090418 one thing that avid stresses is students getting to know their teachers. or would that be students’ getting to know their teachers? obviously it would be the latter, but does anyone else know that? it’s going to be weird trying to JUXTAPOSE the writing thing with the school thing, now that summer’s over. I already failed once. This morning, I simply did not get out of bed and do it. That’s one strike. Dorothea’s watching me like a eagle now. Remember, even though we tweaked the schedule because of the panic monkey’s need to get all classes ready for day 1 in like three days, we’re back on track now. You can’t expect the girls to do exercise twice a week if you can’t even getcho ass up and do yo writing in the godforfending morning time. And it still has to be anything at all except nonsense. You must continue to resist the preciousness. The “oh I looked back at a couple of previous attempts, and there were some parts in there that were really weirdly unexpectedly lyrical or pithy or tough or brilliant, and so therefore i will not budge another word until I’m sure I’ll be making more stuff like that” is what KILLS EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE. SO you have to intentionally put dumb pointless boring stuff in. It’s a vaccination. An innoculation. A congratufuckinlation. Or whatever. If there happens to be brilliant bits, well I got two things about that: 1. it’s gravy, it’s bonus, it’s not even the main point 2. you can only know that later, because if you look back right away all the time, it messes you up. OK, so what should we talk about? It was the first day of school today. Still is. Millie wore a long sleeve white shirt, and I hope she’s not cutting herself. Remind me to check. She asked to go see a therapist again. So that’s on the todo list. The todo list always grows so grotesque and mudcovered and coiling right about this time of year, like an overweight sea serpent. Megan wore a red flannel (but I’m pretty confident she’s not cutting herself any more these days) and shorts so short that under the flannel it looks from a distance as though she’s not wearing any pants. Ha ha, you’ve got your work cut out for you, Dunbar. Libby wore a cute lil black skirt and pink t shirt, and Cel wore pink shorts and a white t shirt with a dog on it saying “tres chic.” Her FDOS pic is her standing in front of the great explosion of morning glory by the garage. lib’s is her standing in front of harvey philip, about to walk up and go in her weird new school that i hope she likes and i hope she doesn’t miss whatever she’s missing out on at the new muskego middle school and i hope it’s not scammy and i hope they have some kind of history or social studies and not just STEM stuff. Megan and millie’s FDOS pic is them standing by the mailboxes, looking irritable and tired and teenagery just like last year. except last year it was just megan out there, because millie was still in bed. i hope she likes going to “real” high school OK. She has a friend. That sara(h) girl whose house she went to last night. a fellow flute player. looks sweet, nice, kind of nerdy. her mom’s as big as a cow and hurt her knee so she was walking real slow when she answered the door. The only reason I even rang the doorbell was that millie didn’t answer my “i’m here” texts, but you know what? I’m glad I did ring the doorbell, because i mean come on. What the fuck is it with parents just sitting in the driveway and never talking to other parents? What am I teaching my kids abnout social interaction? Why is it so easy to be a fucking hypocrite now that we all have fucking phones glued to our stupid sticky paws? FUCK ME. la la la la la, running out the clock. Tomorrow I will get up and do my thing in the morning. I will feel groggy AF. I will feel practically dizzy with too-earliness. I will not know what to say or think or do. I will barely be able to see. But I’ll do the pointless exercise anyway, and the doing of it will be more stimulating than that first cup of coffee. It will make the rest of my day better. How do I know? I know because I’ve seen it happen, reliably, repeatedly, before, many many times. I’m a grown up now. Got me a full time job. Managed to practice writing for more than like three days in a row. Got through making the presentation for orientation without totally choking up or freaking the fuck out. I mean, really, I’m doing all right. Look at gay porn at night. Yeah so still lonely, but whatever. Jealous of my AP lit student who sent me this email partially about what an awesome rennaissance man he is. I mean, OK. I guess I have to be the mouse that pulls the thorn out of the lion’s paw sometimes. Sometimes that’s what teaching is. Sometimes it’s being a big barge, a big grand gilded vessel that carries the small and the furry across the great big chasm of chaos. And sometimes it’s just being some guy in Wisconsin with a computer, sending an email back saying, hi! Glad you’re looking forward to the class! It’s so awesome that you’re getting your novel published! You’ll have to tell me more about it! Maybe share with the class! And I noticed you said “salve” -- hey that reminds me of Capoeira Batuque: “Salve Capoeira Batuque! *Salve!*! And you have to write this email and you have to send it and worst of all, god help me, is you have to mean it, too. And that’s what I love and hate about this job. I am grateful to be alive today.