Bullshit, huh? Lemme tell you a little about bullshit...

Today is one of those days that makes me want to quit teaching.

End of the third quarter, kids are begging for second and third chances, or demanding them in some cases. Three kids told me me today they were taking the test Monday--after the three day weekend-- because they were not going to be here tomorrow, and they had not studied.

One kid told me making him take the test today or take a zero was bullshit because had had not studied.

Really... hmmm. Bullshit, huh? Let me teach you a lesson about bullshit then...

No, kid, bullshit is all your classmates having to take it tomorrow and rewarding your laziness by giving you almost four extra extra days.

Bullshit is telling me this the day before the test when I gave you a calendar with the test date weeks ago.

Bullshit is expecting me to cater to your every demand and giving nothing in return.

Bullshit is losing review time in class today because I have to deal with you having an outburst.

Bullshit is the expectation that you dictate to me what you need when also asking for a huge favor.

Bullshit is the fact that even though I have spent weeks preparing and delivering the material in this unit, you haven't even expelled the energy to retain a sentence of it.

Bullshit is treating my class like playtime on a daily basis, distracting and antagonizing others, wasting precious instruction time, and depriving others who give a fuck and want to be here.

Bullshit is following the rules, setting high expectations, devoting time and energy you lose for things you feel actually have a productive result more than a fraction of the time, and being told to give more.

Bullshit is having a kid do something wrong, get in trouble, and the parent tearing apart everything you did wrong while completely ignoring the fact that the situation resulted from their child being a disrespectful little ass.

Bullshit is having accountability for teachers being raised every year while the accountability, independence, and responsibility of students wanes.

Long story short-- life is bullshit. Deal with it.

My Week Being a Fresh Crop of NoOb (Yet Again)

Yesterday I posted as my facebook status:

"Nothing makes an educated adult feel like a bumbling idiot quite like Orientation."

Which prompted one of my former Braintrustees to ask, why? 

Oh, Poncho, the glory of being you right now... so blissfully ignorant of how unfathomably shitty the real world is across the threshold of adolescence. Enjoy your senior year, because it is the last taste of childhood you're ever going to get. So, because I love you and your fellow Braintrustees, I am going to drop some knowledge on you that you're not going to be told about. It won't protect you, but at least it may help you brace for the initial impact.

There are very few experiences worse than the first month at a new job. 

I mean, it's up there on the list with things like dismemberment and Justin Beiber concerts.

Sure, don't get me wrong, there are plenty of upsides-- new friends, new opportunities, yada yada, optimistic statements go here. But, starting a new job is lot like moving (unfortunately, they often go hand in hand).
Getting through the first month is akin to torture. 

First of all, you don't know anyone, or perhaps you're lucky enough to know a few people, or perhaps only one, but it seems like they are never around when you need them. In my case, I did not know a single person prior to entering the building and shaking their hands. Now, I love meeting new people, but it's also a very anxious process for me. I'm eccentric, and it ain't no secret. So, when meeting new people, I have to really dial back on my Professional Weirdness. And, it's fucking hard, man. Trying not to talk is the hardest thing-- it's like my brain wants to make jokes worse than any other inappropriate time in my life. Humor is my defense mechanism, and sarcasm is the default setting on the 1986 model Bekki, so it's like my brain goes into overdrive and I can't shut it off. Then, it gets to the point where all I want to do is hear my own voice because it is the only thing familiar to me in this situation, and fuck, we're off to the races ladies and gentlemen. But, if you're not a complete mental case like myself, you're just going to have to deal with the problem of remembering a hundred new names and faces. In the case of being a teacher, I have to learn all my co-workers names, and then next week turn around and learn a hundred plus more when I meet my students. Name remembering is exhausting. Plus, in the case of my own name, I am going to spend the next three months correcting my misspelled name from "Becky" and "Rebecca" to it's proper spellings.

Then, there is the fact you don't know anything about your new job-- the atmosphere, the protocols, where the hell ANYTHING is located. It's a whole mess of uncertainty wrapped up in a tortilla frustration. Throw on top of that hours and hours of tedious yet necessary paperwork setting up insurance and direct deposits, and you end up having a million questions. You start to feel like the neediest, most impatient person on the planet because you don't have anything you need yet and you have to ask for it. And, even though everyone is super gracious, throwing out offers of help from every direction and telling you to come to them if you have any questions, some part deep, deep down inside of you believes there is a max cap to their kindness that is going to be stretched to the limit by your needs. 

And, just when you don't think you can sit through another meeting or sign your given name one more time, because of the mind splitting migraine pulsating through your cranium, in comes the gut-wreching fear you can't handle this job. This feeling is usually immediate precedes any discussion of your expectations and responsibilities. Suddenly, submitting lesson plans once a week or updating eligibility on Thursday mornings seems like a an insurmountable task. How can you possibly fit that in on top of all the OTHER new crap you have to remember? If you can remember that, what are you going to eject from your brain to fit it in-- the secretary's name, your parking spot, the password you just wrote down six times? Who knows if it will even be work related? Remembering to come fifteen minutes early once a week for hallway duty might push out the date of your parents anniversary or knowing the 3rd Amendment! 

Now, let me be very clear-- I am not venting because I feel I have been unfairly treated or neglected. That could not be further from the case. My admins, support staff, and colleagues have bent over backwards to get all of us newbies settling in comfortably. I have a really good feeling about my place there. It's just that I am exhausted. All the terrible that comes from starting a new job compounds into a soul crushing weight of fear and awkwardness that just hangs off your shoulders. It's mentally and physically exhausting, and yet, keeps your mind from settling enough to get a decent night's sleep. My brain and body are running with the gas light on at this point, and if I sleep tonight like I have during the last two nights, I'll be lucky if I have fumes left to run on tomorrow. 

In conclusion:

(Awkwardness + Fear) x Sleep Deprivation = Temporary Stupid Mode

There is nothing in this world I hate more than looking and sounding like an absolute idiot. But, that is exactly what Orientation turns a human being into, sadly.

So, that, my dear Poncho, is why nothing makes an educated adult feel like a bumbling idiot quite like Orientation.

Failure is quite an acceptable option.

NEWSFLASH! I did not finish my novel this summer, nor will I.

 But, I made a lot of progress on it! I even know how I am going to finish it, finally. I did a lot of editing and re-plotting and made some interesting discoveries along the way-- isn't it funny how these stories find a way of writing themselves, taking you down paths you never knew you would walk? I will finish it eventually, and it was not from lack of wanting to finish or writer's block.

The real reason I did not finish my novel is simple: I got a teaching job.

When I first decided I was going to finish and epublish my novel I was in a dark place. My job was winding down and the pressure of unemployment was weighing heavily. I was not going to fall into another bout of clinical depression though-- I was going to take all that trauma and turn it into something positive. I was not going to twist myself into the emotional wreck that was so characteristically me. I was going to tread this sea of uncertainty with grace and dignity. Joblessness seemed like an unavoidable obstacle, and applying to teaching jobs seemed more like a duty and a formality. I sent out packets to schools in every direction, and for months I heard nothing. Resigning myself to the fact I would just have to find something to fill time, and more importantly my checking account, in the fall, I instead saw this an a wonderful opportunity to focus on rediscovering my creative, imaginative self. If I did not have a teaching job I find some temporary, bullshit job, and just focus on writing, right? At least if I had a terrible job, for the first time, it would not feel like it might be my fate forever. I had options now-- I was educated and certified, and icing on the cake, slightly experienced. And, it would not be a terrible job compounded by full time schooling. That was almost a new experience for me to think that even if I spent all day at a crappy, thankless job, I could at least come home an decompress instead of annotating the readings and typing papers. The whole plan seemed brilliant!

For so very long, I had denied what is clearly an inherent side of myself. I am always writing, whether the words actually hit paper or blink into existence on a Word document, or not. Not a single day goes by that I don't catalog a name, a place, an experience, a color, an event, a word, a song, a feeling into my head for later use. What I believe makes me a writer, prevents me from not being a writer, is my incessant observation. I take in everything, and for the most part I remember it. I love words, and I love forming them into feelings and expressions. It makes me whole. It's how I dissect and comprehend the world-- by breaking into down into digestible pieces and explaining my impression of it through words. The fact that it can be interpreted and appreciated by any other sentient being is extraordinary to me, because it almost feels like I am the only person for whom I am writing.

So, I got serious about writing. I have been studying and honing this craft for so long, now I was going to actualize it. I made a weekly schedule and I stuck to it. I wrote in shifts every single day. I fixed old, junky, terrible passages and I wrote new, astonishing pieces. I woke up early, stayed up late. I found inspiration in unknown places. I went once a week to my favorite coffee shop, pressing pen to paper, sipping coffee and tea, and people watching.

It was a glorious month. And, it would have continued, and I might even have finished my book if something happened that I had convinced myself was an impossibility.

After months of silence, I got a phone call about an interview.

Then, I got two more.

Three interviews in five days totally through off my schedule.

Then, I got another phone call offering me a job.

Suddenly, the objectives of my entire summer shifted. Now I had to think about planning for classes, preparing my room, buying supplies, and most importantly, expanding my teacher wardrobe! How would these new kids understand my spunky, quirky nerdliness if I did not express it through adorable plaid dresses with tights and polka dot cardigans! There was no time!

Next week starts my tenure at Beardstown which I hope will be both long and satisfying. I don't even feel like a failure about not finishing, because I feel like I am just trading one delayed success for another. Either way, one of my dreams would have been deferred-- whether it was furthering my teaching career or starting my writing career.

I know that eventually I will accomplish both-- I am to stubborn not too.

Prima Impertrix of Braintustencia

I'm going to lose my teaching position, and that really, really blows.

It's not because I did a poor job-- I did an excellent job. It's because the lawmakers in this state suck at their jobs. Pension reform, or their complete and utter lack resolving the aforementioned issue, has created a massive shortfall in education funding. So, long story short-- in which I save you from my anger filled rant-- I am going to lose my job, and set sail into a sea of unemployment rocked by a stagnant economy and budget cuts at schools across the state, amid the already established attitude that Social Studies is useless because it is not tested by federal or state tests. Unfortunately, this has not prevented absolutely everyone and their brother, sister, uncle, and aunt from getting certified in secondary Social Studies.

... and, all I can think about is how much I am going to miss the hell out of my kids.

I call my kids, because to me they are my kids. They have all gravitated to me for what I think are two reasons:

1) In me, they see someone who is nerdy, liberal, atheist, socialist, and curious-- all traits they feel in themselves, but are not encouraged in their small corner of Central Illinois. They are my beloved outcasts. In me they have found a kindred spirit who says, "That belief in you is worth believing - don't question it just because others don't understand it." I am a product of this same area, and I got out-- so will you.

2) They all have some form of parental issues, be it from being the product of a broken home or just being dysfunctional, they have all had to grow up just a little faster than they should have. In that, they share my pain.

So, I call them my kids because I feel like I am nurturing their minds, and serving as a stand in for a parent that does not meet a need that I can meet for them-- encouragement, discipline, engagement, understanding... the list goes on. Whatever it is that I have done that compels them to seek out my guidance and attention.

The worst part of leaving is feeling like I'm losing them, and they are losing me. We need each other, because  they meet a need for me too. Since having started therapy-- did I mention that? Oh, yeah, by the way, I started therapy-- I've been working on my need to achieve, and be recognized for that achievement. I'm slowly realizing that my self worth does not have to be wrapped up in my accomplishments. But, for some time, I have aspired to be one of those creative geniuses, like Whedon or Roddenberry, who created a universe. I fantasize about having a booth at a comic convention, and signing books and posters and headshots and other forms of swag with my creations emblazoned on them. I can hear the squees of joy as they approach my table, and I scribble my name across their most precious object with a felt tip pen. For so long, I wanted to create a universe of science fiction characters and stories that would envelope people, that I could use to spread my message. Basically, I wanted to be a cult icon.

And, then I was sitting at my desk after school, my feet propped on my desk and telling a story, my Braintrust circled around me in pulled up chairs, listening intently... and I realized, I am already somebody's hero.

My therapist wanted me to work on phrases that I could repeat to myself-- things that would calm anxiety or  lift a depressed mood. And, now I have one-- I am already somebody's hero. Whenever I get upset about anything, I can just repeat that phrase because I have now achieved my life's ambition.

I have achieved a cult of personality.

... This may be the closest I ever get to being Joss Whedon.

Wow... and it's not developed around my my intellectual property, it's around me. It's like a giant validation that everything I am is acceptable and in no way broken like I have become accustomed to believing. That's a pretty powerful revelation.

 Every day after school is like holding court-- I sit at my desk, my kids gathered around, and we tell stories and nerd out. And, they look forward to it. Hell, they page me on the intercom when I am not in my room right after school.

Now, it makes me sound pretty shallow, and I'm still going to aspire to creating something other than myself for people to worship, but still... damn, that's fucking cool.

I have to admit, I have gotten a little addicted to the attention and praise. But, I feel like whatever I have gotten out of this, the kids have gotten much, much more. I'm their safe place, and a small taste of stability in their lives. And, the fact that I'm leaving scares me for their sake.

If nothing else, I know that I have at least established my demographic and fan base.

It's going to be all tears and feels my last day of school.

While I call them my Braintrust, one of the kids-- and, this speaks to their brilliance and nerdliness that it is in Latin-- started refering to me as Prima Imperatrix, or in other words, the First Empress. It all started when we decided to form a micronation. Now, I am the brave and wise leader, Prima Imperatrix of Braintrustencia.

I cannot express in words just how much I am going to miss these kids...

One million other things I could be doing...

...But fuck it-- I'm going to blog. I'm not going to prep. I am not going to grade anymore papers. I am just going to do a personal, completely necessary thing right now... write, be sarcastic, blog.

I need to do this. I have to find some semblance of creative normalcy. Here I am, fully jobbed and living my teaching dream. Which, any of you who have known me for longer than a minute know this was incredible, nearly impossible achievement. But, all I can focus on is the fact that this job is eating my life because stupid ass me wants to do it right, and it may be all for nothing if my job gets cut... which is pretty likely since America experiencing a high speed come apart, the likes of which have not seen since my wedding when it rained on my outdoor reception.

For months I have been observing things and thinking in my head, "This would make a great entry". But then I get home and think I have to put other things first. Well, my break is coming up and I don't care how much I have to do right now. I'm never going to get it done if I don't take a rest and refocus, because my brain will protest in some melodramatic... way like a aneurism or a seizure or randomly forgetting how to speak English or an inability visually process color.

So, this is me, entering randomn wisdom in my irrational and absolutely peculiar observational way.

Read, and enjoy while it lasts.

Reasons I could potentially be an awful teacher...

I go on a lot about teaching. Lately it has been more present in conversations because I am fast approaching the end of my prison sentence known as college. I'm taking content exams and going into classrooms. Shit is getting real now. I'm going to be student teaching next spring-- provided that tomorrow when I turn in my unbelievably ridiculous application for student teaching, everything doesn't go Titanic on me, which is something totally possibly through the incompetency of the TEP department... And, yes, you didn't read that wrong, I just I used the word "Titanic" as a euphemism for a disaster. Really, you could use any disaster...

Man-made-
"How was your date with Jessica last night?"
"Oh my god, it went totally Hindenburg after the second course."

Economic-
"How was Thanksgiving at your parents?"
"It turned Black Tuesday after mom opened the wine."

Natural-
"How did your speech go?"
"It was an epic Katrina."

Terrorism-
"How was that new Twilight saga movie?"
"It was like watching September 11th all over again."

Ssssss.... too soon? I guess ten years isn't enough.

I digress, as I so often have too, next semester, in less than six months, I'm going to be standing in front of high school students as a beacon of knowledge. The ones that aren't sleeping or playing on cell phones are going to be looking at me as a source of knowledge, and potentially forming opinions on my lessons that they hold for the rest of their lives. That's fucking intimidating. Especially when I think of situations I have been in during history classes where I have made a statement, and the other person on the end of the conversation says, "Where did you hear that?", and I respond, "I learned that in my high school American History class", and they just laugh. I don't won't the be the idiot teacher who got it wrong, and gets laughed at by some stupid history major. But, at least I can take some comfort in the fact that most of those kids who argued my opinions also failed multiple times to pass the content exam, where I didn't. That's the problem with going into history because you like bombs and WWII-- you tend to not go out of your way to learn much else, and end up being one of those terrible history teachers. The cycle continues...

But, what if I end up being one of those terrible teachers? Or worse, what if I end up being John Keating? (For those of you who just lost me, that's Robin Williams character from Dead Poet's Society)? What if I am a great fucking teacher, but I am too radical, and the administration and parents come after me like ravenous wolves? That's also intimidating. Would I diminish my passion just to keep my job? That's a sobering thought. But, it get's me thinking about other things.

Reasons I could potentially be a horrible teacher--

1. I say fuck a lot.
It's really not a secret about just how dirty of a mouth I have. I like to think I am an eloquent curser, but most of polite society would use the argument that a truly educated person does not have to resort to cursing to get their point across. To which, I politely respond, fuck off, you pretentious dick. Classy? Not exactly. But, what's the point in being classy when you are trying to insult someone? Anyway, once I was old enough to realize I could get away with it, I got pretty used to cursing, and now I find myself in situations where "fucks" can just slip out of my mouth without my permission. Like for instance, the time I was talking to one of my softball team mom's and I had to cleverly backtrack, and pretend I simply mispronounced a word. I'm too the point where I wonder how many words just slip out without my knowledge? That's a scary thought, isn't it?

"Alright class, today we're going to talk about a bad ass mother fucker named Winston Churchill. He served as the fucking Prime Minister of Great Britain during World War fucking II and helped lead to an allied victory, but perhaps he is best known for his reply to some bitch who insulted him for his drinking problem, "Madam, I may be drunk, but in the morning I shall be sober, but you will still be ugly." Fuck yeah.

Ironically, using this kind of language to teach about Winston Churchill doesn't seem like such an inappropriate example.

2. From the perspective of a teacher, by the unfortunate and terrible standards to which I am held as a history teacher, I am kind of a shitty history teacher.
I know the big things. 1776- Dec. of Independence is signed. 1787- Constitution is ratified. 1914- WWI breaks out in Europe, but other than the big stuff-- wars, assassinations, and other disasters (such as the examples I have identified at the beginning of this post), I have not taken the time to learn dates. Sorry about that, I guess I was too busy actually learning about the importance of the events rather than when they happened. That's why I have the textbook, right? I won't use it other than to make sure I'm not wrong... Napoleon lost at Waterloo in 1815, alright, good to know, but as for the rest of your dry prose, lack of useful or interesting information, and crappy propaganda, I reject your available information textbook. That's all a text book is good for anyway-- what, when, where, and who. The why is always thrown out to the wayside. Students don't need to thik about history, they just need to know it! How else could we test them!? Isn't that the only reason students go to school-- to take tests and get god grades? I mean, that's what we do in the real world right?

This leads me to reason 3.

3. I am sarcastic as I am immature. ... so, a lot in both circumstances.
The smart kids will get it. But, for the other 95% of the class, I'm going to lose them. I find things ironic and hilarious that other people, lame people, don't find hilarious, or even remotely interesting. I also lack tact, because when does someone in my position need that? I mean, six days shy of the tenth anniversary of a national tragedy, I have no problem making a joke. Maybe it's one of the unfortunate side effects of being a social studies major in that I have become so accustomed to analyzing every movement the human race makes to remember it was a horribly, unnecessary tragedy where thousands lost their lives. Or, maybe it is because that things like Sept. 11th still happen that I have become detached from a race of beings I am ashamed to be a part of and I'm just speaking through cynicism. The problem is I'm going to have to constantly to aware of the fact that just because I find something amusing, doesn't mean anyone else will. Plus, I have to remember, when student says or does something "inappropriate", it is wrong to laugh my ass off, no matter how fucking funny it is. Gotta be the adult now...

Perhaps, I should rethink this whole teaching thing...

Shut the fuck up, take my money, and put me in a fucking classroom!

Once again, UIS has found a new way to kill my brain cells with their bureaucratic stupidity. I was informed yesterday that I have two weeks to submit the 50 some odd forms, applications, certificates, and other jazz I need to sign up and qualify for student teaching in the Spring of 2012. Most of these things I could have completed months, even years ago, and yet they withhold this info until two weeks before I have to have it submitted, after which there is absolutely no way they will consider me for teaching in the spring. So, in the next two weeks I have to fill out three applications, without errors of any kind-- can't even cross out or whiteout--, obtain signatures from department chairs and advisers in triplicate graduation application forms, write a new resume and teaching philosophy --has to be new, can't be any of the 1000 I have had make of either in all my education classes-- and print them in quintuple -- yes, that's right, five copies--, take two online courses for mandated reporting and health and safety, and pass tests for both for which I have to submit two forms for each, meet with my TEP advisor twice for more approvals and signatures, and a whole bunch of other forms and documents and bullshit and run around.

To say I am unhappy, angry, annoyed, would be an understatement. I wish I could re-organize this department on an epic level. The complete and utter lack of sensibility or communication skills by this department is staggering. I know I am a good teacher, and all the proof comes from my reviews and evaluations from my students and sponsor teachers. But, this department refuses to equip us with the practical knowledge one will need to become a competent teacher in a real world setting...

NO! Instead, I have been forced to take my umpteenth online class where for my first fucking assignment I must write an autobiographical paper about why I want to be a teacher, my experiences with teaching, and how I think these experiences will make me a better teacher! HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I FUCKING WRITTEN THIS PAPER! Seriously? No... SERIOUSLY!?

[Excuse the brief interruption in your regularly schedule blog post while the writer puts a gun in her mouth.]

This is not going to make me a better teacher. Making me take bullshit online courses where I do not actually get to function in a real classroom setting will not make me a better teacher. Waxing poetic bullshit about how great of a teacher I'll imagine I'll be will not make me a better teacher. Do you know what will make me a better teacher?

PUT ME IN A FUCKING CLASSROOM!

I understand there are methods and lessons I have to learn beforehand, but how will I ever learn to put them into actual practice if all my classes are online and I only get 40 hours of in classroom time with actual living, breathing, spit ball shooting, sarcastic, intelligent, learning disabled, black, white, hispanic, impoverished, wealthy, athletic, awkward, and any other combination of diverse students! This is why the level of education in this country is so unbelievably, terrifyingly dismal. If we can't even properly educate future educators, what hope do the poor students have without qualified, competent teachers, without funding for resources for those teachers, and with NCLB dictating what subjects are important and unimportant based on whether we can standardize a test for it?

I'm terrified to get up in front of a classroom and claim myself to be a teacher. I do not in any way feel prepared for this. I feel cheated. I feel like I got a sub-standard education, and if I don't feel like I'll be ready to teach these students on the level they deserve, how is that fair to them? I love teaching, and I know how to relate to students, how to present material to them, how to make school fun, how to make it come alive, how to interact with them-- when I get up there, I now how to be a good teacher-- but UIS wants me to be a good clinical teacher, all sterilized and generic, all touchy-feely and not gritty and realistically.

Dear mystical and complex universe, please don't let me fall flat on my unprepared face. Please, I have been sacrificing and busting my ass for this moment for six years-- please, please, let me get all my paperwork in on time, and let next semester go as smoothly and brilliantly as possible--

Because if it doesn't... the gun is going back in my mouth.