Oscar

When I was a first-year in undergrad, I met this boy named Oscar. I had a huge crush on him, but was afraid to say anything because I assumed he'd think that I was just a dumb white girl. He was a little on the fruity side and talked a mile a minute, like Six did on Blossom. It was hilarious to listen to us talking because then I'd start talking faster, and between his spanglish and speed, and my speed and giggling, it must have sounded like we were literally on speed. He was from Hartford, and before that, Puerto Rico. He was geeky and would always hang out with the girls, whereas I would always hang out with the boys. One day he REFUSED to let the other girls on my floor (and it was all girls on that floor, so he was kind of conquering our space) have the tv to watch a Yankees game because he wanted to watch a VH1 Behind the Music that was all about Madonna. I found out later that semester that he liked me too. By then I had decided to hang around with this dirty punk who showered like once a semester and had a huge record collection.

I don't care about the Oscars. But I cared a lot about a Oscar.

Mock Lock

I am probably not supposed to talk about lockdown procedures. I am probably not supposed to discuss anything. We had a play lockdown at work today. The event in itself was no big deal, but the rumors I hear around it are. I heard, from the students, that teachers told them the timing of the drill had nothing to do with the war. The impression I was given was that the drill had everything to do with this, since there is a new procedure added if it is a statewide code red lockdown. I found out that I am permitted to physically restrain students from leaving the classroom in a real lockdown scenario. This makes me uneasy. . . because I can put myself in the kids' shoes. I would not want anyone laying a finger on me if I chose to flee the room. While I personally have no qualms about taking someone down or holding them back (in a physical sense. this does not make me nervous. i'm the first to intervene in fights and whatnot), I don't think it is necessarily right, unless we're talking child (under 12) or a student who has some kind of disability. Yes, I would make sure a 6 year old didn't leave, but their mindset is different from a 17 yr old. You have to wonder which is worse-- being a sitting duck waiting in a corner of a room for a "potential threat," or running away possibly facing danger, possibly facing freedom. Like I said, I tend to get in the middle of things, and can easily see myself getting out there trying to take down somebody with a gun because 1) maybe I'm crazy like that 2) it wouldn't be the first time I've encountered violence or firearms, and 3)sometimes if you wait for the police or someone else to intervene, it is too late. I don't know what I am trying to say here. This is all speculation since I have never been out in such a situation before where I had to simultaneously protect others and protect myself.

The other Olympic Sport

I was eating my lunch today in the lounge and heard an uproar. It turned out that the kids were having a maple syrup chugging contest. God Bless Em.

Riddle Me This

What I am doing at work now for the next few weeks requires me to work in rooms with other teachers. Which means, when it is time for the Pledge, there is an adult who is able to possibly give me shit for not standing. So I stand. I don't cover my heart. I don't say it. I stand and face the flag and think of how I'd rather be having my teeth cleaned with the poky metal tools than pledge allegiance to a country that reminds me more of nazi germany every day. And I understand how ballsy turning one's back to the flag is now. I have tried to be late to homeroom to miss the pledge altogether. Maybe that's what I have to do is just be using the bathroom or in the lounge until that little ritual is done. It seems so petty, but it doesn't feel that way. When I was little (like under 12) and going to car races with my family, they'd yell at me for refusing to stand for the National Anthem. I clearly remember being 7 at Stafford Motor Speedway, and telling them I was not going to stand for any patriotic song. I never had an easygoing childhood. Last summer, I went to a rodeo in Maine, and mortified the person who took me there because I wouldn't stand then either. God forbid his family think I'm a pinko red. I've always hated ritual and ceremony, so even if I was a sappy-ass patriot, I'd probably still refrain from these activities because they are so forced and corny.

Take Back the Night

The last march I went to was in April 1998.

I went to the Take Back the Night events and march tonight at Central Connecticut State University. Because I have been asked about what this event is, I'll give a little background info.

Take Back the Night is events/marching to protest: rape/date rape/acquaintance rape, sexual abuse/assault, sexual harassment, dating violence, and childhood sexual abuse/assault. The events preceding and following the march differ from college-to-college (or city-to-city), but there is always a keynote speaker who shares her experience, followed by others speaking out, and then the march. The one I attended tonight had dancing, singing, and a banner contest.

Tonight's events opened with a few short speeches, and then went into 2 latin dance numbers with these excellent sexy dancers. After another brief speech, The Ebony Choir was brought up to the stage where they sang two songs...the first one made me start to cry. After this, the keynote speaker came up. She had been gang raped by 4 football players at a university in 1998. She spoke mainly about her legal procedings because she is pressing charges. After her presentation, they asked that people from the audience come up and share. I listened to so many variations of pain. I saw a lot of women cry. One girl, this beautiful blonde who could have been a model, was sobbing like I have never seen before. That got me started. I can't stand to watch others suffer.

I went up on stage. I didn't know this chance was going to be offered, and I don't think I would have planned to go up if I did. The lights were so blinding up there. I could really only see the people in the first few rows...everything else was blotted out...but I had known the place was packed ahead of time. I did not get into specifics. I just stated the facts on two situations, I named the anger...I think I said the f-word in front of 300 people. The weird thing was, my voice was not shaking...or it didn't sound like it to me. Everybody who had spoke before me was shaky and crying. I could get every word out clearly. It was like an out of body experience. I did not cry. I was not nervous. I just thought the lights were really bright and that I was telling everybody about what happened to me at 15, and then one other time. I think part of the reason I got up there was to be a good role model for kalia...though now I must confess, what kind of role model says "fucking" into microphone at the student center? In front of the police?

I got off the stage and jetted past the TBTN counselors, because I did not want hugs or counseling, I just wanted to sit down. As I was getting to my table, I noticed Kalia had gotten up and was walking up on to stage. Here is her writing about the night. I am very proud of her. She does not speak in public, and I am very proud of the courage to not only say what she did, but to get up at all. I admire her honesty and coherence (and ability to not swear). I hope that speaking made her feel better.

After, we got glowsticks (!!!glowsticks are the best thing ever!!!), and went to march. Because of the construction on campus, we had an extra long walk, which I found enjoyable. I yelled, a lot. My throat is killing me, despite my effort to yell from the diaphragm. I'm kind of sore, but I feel mentally energized.

Oh, and I got a cool TBTN pin and a free bumpersticker that says: "Freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed"--Martin Luther KingJr.

[excuse this post. i am just working out a really bad day in a public place. don't try to make sense out of it. war. no food in house. papers to write. no days off from work for weeks. mean people. lazy rude coworkers. misunderstandings. zits. okay. now for the incoherence]

I should be in bed preparing for my weeks of hell ahead. I will not have a single day off, and then, I get to come home to write 2 5 page papers and 1 25 page paper, and maybe if I am lucky I can go out to a poetry reading on Thursday even though I am feeling antisocial because I am sick of dealing with hissyfits and phoneys and liars and egomaniacs. And poetry readings are magnets for all of those.
I should be doing something worthwhile but instead I am wanting to blog because I feel like I always have something to say, except tonight, it's a lot of nothing. I am cranky. I am living off crackers and ramen noodles and I desperately need something of nutritional value, but there is no food in the house and I am too tired to go buy any.

I feel bad because I told someone to "cheer up" and I didn't mean it like, "oh, it's easy, all you have to do is cheer up" because I know it's not. All I meant to do was tell her that I recognize she's going through tough emotions, and that I hope she feels better, but it didn't come out like that. Nothing I say anymore comes out like the way I intend it to.

Nothing happens as I intend it to. Nothing.

I feel like fucking John Cougar Mellancamp. Not literally. I mean. I fight authority and authority always wins. I fight and fight and fight and Nothing.
I go to work and deal with rudeness and come home with an empty stomach to find no food and want a cigarette so badly and oh, yeah, there is a war going on and all these people are dying, and I feel like a fucking empath.

I feel like a vampire.
I make things suffer.
And I don't mean to.
I can't help how people respond to me.
I wish I were drunk. I want something to blame this on.

This is not a fucking blog entry, this is lj-style crap, but I don't care for that tonight.

And how is it that anyone is expected to live off $7/hour wages and how is it that stress is not going to kill? How is it that we are all complicit in these murders everywhere because noone has had the balls yet to stop it? I certainly haven't proven myself. I don't even know where to begin to make change.

I want to tell everyone that I am sorry, but I don't feel apologetic for anything I have ever done, except maybe to S____ for 1995 and maybe to J____ for all that bullshit from years ago, but I think I have already said I'm sorry and you can't force someone to accept an apology.

I'm not sorry.
I'm not.
I'm tired. I'm hungry. I'm fed up with fairweather friends and talking in circles. I'm tired of backstabbers and low pay. Tired of having no health insurance.

I'm going to name names. I want to talk to liz and dave and suzanne and meg and kevin (even though) and kalia and I want to talk to them because they understand me. I don't want to bother with people who are going to pass judgement or fight me.

I'm a fucking mess. I'm going to bed.
Work better be good tomorrow or I'm gonna shit a brick, I swear to god.

No, I have more to say. I am sitting here fighting back tears because there are things I can not control and I need to have control. I can't control who is dying and my cousin is over there, and I am just waiting because I have no illusions about mortality, and he could be dead now for all i know, and yes, the reason I can't get close to my buddy dave is because I am afraid he'll be sent next to die. there. there is as close to a confession as anyone will get me. i hope he never reads this. yes. i like him. a lot. but fuck, i can't get attached. he's too old for me anyway. i don't want anyone reading this to know about him, but everyone seems to find things out anyway. i have no secrets.the last time i had sex with a person (as opposed to sex w/ toy) was so fucking long ago I can't even remember. Like, we're talking, last summer. Maybe. I'm going to guess it was a lot longer ago than that. Nobody reading this needs to know that. I can't even remember what I was talking about. Now I have one more thing to be annoyed about.

I refuse to buy the myth that these are the happiest years of my life. It is not all downhill from here. I've been down enough.

I want dance revolution! hippo revolution! I want more joy and less of this he said/she said bullshit.
I want to have more dates spoken primarily in Spanish.
I want to have fun and not be up with insomnia because the world blows goats right now.
Sleep is good, but I get only a few hours if I'm lucky.

I just go go go go go. I get amazing amounts of nothing done.
I am supposed to write about how women accomodate for men. I try to write about sociological ideas and relate it to literature. If I were a history teacher, I'd have been fired by now for being too opinionated.

I haven't had caffienated coffee for months.
And yet I am still up.

I am still up because I can't fix the world, and no, that is not the first time I've realized that. And I am angry at myself for contributing to an ageist conversation today. I am angry because my intentions are always misread.

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

It's like undoing those knots that happen in thin necklace chains.
the harder you try to fix it, the worse it gets.
you hand it to someone else, and they know how to undo it right away.

i need to fix things that need fixing. i can not fix these things.