Visual response ala moi: suck it teach.

I’ve been thinking of ways to annunciate just how I’ve been lately, without sounding like a fifteen year old, but to little avail.

One of my brain-numbingly young academic [1] students is pregnant, and keeping it, if only for the sake of this being the first decision she’s ever had full control over, because yes, it’s her body. She claims “beliefs”, and I claim, “the belief in fucking yourself over, you mean?” I don’t say this at the time of course, but manage a wavering “congratulations.” It’s probably the only one she’ll get.

I also got in the middle of an altercation at school today re: gang hit and knives involved. Prior to this, I had known about it, and seen little visual indicators of this being a “thing” that happens “around here”, but to hear and see it– see a sixteen year old threaten the life of a fourteen year old in a hallway, knife out, was a completely horrifying. Luckily no one was hurt, but holy fucking fuck fuck.

In other school related news, my most loved and hated class was a large gaggle of angsty attitudinally-anarchistic butt-heads today. I should count my blessings, because this is the first bad day in at least a four day stretch, but when they’re bad, they’re almost unbearable. I accredit today to nerves about midterms, and trust me they’re not the only ones. I’m worried sick about how they’re going to do, and yet when I try and turn the class focus to trying to figure out their comprehension hang-ups, I get hit with “this is a fucking big waste of time.” It seems so apparently normal yes for a teenager in this level of class to be occupying their thoughts about 5% with school, but it’s abnormal in the sense that all of these particular kids know they can’t fail this course, or else they won’t graduate. And yet… they are not accountable for themselves in the least somehow. It drives me nuts. I care for them a lot, and I want the best for them, and….teacher realities eh? Baka!

I have been picking up a weird Lebanese accent lately at school when I have to raise my voice. It’s funny, because it works in that this weird accent somehow makes my voice carry. It doesn’t sound weird to anyone, I think, other than myself though, because as I’m “yelling” I always think, “what the nuts, are you Lebanese or from the Bronx?”

Annnnd the personal life [2] . I fucking hate men, every single one of them that isn’t a friend, or gay (or both) over the age of 23. What happened with D., I can handle that- no one got hurt, and we’re still really good friends. What is happening with A., I can’t handle. I cannot handle the idea of being used, or of being obvious rebound after being misled right from the beginning. I actually liked him a lot. He won “infatuation of the year”, definitely, although D. was a close second. So, now I’m left moping, pithy, and thoroughly disgusted with myself for letting it happen. And here’s the kicker, it’s not even actually over yet, even though if I were a rational being I would have ended it as soon as I even had an inkling that something strange was up. I’m so tired of fucking around, and being fucked around with. The End of Men in the life begins on Monday, I imagine, unless (here’s the fucking THING) A. has something incredibly incredibly redeeming to pull out of his ass to say to me before then. So far, he’s just shoving his head up there, inch by agonizing inch. Hypothetically I was supposed to go see him last night on the way back from the North side, but before I left the ceremony, I realized that was a terrible idea, and was thus relieved when it came to no fruition on his end either.

Overall, I’m raging on and on about this, but really, I’m just more sad than anything. I’m incredibly hopeless with this shit, and I’m starting to feel like it’s just not going to ever change. Hence, no marriage lines on my palms, right? Ha.

Wish my students luck on their midterms if you read this in the next two days. They need some good karma, not just good teachin’.
[2] I hear this has been great conversational fodder in my absence, and I’m not surprised– I’d talk about me too if I wasn’t me, because my life is just that fucking ridiculous sometimes.

[1] Easily one of the brightest kids in class.

Update: A. manages to pull a rabbit from his bag of sensitivity (not his scrotum) and has patched things up in regards to the ambiguous “thing” that we are. And I’m ok with that, because it turns out that he’s not as oblivious as I thought/assumed/projected (So usually men are fairly dumb, so …whatever. I’m glad I was wrong?)