Geography.  While reviewing the transfer programs from Anthony’s college, I noticed those options.  I paused and I thought about that potential shadow life.  My dad had urged me away from it because of his own personal disdain for the DNR.  He felt it was a manipulative education that would cause problems between me and others.  In his attempt to keep me away from disagreeing with him politically in one realm, he drove me into a field that would lead me to argue with him, eternally, about race.  I find it hard to picture my life in forestry, even though the idea is still appealing.  Would I have taken a gig in the U.P., married a local hunter/trapper, and become more conservative than liberal?

Or, would I have taken a city job and ended up working for a water treatment plant, answering questions about lead in the water? It’s hard to say.

I do know that the life I chose does not totally feel like mine, anymore.  I feel like my purpose has totally changed in the past two years and the career I was passionate about is a stress and a pain to me, now.

The next step is unclear, but I know I’m going to listen to me this time.

[zoeloveswade]

Nostalgia for Black Lipstick and Socialism

After a realization that I’ve turned into this teacher, in my students’ eyes, I began pondering life before Voldemort.  That looked something more like this:

I guess I must be getting some of the old me back because, on Monday, an x-ray tech quite rudely asked me if I had any metal I had to remove from my mouth before we began.  Guess those two visible tattoos and all that black knit clothing is a start. 

 Thanks to a lot of this, I’m coming around. I figure, with my mother gone and Voldemort, too, I can go back to being the person I was becoming in college.

First comes socialism. Not communism, stupid, socialism. Yeah, that’s right.  I used to smoke pot with the Cuban socialist club in college, I voted for Obama both times and support the idea of America looking more like Denmark.  I’m against consumerism and in support of social and community services, like snow plow trucks and food assistance.

You see, I descend from FDR Democrats.  Northern farmers who believed in giving their excess to their less fortunate neighbors.  People who were not well off but they believed in the New Deal.  They benefited from the CCC and were attributing members of their community.  My great uncle was a commissioner who designed the first holiday food drive to ever exist in his community.  My dad spent Christmas Eve riding around in an old Ford, delivering turkey dinner fixin’s to the less fortunate.

You see, the progression to democratic socialist was inevitable.  I went to college.  I went to a really good state university that provided me with access to international relations.  I learned that there are more important things than the ego of a rural American.  I learned that there’s more important things than the opinion of a frenemy or the judgment of someone who looks at me now and refuses to see who I used to be and am, now.

Underneath the frumpy clothing and the silence, I am who I was: a socialist, anti-war protester in all black.

[zoeloveswade]

A kitchen is no place for a mirror

and a book with few readers needs no sequel.

So, why am I halfway through a sequel my man doesn’t even want to read?  Here I was, at home in lace and cooking his dinner after a day of working on the novel, and he paid attention to neither.

At least the book got a rain check.  My ass didn’t.

[zoeloveswade]

Why Dentists are the Truest Evil

As a child, my first experience with a dentist was negative and impersonal. I am of the “Fluoride Rinse” generation. My first trip to the dentist sticks in my head because I was forced to sit with something in my mouth that, even then, I sensed was toxic. There was an expected dose that we 80s kids were to rinse with but I was a little person, always on the lowest percentile for size. I tried to spit to explain that the dose was too large for my mouth but the dentist reprimanded me.  Every six months I tried to point out that I was gagging and scared of this chemical rinse but he would not listen.

Fast forward to middle school when my dentist was the father of my frenemy. He waited until I was gassed so he could drill me on why I stopped hanging out with his daughter. Since he was about to “seal” my teeth and was holding a drill, I opted not to tell him it was because she was a slut and she had bullied me. After a few more instances of him using my appointment to get information about his idiot daughter, I told my mom and didn’t have to go to him, anymore.

For many years, I did not go to the dentist because of a lack of insurance. It worried my mother to have teenagers without dental insurance but we were good with it. Our dad made a very obvious point of his feelings about the dentist that we supported. Why my mom enjoyed the dentist, I’ll never know. I find the entire experience to be comparable to the Iron Maiden device. 

I can suck a dick like a porn star so it must be an over-production of saliva that causes me to gag and, usually, vomit because the hygienist would rather chitter chatter with herself and the dentist than pay attention to my arms waving in the air. Usually, it is the hygienist I hate more than the dentist. I hate anyone who got to go to college for half the amount of time I did, to make twice what I make an hour. Perhaps I would like my job if it involved the use of torture devices.

Finally, I find myself in Portland where I’ve had one very decent dentist and one very evil one. My first dentist here didn’t rag on me about drinking coffee because he was a caffeine addict. He had cable TV on the ceiling and I got to watch whatever I wanted while the hygienist tortured me. He was a Hawaiian shirt and “you want this x-ray for your Facebook?” kind of doctor.

Today I experience my third dentist in less than seven years. My current provider can’t guarantee me a slot with the original dentist, the one who is conveniently located on public transit but inconveniently treated my mouth like a pin cushion last time. So, I have to trek to the next nearest dentist.  He is located in a pretty unsafe neighborhood that doesn’t have reliable transit.  I’m going to cross my fingers that this dentist is a lesser evil; especially since I’ll have to walk 1.5 miles home after each visit.

Genetically and environmentally, the chips are stacked against my teeth. I come from a long line of “Brit mouths” who went generations with vitamin E or dental care. I grew up on clean, healthy well water instead of the fluoride-filled water of the city so I don’t have a mutant-like resistance to decay. However, since I’m due to lose my health insurance in July, it’s now or never for this year’s dental health, which leaves me on a political note.

Whether or not someone has a fear of the dentist, they should be able to see one in an affordable and easy to access manner. I have decent insurance but walking a mile and a half through the hood, is an issue. Thanks for nothing, Kaiser. A dentist is someone who will willingly torture people and our torture-happy politicians can’t bring themselves to fund it.

[zoeloveswade]

When you live far away

There are compromises you make in your daily living, that you would never make if you were in your home state.  For example, today I’m going to happy hour with a former coworker who used to irritate the shit out of me. Why? 

She’s one of the only other teachers I know in the city and she was as fed up with the school as I am now.  That and she’s buying and we’re going to the wine and seafood place.  Priorities.

Living far away from home means your weekend road trips are into the complete unknown, with no free tour guides.  Back home, I could take Anthony on a weekend to Grand Rapids or Traverse City and we’d have people to stop and see and show us something we hadn’t seen before.  Here, we have to hope we don’t get lost because GPS won’t work in the mountains.  

When you don’t know many people, you can’t gather a lot of advice about an area before you vacation there.  Google becomes your friend.  Were it not for the administrative assistant at work, I wouldn’t have known about the little Getaway on the coast.

When you live far away, you don’t know what you’re doing for the holidays.  Easter’s coming up and we’re just looking at each other like, “You wanna cook the ham or you want me to?” then Karma meows like she’s in the bid. 

Thankfully, Eric grew up faster than me so we have his place for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Anthony is going over there Saturday morning to help Eric do some work on his truck.  

The perk to living far away is there’s no unwanted visitors on a Sunday when you’re trying to get things done around your home...or walk around naked in it.  In Michigan, weekends were often slowed by “We were passing through town” guests.  No one passes through East Portland unless it’s to shoot someone. 

We’re planning to move back to the Midwest or East Coast after Anthony gets more transfer credits here. Until then, we’re going to do everything together and be cute doing it.

[zoeloveswade]

When one day feels like three

Years ago I was coming down with a horrible cold while on vacation but I still tried to participate in the trip.  During a walk, I felt like I was trying to walk into a wall because I was so exhausted.  That is the way living has felt.  Work is so depressing and exhausting I can barely drag myself out of bed each morning.  This is upsetting because, outside of work, I’m so incredibly happy.  Never in my life did I think I would be in love like I am.  Never did I think I would be so happy with the unknown and never did I think I would be so comfortable with someone.  When I’m not at work, those happy days go so fast and then each weekday feels like three.  That’s “15″ work days and 2 weekend days.

It’s no wonder my body aches, my stomach is never settled, and I can’t sleep.  East Coast people are the hardest working individuals on the West Coast. 

The West Coast is the Left Coast, which is usually fine with me until you have to deal with the negative.  Each side of the political spectrum has its negatives and, on the Left Coast, a negative is the way schools handle behavior.  Teachers can’t raise their voices, Students are no longer suspended for violent or threatening acts.  Staff lives in fear of assault, student overdose or suicide, and other issues.

Do I know what work I’ll be doing next year? No. Am I okay with that? Sort of, I’m saving money and doing what I can to get Anthony all the scholarships, grants, and help in completing his next semester of classes for transfer to Wayne State University or another college.

All I know right now, is that I spend every day wondering how I’ll survive another three and a half months.