Worn out

It's catching up with me now.

Charlie dog actually got to go for a long walk this morning, because it wasn't pitch dark when I got up. But, now it's not even eight o'clock, and I'm ready for bed. Exhausted I am.

Have the whole pirate get up worked out -- I think -- and yes, of course there'll be pictures. I have no problem at all with putting silly pictures of myself on line. It's the serious ones that get me.

The wonder dog has been getting into some serious shenanigans while I've been at work the last two weeks. In hopes of burrowing through my bedroom door, he's ripped up a 12 inch by 6 inch part of the carpet, and messed up the side of his nose pretty good in the process. So, first I tried to cover the carpet with bricks from the outside. Two heavy bricks. Two heavy bricks on top of one another, which I promptly stubbed my toe on 20 minutes later. The next day I came home to find the bricks tossed to the side of the door like pillows, and more gray fluff that used to be my carpet.

I then gave in, and left my bedroom door open. I figured he might as well go in there and on the bed if he's going to destroy the house. I don't really mind -- it's just that my bed is particularly high off the floor, and if he fell, he could really hurt himself.

For two days all was fine.

Then.

I came home from work, and noticed that the blinds in the window in my bedroom were strangely bent. I ran into the house, and saw that the little poop had climbed up on my laundry basket (actually the mountain of clothes that were in my laundry basket), and had been basically... uh... chewing on the metal window blinds.

I know!

I've had Charlie for three years. Tomorrow is the third anniversary of my bringing him home from the shelter, and now he starts acting like a demolition team? What's up with that?

So, I did some major rearranging in my room, got the piles away from the window, and left for work again this morning (after a long walk, mind you).

Came home, and what I saw scared me.

He had climbed up on my dresser. My dresser! This little 25 pound creature had climbed up on a chair next to my dresser and somehow made it across to the top. I know, because the sweaters that were left on top of the dresser were all on the floor, and there were bent blinds again, this time in the other window by the dresser. This is frightening, because if he fell, he would really do some damage.

Gah.

If he was a puppy, or a dog I'd just brought home, at least I'd get what was going on. He's 6 years old, and has been with me, in this same house, for three years. What gives? He's lying now on his little bed as if nothing would suit him more than bon bons and crumpets. He's a wuss most of the time. When I leave does his inner bad dog come out?

I need to call the vet or the trainer I took him to when I first got him. This has to stop. I rent. I've already got to pay for the ripped up carpet and the ruined blinds. Oh yeah, my landlady's gonna love me. I'm giving renters with dogs a bad name.

Problem is, I hardly have enough time to breathe lately, let alone make an appointment during business hours.

Suggestions anyone?

posting from Chatsworth

Okay, so sister's at church, and I didn't want to go. Does that make me a bad sister? Nah.

I just took her monster dog (who tries to eat Charlie every time I bring him) for a monster walk. Well, monster for him. Sister's not been able to walk him for the last week and a half, and the 80 pound canine is rather lazy to begin with.

We took about an hour, which is what I planned, and got lost, which I didn't plan. I figured it out; the valley is all set up as a grid, so one can always find one's way home again. Would that life was that simple.

Although I've never done crack, I've discovered something I believe might just have the same addictive quality: mini peanut butter cups from Trader Joes. Satan himself could not have designed a more insidious treat. They look small... 27 are considered a serving, which sounds like quite a lot. 4 or 5 points for that many, but of course, I'll only have two or three. I mean, each one is about 7 calories, so how much damage could be caused?

People, I can't stop. I try to hide them from myself, but they keep calling to me. I pop one in my mouth, but it's gone, and I can't stand it... I must have another. And another. And another.

Evil Trader Joes.


The whole English department is dressing up as pirates on Tuesday (remember, junior high? we must all check our pride at the door when it comes to dress up days). I have a bandana for my head, and a little vest thing, but that's all. I need an eye patch, but Target was all out.

Hmmm... my brother sent me a paper eye patch for talk-like-a-pirate day, but I don't know if it will make it through the whole day.

Ah well.

Oh, went to a play with sister last night -- Souvenir it was called -- it was pretty good. See it if you have a chance. However, I could see how terrible it would be if the actors in it weren't terrific.

Sister's doing okay

I'm going on back up there this weekend; she's having a hard time with only one arm working right now. I'll do laundry, fold clothes, put things away... all the stuff I never do when I'm home.

I'm renting a car because my crummy piece of ca-ca car isn't doing so well. I'd take it in, but when?

Grades are due at 8:30 am on Monday, and I was at school until 9 o'clock tonight. Who says teachers have it easy?

I know, I know. My life is easy when I put it in perspective. Sister's being a trooper about all of this, but I think she's realizing that this isn't just a blip. She's got some real recovery time to put in, not just for her arm (which is still in a splint, and will be for a while. The cut went through her muscle, and it has to heal. She had about 200 stitches, inside and out), but also for her psyche.

Where's the time machine? Just rewind to last Thursday, and she'd go to Whole Foods instead of Von's, and none of any of this would have happened. At least not to her.

Trust your gut feeling

Thursday night my sister was attacked as she got into her car. She's at home now, and I'm leaving in an hour to go and stay with her tonight.

She was in the Von's parking lot, about 8pm, and noticed a weird guy. Looked him in the eye with a "don't fuck with me" look and unloaded her groceries. He walked over and got himself in the way of the car door before she could shut it. He asked for money, she said no, and he started leaning in. She started screaming and he told her to shut up or he would cut her. She looked down and then saw the 10-inch knife he was holding. She offered up her purse and said she was pregnant, but he then said he wanted her to give him a ride.

My sister is built like me; not petite, and certainly not helpless looking. She kept her head, remembered that fighting is usually the best thing to do, and knew that no way in hell was that guy getting in the car with her.

She went for the knife, which threw the guy, but he didn't let go. She leaned back into the car and started kicking and screaming for all she was worth. She said he just kept slashing and slashing. She knew she was hurt, but didn't stop; she said she forgot to be scared, and became enraged that someone would dare hurt her unborn little girl. People in the parking lot came and chased the man away. A man ran to his truck, got a baseball bat, and caught the guy. She was told later that his injuries were worse than hers.

She was cut on her left arm. Seven inches long and to the bone. He cut through a muscle, but she won't have to have surgery. She's right-handed, so at least she can still do things right now.

You know how you get those emails? About being careful in parking lots? And they're always dramatic and overblown?

This really happened. To my sister. She's smart, she's tough, and she did everything right. She wasn't in a dark alley, or walking home late at night, or in a deserted part of town. She was grocery shopping like everyone else at Von's that night. She doesn't live in a big city, and it turns out the guy that attacked her lived down the street from the store. It can happen anywhere.

You know, she told me she knew that the guy was bad news. She could tell. But she said she didn't even think of going back in to the store to ask someone to walk her out to her car. And she said if she had thought of it, she probably wouldn't have done it anyway, because it would have been embarrassing.

She's going to be fine, and her baby is fine. Her car looks like someone got executed in it, and she has to deal with some real shit now to get through it, but like I said, she's tough. She's had the shittiest year of anyone I know; no one deserves that much difficulty in 12 months. We don't always get along, or see eye-to-eye, my sister and I, but I don't love anyone more than her, and if I could take some of this grief off of her, I would.

Instead, I'll go down there, watch some silly movies with her, and try to keep her spirits up.

Please take care of yourselves.

catching up

So, I submitted my application 17 minutes before the deadline. The hardest part was the 50-word synopsis of my personal and professional goals in regards to the Fulbright exchange. I talk a lot, if you've not noticed. Everything I came up with sounded like crap. Or like some stereotypical Miss America contestant.

But it's done. I'll find out next month if I get an interview.

I have things to talk about, but not now. Grey's Anatomy is on, and I'm on my third glass of wine.

Be well.

so close... so close...

Of course, I ran out of ink for my printer. Went and bought some more -- almost as much as the damn printer itself -- got home and printed out half of one copy; realized I'm out of paper. What is going on?

Don't worry, I'm planning on emailing my application.

Wish me luck. This all must be finished by midnight tomorrow. After that... it's all over.

Erased post

I posted something last night, then erased it before most people could see what a pathetic whiner I was.

Why is it we are so ashamed of our sadness or anger? We don't want anyone to think we are feeling sorry for ourselves. Feeling sorry for ourselves is a sin somehow. "Chin up, don't cry, you've got it good. Lots of people have it worse than you."

Did you ever talk to someone about something that was troubling you, and you heard, "You think you've got problems, wait until you hear what I've been going through," or something to that effect?

So it's sort of don't talk about anything that upsets you, but if you do, someone's going to compete with you in the annoyance/sadness/anger division.

Why is that?

And then there's the responsibility factor. Sometimes our pain, sorrow, whatever, is caused by something other than ourselves. Someone other than ourselves. Now, if we hate that other someone, we can talk about how wronged we were, or how hurt we were until the cows come home (I'm wondering, where is the place the cows go from which they must return home?).

But, if we are still friends with that someone, well, can't we just "drop it" or "get over it?" And even if we aren't over it, we aren't to talk about it because it's happened, nothing can change that, and really, it makes the other person feel guilty.

So once again, we stifle it down. Keep it quiet, make nice, pretend it's not there.

But it is there.

And it comes out in stupid posts like the one I wrote last night.

Which hopefully got deleted before anyone I know saw it.

5 hours of sleep last night

and it will be the same tonight. Every day there's a damn meeting and phone calls to parents and another meeting and could I give up my lunch to work with some kid who didn't listen to me the first time I gave directions?

Then it's off to walk the wonder dog, and see what I can get done on that Fulbright application.

I'm half-finished. The ideas in my head are fabulous, but what's on the page is shite (I thought I'd practice saying it the way they do in the UK).

I have another meeting to go to now. And another one tomorrow from 4-7pm. Oh, that one's after the parent meeting at 2:45... oh yeah, and the hour one before school in which I'm the "expert" showing how the new testing program we're using works.

gah.

A meaningful class

Torn's post today inspired mine.

In college I took Ceramics for two terms. I'm the least physically artistic person you'll ever meet, but that class taught me to appreciate the process rather than the goal.

See, you start with a lump of clay. You put it on the wheel, use some water, and hope things go right. But, you might use too much water and lose the clay. Or, lose your focus for a minute and your vase becomes a bowl. Or, lose your focus a bit longer, and your finger goes right through the bowl and it's gone. You can't get attached to your piece, because it's changing all the time.

Then the drying out period. You have to keep it somewhere safe. If it dries too fast it could crack, and if it's too close to the edge of a table or shelf, it could fall and break. Or someone could knock it over if it's too close to other pieces.

Then there's the glazing. You don't really know what it's going to look like while you're painting it on. You have to hope for the best, and trust in your choices.

Then the firing. At that point, the piece can have too much glaze on it, and get stuck in the kiln, having to be broken into bits to remove it, or it can have an air pocket and explode in the kiln, or someone else's piece can have an air pocket and explode in the kiln.

Poof. Your piece is again gone.

But, if you've enjoyed it along the way, then you've not wasted your time.

Yep. That class, that silly little one-unit class, is the one I remember. I used to go into the ceramics studio on the weekends and at night, just lose myself in there. I would even dream about the wheel; getting centered on it is more of a feeling than anything else.

I still have several small bowls. None are big enough for cereal, or tall enough for a plant, but I have them.

I wonder if Adult Ed is offering Ceramics this year.

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...

Okay, so I have a bit more wiggle room. I can write closer to 1000 words, rather than 500 (the actual limit is 75000 characters, but I really don't know what that translates to in terms of words).

I took Doug's advice and made a bulleted list. It's 1000 words, and very verbose, but it's something.

Went searching around, and found a first and second draft of a teacher's essay written two years ago. It's good, but doesn't contain all that I thought would be needed. She's in Turkey right now, teaching English and Science to high school age kids.

That's all. Gotta get back to work.

fuckity fuck fuck fuck

This essay is killing me people, killing me!

"On no more than two additional pages, please write one essay addressing both A and B below:
A. Provide a narrative picture of yourself.The essay should deal with your personal history, focusing on influences on your intellectual development, the educational and cultural opportunities (or lack of them) to which you have been exposed, and the ways in which these experiences have affected you. Also include your special interests and abilities.

B. Describe your future career goals and plans, especially ways you plan to use your experience abroad in your professional work in this country and to enhance international education in your school/college and community."

In 500 words or less? Are they kidding me?

Sunrise the other day

I was out before the sun, which is normal now, since it's been rising later and later (is daylight savings time ever going to begin?). Walking Charlie is getting to be a challenge when I have to go out in the dark.

However, it means I get to see things like this. It's sunrise, helped along with the ash and smoke that was still in the air from that huge Day Fire. It's ended finally, but I heard it was the fifth largest wildfire in California's history. Recorded history. I don't know what might have happened here 4000 years ago.


Below is something I came along as I was walking back up the hill. It was about 6:45 am, and these were on the side of the street, just next to a driveway. They looked pretty fresh, but who brings flowers at that time of the morning? I picked them up, thinking I would take them home and put them in water, but then felt funny about it, and put them back down. That accounts for the water spots; no one had thrown them down before me, that I know of.

It's a mystery. A whole story behind those white tulips; one I'll never know.

But, much more fun to think about than an essay.

Harvest Moon

It's supposed to be tonight. Hope I remember to go out and look at it. I love the moon when it's bright. Reminds me of camping, or late nights on the beach with a boy.

Got my missing money today, went to Macy's to buy myself a little something, found not one, but two, ten-dollar dresses, stood in line and when I went to pay, realized I'd left my wallet at home (next to the computer where I left it last night). Embarrassing.

Working on the Fulbright. Have fear I won't get it completed in time. Still need to ask for one more reference letter.

approximately 3000 people apply from all over the U.S. every year; about 1000 are invited to participate. Those are good odds, but it also depends where you want to go. Because I'm a junior high school teacher, there's several places aren't available to me. Many countries only do exchanges with high school teachers. Also, I don't speak any other language except (poor) Japanese; so all the countries with language requirements are out. No, Japan's not one of the exchange countries.

So, here I sit. I was up until 11 last night working on the application, but I've not written the essay yet. I have to do it.

Maybe I need a snack first.

Back from Chatsworth

I've just discovered Neko Case. I'm listening to her for the first time right now (although it's her fourth album... I'm a little slow to the hep cat music scene).

Usually, I like music for lyrics first, melodies second. It took me a long time to realize that not everyone is as into the lyrics as I am. Same reason I love poetry.

Anyway, I'm not listening to the lyrics as much as the sound this time. Not that I didn't immediately look up the lyrics too; they are wonderful. But her sound is wonderful. Kind of that folk kind of sound, without the Peter, Paul and Mary quality. Music I bet I'll be singing along to in a few days.

I have a horrible headache right now, but advil will take care of that. I've have a low grade headache for days now. I get those instead of migraines most of the time. Actually it is a kind of migraine; but one that doesn't explode all at once.

I'm struggling with my decision about the Fulbright Teacher Exchange application. See, I now have 15 days to get it all in. Including my letters of reference. And, if I ask people to put in time for me, writing things up, and I work my ass off getting paperwork finished, and the school board doesn't send in my application approval, it's all for naught.

Do I want to call the whole thing off? Wait another year just to apply and another year after that to actually go if they choose me? Do I want to admit defeat? After I've told so many people what I'm planning on doing? Do I give up before I get let down?

Isn't that the eternal question? I'm not known as someone who tries something she doesn't think she'll accomplish. There's a reason I don't know how to surf.

When I do set my mind to something, I do stick to it like glue. I actually refer to myself as the Queen of Second Chances.

After I graduated from UCSB, I got a job as a residential instructor in a group home for behavior-disordered, developmentally disabled, young adults. I know, what a mouthful. As a housewarming gift, the night before I moved in, one of the clients (residents) broke every window in the house. Only a 23-year-old would sign on for such a job.

Anyway, about six months in, a friend of mine, who was teaching in Japan, said I should apply to the same school. I thought, "why not?" and applied. Went through the whole interview process, they flew me to Chicago for my first real "grown up" interview and all, and... I didn't get the job.

I'd worked and lived at the group home for 15 months total before I was contacted by the Kobe College Corporation again. Seems the woman they'd chosen instead of me had had a breakdown over there, and was I still interested? They were desperate, I was still interested, and off I went.

After I got back, I fiddled around for three years, trying to avoid becoming a teacher. I knew how crappy the pay was, how long the hours were, and how we were looked at more like volunteers than professionals. I wanted no part of it. Except it's who I was.

I applied to graduate school, had years of teaching experience, and ... didn't get accepted. Basically, white women are a dime a dozen in English Teacher Education programs, and they had a quota. Yeah, I could've made a big deal about it, but I do believe kids need to see adults that reflect themselves; and I don't reflect the life of my lower-income, Latino students.

Another year, I got in.

Then, I had a great student teaching assignment. I worked with a legend in the district, and she liked me. There were going to be three openings at the same school where I was placed, so as far as I was concerned, I was in like Flynn.

Except I wasn't. Less than 24 hours after my interview, I'd received a letter basically stating, "thanks but no thanks." Not even a "We'll keep your resume on file." Later I found out that I came off as rather cold. Me! Cold? God, disorganized yes, but cold? Wow. The exact words used to describe my interview? "She didn't appear to have good intentionality." I know. I don't think that's a word either.

Again, luck was with me however. My master teacher, the legend, went storming to the principal's office when she found out I hadn't been hired (that's how I know how my interview was described) and one of the applicants offered a position at our school didn't take it.

Voila. I'm hired.

So, I'm not what anyone would call a "golden girl." I don't impress on first sight or first meeting. I take a while to get used to. I know my strength is my ability to keep going for something I want.

I do want this Exchange. But do I want it now, with all the headache it entails, or am I willing to wait another year just to apply?

Where's the magic 8 ball when I need it?