102218 Ahhhh, relaxing as a milkshake made of absorbent powder, sawdust, and carpet fuzz, that’s what an evening sesh is. Yep. Just sit right back and massage your own brain with a fetid dead seal’s ribcage. Do it. Do it, and do it again. Whatever. This is one of those days when I’m strictly doing this just because I do this. I remember about 20 some years ago when the notion of that--of having a thing like that that I would just do because I do it--was novel, imaginary, a thing I could contemplate in theory but never actually adhere to. I think I found the whole notion unconvincing. Somehow I didn’t give myself permission; didn’t vest in myself the authority to make the decision that I could spend my own time that way. Weird, huh? I’m sure there’s more to it than that. I’m not really smart enough to explain it right now, or maybe I’m just tired, or maybe my left fingers hurt because I still don’t type right, or maybe there’s something in my eye, or maybe I’m a little tired from having two online meetings with students-- but i’m less afraid of having online meetings with students now. That’s an area where I’ve grown. candy bars to my left but i’m going to wait until i’m done with this. Now that i started using youcanbook.me (no this is not an advertisement) and actually mentioning it in class and in emails, i think i may have more one on one meetings with students. i think that will make me a better teacher--obviously i can work more intimately with those individuals, and attend to their particular deficiencies and idiosyncracies, but also what i learn in the course of figuring out how to help individuals can be taken back then to my whole-class missives and class organization and resources. Cool, huh? But what do I know. I’m just a high school english teacher. I don’t mind being that. just an ordinary working joe who instead of selling elephants sells pronouns and rough drafts and what the hell was that? loud noise seemingly on or near the window. shine light out back door. faint tv or radio noise sounds like people arguing or being aggressively passionate about something after shining the light around, finally notice a movement next to north neighbor’s screen door. thought it was terabithia up on their door and i was about to yell at her wtf tera, but then saw that it was someone’s hand moving, fingers moving, like someone idly messing with their own fingernails. couldn’t see which one of them it was sitting there on the back step. wonder why they didn’t say anything at all to the freak with the flashlight peering around all over the backyard. god my neighbors are freaks. i’m sure they think the same about me. whatever. this isn’t interesting. candy bars are interesting. libby being almost a teenager is kind of interesting. i think it’ll be easier than that transition was for megan. i still can’t tell if that transition is hard for millie but it must not be. That is to say, not as hard for *me.* I think it’s been pretty challenging for her. But sometimes I forget to pay enough attention to her because she tends to duck under the radar when she’s struggling with something, until a certain thing makes her mad and makes her yell or cry. Unlike Megan who comes above the radar instead, but the part that she sticks up isn’t the part that the rescue ship or the coast guard antenna needs to see. it’s just whatever part she can get up there, whether it’s a bitter or an angry or a petulant or a part that’s seething with intense, virbrating, contained rage. Whatever. it’s weird being whatever age i am. I truly have nothing to say tonight. I just want to grade a little little bit so i can say i did and not get too much farther behind, maybe smoke a tiny bowl, and get in bed and get all cozy with some asmr vids and a pleasant sinking sensation into temporary oblivion. the oblivion is not too oblivious these days--it’s pretty easy to wake me up, given cats banging on doors, constant alertness for weird threatening noises from this fairly innocuous but redneck-rich neighborhood, and the need to pee every four or five hours at best-- but still, i get a little oblivion. what the hell was that. loud as fuck noise from upstairs, hang on. millie tripping over the vacuum cleaner in the dark cuz it was left in the hall. you see what i mean? this is a completely grey, uneven, meaningless, unenlightening day. it’s like one of those grey pieces of gravel you find in a driveway where they can’t quite spend the money on paving the driveway. just straight gravel. Woah--that just reminded me--I just remembered that there was a time when the driveway at mom’s house was still just gravel. i barely can remember it, but i’m sure of it now. walking around out there with bare feet. bragging because i could run right over gravel, without slowing down, without wincing, without changing my gait or light-footing it at all. just running over gravel. kind of like how i used to be able to read a book and make the whole rest of the world and the pages and the words and the book disappear, and the characters became real. Like really real. To where you would have dreams about them, have sex with them. Remember that? And now you’re a teacher, and about the best you can do is ask a sixth grade girl, who can’t hardly write but who, when she speaks in your online meeting, sounds so surprisingly grown up and self-assured and *present,* not clueless or mouthbreathing at all despite the writing problems, “when you read, does the rest of the world disappear?” and listen hungrily for the answer, whatever it may be. And then go from there.