Friday, January 29, 2010

where the hell have you been?

Well, if I had the energy I'd write some ragingly witty telling of the wedding monster that took a chunk out of my ass shortly after the new year, and has been battling me ever since. But the truth is, I'm distracted by the class I'm teaching, the class I'm taking, and the writing I have to get done for other people and other things.

And I really do feel like I fell underneath a giant, tulled and be-ribboned thing, a thing of registries and rehearsal dinners and formalware and invitations that just made me forget I was a person with a life outside having a wedding.

There is some normalcy to my life now: I am back to teaching, and sitting in on a class is going to force my writing in a way that I haven't felt in years. There simply are more important things for me to do than obsess about crafts and parties. This week I gave a reading at a bar on Chicago's north side about the woman that I accidentally became through a series of missteps in my early 20s. Here's a taste.

You ever heard of that frog in the pot of water that slowly boils to death because it can’t feel the water temperature getting hotter? I was that frog: the CEO of my job puts up a racially offensive poster, and when I complain about the message it sends to our kids, he refuses to take it down; temperature goes up three degrees. A kid at one of my schools blatantly ignore my instructions, picks a fight with another kid, and gets expelled, temp goes up two degrees. When I ask my boss for guidance, she tells me that if I“affect a blacker attitude” my kids will listen to me, four degrees. One of my students suffers from heat stroke, and instead of calling 9-1-1, my superiors slap wet paper towels on her and force her to drink water until she’s responsive, five degrees. I was confused, insecure and desperately unhappy. But somehow I just couldn’t harvest enough initiative to do something about it. Devon and Natasha did
whatever they could to take my mind off how unhappy I was, which generally involved pot and booze. There was always something to drink or smoke in the
house, and they were willing to share.

1 comment:

Rachel said...

'holy shit,' though Rachel, about what makes your temperature rise in the school.

Ice packs, deep breaths, and God's cooling grace to you, woman.