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I had a dream (nightmare) that the new incoming Superintendent fired me. It’s not like I am having a moment; he did move all of the librarians into classrooms in his last district and replaced them with clerks. Which is utterly stupid, since study after study has shown that schools with a certified, master’s degree toting librarian have higher achievement scores. And that is the bottom line, after all. But, you know, whatever. I don’t think I need to scream this time (not yet), but this is more stress on top of what I already don’t need. Plus, I have my stupid presentation to do in less than 2 weeks. Go ahead and ask me if it’s ready (of course it’s not!). Gak! I hate this time of year, too. It’s always depressing to me when the sun dies. Call it fire sign, Celtic heritage, Seasonal Affective Disorder, plain old-fashioned looniness, what have you, I need bright light and vibrant living things around me. Always. If I didn’t have things to do, I would totally hibernate during this time of year. I hate it.

Whore of Babble-on

So, we have this thing in our school district called “school choice”. What that means is that parents living within a “zone” (four zones for elementary, three for middle, one for high) can choose to send their student to any school within that zone. It’s a way to get around court-mandated busing, since we are all so “integrated” now. It’s also a sham, really, but that’s how education is these days: one hucksterism after another. Anyway, since parents can choose to send their children to any school within their zone (which program will end in a couple of years, thereby allowing the glory of the Grand Old South, by which I mean segregation, to be reborn in our modern times), the teachers and administrators have to put on a dog and pony show to lure parents into selecting their school. None of it really matters anyway, since the parents only want to attend an “A” school. The school grading program is also a bunch of bullshit because there are “A” schools which aren’t making adequate yearly progress as determined by the No Child Left Behind Act, fuck you very much Dubya. The most delicious part of that particular turd floating in poison brulee, is that even though NCLB is a national program, the standards are different from state to state: a subgroup (meaning minority) in Florida is 30 students or more, but in other states a subgroup may be 500 students or more. And of course, even if you are still scoring above the required level, if you drop a point, then you fail that one particular piece for that one subgroup, which means you fail the entire thing (not making adequate yearly progress), which means that you have to offer vouchers after two years. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Okay, I am usually better after I get the scream out. To return to my original point (I am sorry, it’s just that I can’t discuss education without having to scream every two minutes), I was presenting my little “do” for the parents at our “Choice Exploration” night. I felt dirty afterward. We should not have to whore ourselves to lure new parents to come to our school. Every school should be able to offer the same materials, the same curriculum, the same everything. But that’s not the way it is, and it’s definitely not the way we are headed. Fuck: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Do you begin to understand why I can not talk about this? To me, it is the emotional equivalent of talking to Holocaust deniers: you can only scream.

Jesus Christ

I was at work for thirteen hours today. I just got home. Yesterday, I didn't get home until after 8. I am baking a potato (regular potato, smothered in cheese and butter because I think I motherfucking deserve it), eating, bathing, and going to bed. I'll tell you the whole story tomorrow.

Um...

I have been malingering again. But I have a really good reason: this really cute guy has been emailing me. He's even literate and funny. I KNOW! See, I figure the universe got word that I had completely given up on ever having someone in my life. I really had. Seriously. So now it's trying to set me up. But I totally know that I am the Charlie Brown to the universe's Lucy Van Pelt, so I already know it ain't gonna work out. But I'm going to let you in on a secret: it's okay. I mean, I know the universe doesn't get one scrap of pleasure from kicking me in the nuts, nor does it shed a single tear for my happiness. All I can do is sit back, and take what comes to me.

Baby Blues

I have talked in the past about my friend Tammy the single mom, and how I spend lots and lots of time with her and her daughter. Her daughter considers me to be part of her family. Really. If you ask her who is in her family, she says “Mommy, Grandma, Grandpa, Aaron.” It’s not top billing, but it’s still pretty satisfying. However, it’s not really enough. See, I want my own baby. One that is mine all the time. That I can love and care for and who will love me in return. Even the thought of being a dad makes me smile, every time. I think I would be a good dad, too. Well, like today, for example. The three of us had gone to dinner. Katie, who had not had a nap and was acting like it, fell asleep at the table. After we finished, Tammy loaded her in the car and we ran really quick to Eckerds (watch for a future entry about drugstores). Katie is trying to sleep in her car seat, but she’s not situated correctly, so she keeps waking herself up when her head falls off to the side. And she kept doing it. It was mildly comical, at least in the sense that it was precious (Mmm, gonna need some insulin after that). After watching this for so long, I put my hand on the side of her head so she would at least stop looking like an endless loop of some lame funniest home video footage. This accomplished, she finally was able to sleep for a bit. The problem, of course, was that I had to keep my hand there which, considering the angle I was at, was a physical impossibility. Quickly, I devised a theorem and decided to put it to the test. If, I reasoned, I could gradually lower my hand allowing her head to very slowly fall to the side, perhaps she would not wake up. It didn’t work. But, this time when she half awoke to reposition herself, she moved her head in the other direction, allowing Katie to find her own balance. Which I guess worked out well for both of us, anyway.