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.

The Five Stages of Fangirl Grief

My Doctor is gone, perhaps not forever, but for a few years until they manage to work him into a special. Now I enter the mourning period that lasts from character death until I meet the new guy and can assess Peter Capaldi for his worth as the Doctor.

I'm thinking about buying a black veil. How very Madama Vastra of me.

Being a Fangirl is a thankless job. We support our beloved characters and the writers that created them, putting them up on pedestals. We find ways to defend bad episodes or books or movies. We engineer arguments that validate actions out of character when writers just miss the mark, because we obviously know these characters better than their creators-- Why else do you think Fanfiction exists? We buy merch, pre-order tickets and books, and construct meticulously accurate costumes to wear to overpriced conventions where meeting the actor that plays your favorite character shatters your world at their level of douchebaggery. I'm talking about you, Bruce Campbell. And, we completely lose touch with reality. We can't ever accept it's just a show, a book, a movie, etc, because some part of us is weak, and craves the satisfaction we receive from our chosen fandom. For some girls, it is romance. Actually, for most girls that is the case, I'm sure. For that, I blame the way girls are conditioned by society, but that is a whole other argument, and I am getting sidetracked. For some girls, it is escape, and in that way they are also kind of falling in love with the idea that this life can substitute the terrible one they are currently living. Then, there are the mental cases like me-- I like to use the words creative, but hey, whatever, everyone knows we creative types all have alcohol and mental disorders. That's what fuels our art. But, for girls like me, it is not that my life is terrible. It's that it's just not enough. The limitations of this life, or of this universe, are stifling. I have an over-inflated sense of importance and purpose, and the only way I can live out my dreams of accomplishing impossible, super hero, mad genius, worship worthy endeavors is to live vicariously through science fiction. For the record,  I am the worst type... in case you were wondering.

It doesn't matter what type of Fangirl you are, or what kind of deprived satisfaction you receive from your fandom, you need it for a reason. It fills a void, no matter how stupid or silly it is. For all my constant and delusional detachment from realty, my fandoms are probably the only thing that keeps me out of an institution, because once I fill the vacant well of my uncalled chosen one depression with a good episode, or a new book, or an excellent fanfiction, I can do normal, mundane human things like hold a job or operate a moving vehicle. Trust me, you think I am bad now, this is the best of a potential bad scenario people.

The one variable that balances the entire Fangirl equation is consistency. As long as we know that all is right in our fictional universe, we are at peace. We can function fine, even in periods of hiatus between releases or seasons. Unfortunately, I know as a writer that the problem with fiction is that consistency is boring, and a good story needs chaos an upheaval to remain compelling-- to remain the reason we choose it to live vicarious through it. That is why I hate fanfiction authors who write stories just to marry character or have kids-- that shit is so fucking pedestrian! I can do that in real life! If I was capable of functioning in the real world, would I need write fanfiction about Dean Winchester--emotionally misunderstood bad ass with freckles-- to get me through from week to week? Would I have learned the word fernweh  just so that I could properly describe the emotion of being homesick for the planet Gallifrey, a place that does not actually exist (or, might just be trapped in a bubble universe-- jury is still out) or that I have never been? Fuck no! As long as we know our favorite character-- the one we relate to, admire, dress like, change our slang and speech to emulate-- or our fandom is coming back, that is what keeps us in balance.

The problem with living off the fumes of someone else's creativity is that that no matter how much we love, need, worship our chosen fandom, the outcome is completely out of our hands. We did not make it. It is not our brainchild. And, because fiction needs upheaval to have compelling plot, characters die. Sometimes it is just to keep the plot riveting, and sometimes it is because actors leave. Sometimes it is not the death of a character, but the cancellation of a show or the disappointing release of a book or movie dooming it to end. Regardless of the end result, the fact remains that you can't do anything to stop it.

Fangirl grief is differently ordered in its experience than regular, normal, emotionally stable, sane person grief, but the stages are the same.

Stage One: Anger

Normally, the first stage of grief is grief. You're just inconsolable. You are miserable, and you isolate yourself. But, in fandom, it's different. It is personal, even though it really isn't. But, feels personal. It feels like you're dying. Then you throw the book across the room or the remote through a window.You blame the writer or the production company or the actor. Then you hate them.  Then you curse them with the fury of a thousand burning suns that they will never work again after creating this abortion of fiction! This is also any intelligent fangirl's assessment of a Twilight book. Twilight fangirls are a whole other level of fucked, and we do not include them in regular fangirl community. But, I digress, you're just in a rage fueled passion that cannot be sated because it is out of your hands, and you must find some way to seek revenge. Some do this by abandoning the fandom, or maybe just taking a break. Long story sort, some shit it probably gonna get broke.

Stage Two: Denial

Ahh, Fanfiction, the slut of fandom. She makes you feel good. Tells you what you want to hear. Makes your dreams come true. But, in the end, you know none of it really counts. Fanfiction can keep a fandom or a character alive after death. It is what Fangirls are relgated too to find any way of keeping that vicarious outlet going, and feeding that satisfaction until they can properly mourn, and move on, hopefully finding a replacement character or fandom. When anger is still fresh, Denial and Anger can blend into reading or writing fiction that completely corrects the problem, resulting in new head cannon-- or, what you think should have happened, erasing the terrible tragedy (because, once again, we fangirls know so much better than the creators), by ignoring it ever happened and continuing to operate like nothing has changed.

Sometimes denial comes in the form of spoilers. Fangirls don't always find out about the tragedy of cancellation or character death in the moment. Occasionally, we'll just be on Pintrest updating our nerdly boards with pictures of our characters and memes with inside show jokes, when we see "Going to miss you, so and so". WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK! NO! NO! <hyperventilation> NO! THIS IS NOT HAPPENING! We deny like a motherfucker, telling ourselves it is not true, until we find proof that it is not all a hoax. We immediately launch a full frontal search assault on Google to get to the bottom of this, which more than likely will tell us what we loathe to hear: the truth.

Stage Three: Bargaining

You know what will fix this? A PETITION! Let's all get online and start a petition that we will send to the write's agent or the production company. We can protest too! Just, fix this okay. Don't take this away from us! YOU CAN'T TAKE THIS AWAY FROM US!

Stage Four: Depression

Pajamas for days, unchanged. A full body blanket cocoon. Junk food, after starving yourself of course, because you would rather kind of die at this point. Hysterics and tears ensue. This could be temporary, if the Fangirl has several fandoms which she can focus on and take comfort in, but until she finds a replacement fandom or character, this could be her life now. What does she have to live for at this point? If it was her primary fandom, this could be a long period of turmoil, during which people in her life are just going to have to accept that yes, she is going to keep being this fucking ridiculous over a television show. Keep making fun of her, that will help. Good idea. She probably already felt very accepted and safe and confident, which is in no way is the reason she had to turn to a fictional creation to find life satisfaction.

Stage Five: Acceptance

While the scar will never fully heal, and can be ripped open with ease at any future point, she will muster the strength to move on. Her mourning period will end, and she will find a new outlet. She will eventually be able to re-read books or re-watch old episodes and movies. She will pine for the good old days, and it will be nostalgic. The point is that, for whatever reason, she needed this thing in her life at this very point in her life. It got her through. It gave her comfort, or confidence, or emotional fulfillment. She will always look back on her fandom and remember what she was going through then-- relationship trouble, depression, trouble with a job, financial hardship, maybe all of the above. People don't disappear into fiction because their lives are perfect. But, fiction might the the thing that kept them from hurting themselves or from giving up or from having a complete mental collapse.

I will always remember when you were the Doctor. Thank you for showing me that even a square peg in a round hole like me is capable of being brilliant, courageous, strong, important, and beloved, is capable of being the Doctor.

Solidarity, Food Workers, or Why You Should Not Fuck Over Those Who Serve Your Food

Solidarity to Food Workers across this nation standing up and demanding that profitable, multi-billion dollar corporations pay them a living wage and provide health insurance.

As a former Food Worker I know your pain, and while I left to teach after getting a degree, it's unacceptable that our country preaches for you to go college a "get a real job". No one should be forced to go into enormous debt just to earn a wage that can support a family. There will always be jobs that require degrees-- Medicine, Education, Business, Law, etc, (as they should be) but, I don't want to live a country where unless you have a fancy piece of paper you can't support a family. Not to mention those unfortunate saps who were told they could not get a good, well paying job without that fancy piece of paper, and ended up with both a Bachelor's degree, thousands in student loan debt, and a McJob that will never reap the kind of wages needed to pay off that debt thanks  in part to high unemployment and retirees clinging to jobs with death grips because of miserable pension and retirement systems.

Your job is no mentally or physically easier than mine. We both deal with hundreds of people on a daily basis which we have to handle delicately with a smile and grace, that often take their frustration out on you because you are a convenient target. We both stand all day without real breaks or a proper lunch or dinner hour. Be it a technical glitch that ruins a lesson, or a typo on a food order that leaves you short ten boxes of fries, you have to be able to adapt to disasters and think on your feet. Your job is not glamorous, but it serves a need made by a demand in our consumer driven economy that we expect cheap, fast food at our convenience served across a counter, through a window, or by the hands of somebody other than us because we to busy and important to make a meal ourselves at our own home.

And furthermore, those who want to continue to criticize bartenders and servers and burger flippers about having an easy job--Why don't you try it, asshole? Life happens, and sometimes you have to take a job-- trust me, I have been there. Other people genuinely love serving drinks or waiting tables or being the assistant manager of Taco Bell, and good for them that they found a job they love. It took seven years and  $40,000 in debt just to be eligible for the job I love, so who is the real idiot here? When my parents graduated there was no unspoken mandate you had to go to college to get a decent job you could work for your entire life. My mother for instance has worked almost thirty years at reputable insurance company that provided a decent wage and benefits with nothing more than a high school diploma. If I applied for the same entry level job today, it would most likely require a Bachelor's Degree.

And, the most frustrating part is that despite the overwhelming amount of shit given to people who work in the food industry (not to mention hospitality and retail, because I know you guys get raped too), these are the same jobs people are praising as fueling a wave of "job creation". Over half of all jobs created in the last three years, according to a study by the Royal Bank of Scotland, were low paying,  no benefits included service jobs.(http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/05/13/low-paying-jobs_n_3266737.html) So, when you need it to look like America is rebuilding her economy, these jobs count as "real jobs", but when those same employees demand to be justly compensated for their labor intensive, public dealing service jobs, they suddenly become "not real jobs", and the people who work them are labeled as lazy and stupid.

These are the same people who will go to work sick because they can't afford to call off and miss whole days pay, because there are no paid sick days for fry cooks and pizza delivery boys. The same people who will be forced to use Dayquil to fight that same serious illness because they can't afford a trip to the doctor or a thirty dollar prescription for anti-biotics. These are the same people who not only work on Xmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, Fourth of July, Labor Day, Memorial Day, and the glorious high holy day of Capitalism known as Black Friday without overtime or holiday pay, but are threatened with termination for not doing so.

That's just fucking bush league, America, and we're fucking better than that. "Land of Opportunity (Bachelor's Degree required)" was not part of the deal, you greedy, profit guzzling ass-clowns. When you pull the kind of profits that McDonalds, Starbucks, and Subway make in just a single year, there is no excuse for not paying hard working people a fair, living  wage, especially when profit margins that large would allow for it with a virtually unnoticeable cost change for the customer and the corporation still pocketing unfathomable amounts of little green greed sheets.

So, even though your protest was over shadowed by another fucking news story about Syria, my heart goes out to all of you who will get up tomorrow, put on a unflattering uniform you hard to purchase with your first pay check that now smells like old grease, only to be treated like a sub-human for eight to twelve hours to collect a paycheck that is so small you need food stamps to feed your own family.

A job is a job, period. I will not degrade any human being that tries to make an honest living by working in fast food, or retail, or hospitality-- not when there are so many people who would rather milk the system. No person who works for a multi-billion dollar corporation should have to be on welfare.

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.

And, just when I wasn't looking, back in the dark slithered.

Right now, I am low.

I am dark and fragile and anxious... and low.

How did this happen? I had a remarkable day going on an adventure with my dad. Something it has been far too long since I did. I came home from our motorcycle road trip excited and happy. But, somewhere around nine o'clock, it hit like I broke inside.

I burst out into tears over the silliest thing, and even why I was sobbing I was asking myself why am I doing this? How did I get to this point? Where did my happy from earlier scatter?

Then I opened my work email for the first time in a week-- I am on break, I am entitled to check out. An angry parent letter just set me off, and I haven't been able to keep it together since.

Something broke, and I don't know why or how.

This is the first time since I got my dream job that I have even felt remotely depressed. That is the ultimate happy I have ever experienced. At the moment I got my first teaching job, at a school with all the perks I could ever hope for and a class schedule that was my ideal, I was positively jubilant. Things shouldn't be like this anymore, at least not without provocation.

In the back of my head, I think I felt this building. Break was approaching and I felt the burn just like every other teacher and every student, so I know that it is not just work stress. Last week, when I said I check out, I meant that literally. I just stayed in my house and did nothing. Mostly, because I couldn't find the motivation to do much more than get up out of bed to move to the couch or to the computer.  Then I had a burst mid-week and cleaned the ENTIRE house. Then, I lost all motivation, period. I have taken three days to grade one set of tests when I was knocking out assignments to be graded in pairs daily.

The urge to create struck, and I wanted to write so badly! I got two pages of writing on my novel done, and I was extremely happy with them, and then... it was gone again. Nothing was there! I don't even have writers block-- I know exactly what I want to write. I know the next thing I need to do, and where to go from there. I just can't physically accomplish the task of getting the words onto paper. It's like my imagination has been kidnapped and held for ransom.

Why did this have to happen now?

I guess, at least I still have the majority of the week to find whatever I need to fix this funk. But, I have got to get my ass in gear because I have evals on the 22nd.

Right now though, my little world feels small and bleak, and I fucking hate this shit. If achieving the paramount of my ambition is not enough to suffocate and wither the darkness, where can I possibly go from here?