Briefly

Found out today that my plan for world domination has come to fruition. I’m pretty sure the planet isn’t ready. 

That is all. 

AWP 2013: Failing Better

Well it’s over. The glorious, frustrating, and rejuvenating AWP 2013 conference has come to its close. This AWP has probably been my favorite as far as conference enjoyment is concerned. Every panel I sat in on was fantastic. I, once again, am leaving Boston with motivation and energy to go hard or go home in regards to my tenure track professor goal. I am even more sure that I need to get the hell out of teaching high school, because I feel more at home with the AWP crowd, despite my inability to bond with them, than I do anywhere else.

It is so strange because as Missy and I search the conference for the worst and best hair and outfits, I know we both find ourselves not wanting to be anywhere else. We might mock the pretentious and sometimes overly enthusiastic moderators (was anyone else witness to the moderating train wreck at the Amy Bloom-Richard Russo reading?), but let’s be honest, we wouldn’t mind moderating such a great pair of writers. Albeit, I don’t know if we would be as star struck as the moderator seemed to be. At the end of a day of conferencing, it seems necessary to seek other Bostonian neighborhoods in order to escape the AWPers; however, the next day we return for more.

I perused my old posts for 2012 looking for a post on AWP and realized that I hadn’t written about my Chicago experience. While Missy and I had a great time exploring the city, I found the conference to be a very difficult experience. I hadn’t gotten anything published in 2012, I hated (and still do) my job, and it seemed like everyone around me at the conference was doing something awesome. So and so had gotten blah blah blah to write a blurb for their book, this press had just published whoever’s novel, and so and so was on a panel with yada yada seemed to be the only kinds of conversations I heard. While I can truly say, I was not jealous that these strangers had success, I was deeply upset with myself for my lack of effort and very epic failure.

This year however, it didn’t seem as tough to hear the same exact conversations knowing that the editor of one of my pieces was sitting at a table at the book fair. It wasn’t as tough knowing that this year (and it’s early March) I have done more writing than I did all of last year. I have also submitted more work this year that I have ever in writing career. That feels good–okay it feels awesome. It’s nice to know my s*$& is coming together.

I’m not saying things are peachy in my world, but they seem to be looking up. It’s like I’m failing better, so I’ll just put that in my pocket. If I can keep it up, AWP may actually start feeling good and less painful. Last year, I hit bottom and while I’m by no means close to the top, I am at least starting to get glimpses of sun.

 

 

AWP Bound

Well, Beantown is but a few hours away. Firstly, the American history nut is so excited. And my inner Thoreau is pleased to finally be able to visit Walden Pond. I’m also excited about the conference. I’ve already seen several AWP-types at the airport discussing their novel and dossier. Oh brother. 

Regardless, I’m pumped. 

Transitions and Distractions

Well, things have settled down over here. I still can’t believe that when I get out of work I can’t call my mother, but it’s starting to become a part of my routine, so I guess that’s good. I’m grateful that AWP is this week because AWP is always the best distraction. Husband’s work gets crazy this time a year, and he’s gone a lot. AWP is a nice transition/distraction to the craziness. 

I’ve been submitting my work these past two months and have already submitted for March. I have an essay I’m working on for the end of March, so hopefully I’ll have a few new publications soon. I was hoping February would be as successful as January. The first place I sent something to repsonded almost immediately (like four days) and so I January was a great way to kick of the year. Tenure track resume by October. That is goal.

I’m looking forward to Boston. I’ve never been and am an American literature nut so it’s fun to think I’ll be in a city that discuss so often when I teach. 

I love AWP; it’s always such a rejuvenating experience. It’s so easy to get bogged down in the bullshit of teaching high school and forget that I’m actually writer. It’s been my mission this year to reclaim my inner artist. I told my students today that I was writer first (which was dumb because they are sixteen and don’t get it and one kid said, “you can’t be a writer, you’re not published.” It felt good to inform said student that I was, in fact, published. I wanted to add, “you little s*&!, but I do need the job to pay my bills. That shut the kid up.) I don’t want to be a bad, or even mediocre teacher, but my end goal is not high school. It’s college-level and not community college, but four-year university. 

Husband is always reminding me to not settle in my career. I’m glad I have his support. He understands that putting forth tons of effort into a job like teaching is not beneficial. It’s all about the writing.

I’ll try to post from Boston this week. I wonder how many of you readers will be there. Maybe you’ll start up a random conversation with me (I’m very much a talker) and not even realize it’s me.

See you in Boston. 

Hitting Me Softly

Frankenmommy passed away on Thursday morning around 4:30 in the morning. Since then, it’s been a natural disaster that won’t quit. Until Saturday night, I hadn’t slept since Tuesday. I was put in charge of funeral arrangements and have had to mediate fights between my father and Blacksheep and my youngest sister and Blacksheep. 

Nothing about my mother dying feels real yet. I don’t believe it, and don’t think I will until I see her beautiful face resting in her coffin. I have dreaded many things, but this morning I shook as I gathered my toiletries to shower. Today will suck. And that is fact. 

I have to say, despite having to go through this awful experience of falling on hard concrete, my family, especially Husband and my friends, have created this giant fluffy pillow to help me land softly. I feel completely embraced in love and good thoughts and for this I am truly grateful. 

I hope that today that pillow catches my inevitable free fall into my mother’s death which currently seems like a horrid dream but is sadly my new reality. 

The Dreaded Frankenmommy Update

Many of my regular visitors know about Frankenmommy and her seven year fight with Sarcoma. 

Well, as of last week, her battle has taken a turn for the worse. The last time Husband and I saw her was at Christmas. She had slowed down dramatically. She needed to take breaks and nap frequently. She had also gotten quite thin. My mother has always been quite thin, but she was beginning to look gaunt. 

Around Christmas time, the family was told that there were no more treatments available. We’d heard about some immunotherapy treatments, so last week she went to see if she was a candidate. The doctor, who was a chemotherapy specialist of some kind, wasn’t sure so she made an appointment with another research hospital on the other side of the state. 

Since Christmas, the tumor behind her stomach has been growing. As it has grown, fluid has been pooling around her belly. Because of this liquid, she looks pregnant. The tumor doesn’t help either. It’s also quite large. The doctor across the state, drained the fluid, kept her for a couple of nights, and now she’s back at home. Under hospice care.

This past week and half has been the most awful ten days of my existence. Aside from finding out that mother isn’t well at all. I was told that there are two more chemo treatments available, one is very aggressive and other is not as aggressive, but Frankenmommy is too weak for either. My mother is skin and bones, and because she’s malnourished she has trouble communicating. She cannot lift herself, needs help walking, and because of the fluid and her tumor struggles to eat because she always feels full. In fact, she gets very sick when she overeats. Her resting heart rate is between 130 to 150 beats a minute. 

My mother is dying. 

My mother is dying.

My mother is dying.

Her mother died at the same age from a brain tumor not even one year after I was born. This cancer shit is real.

While I knew, despite all my denial, that this sarcoma would eventually win, it’s not something I’m ready to accept. I probably won’t ever be willing to accept it. As Husband and I try to make a mini-me or mini-husband, I struggle with the thought of Frankenmommy not being at my youngest sister’s college graduation, meeting her grandchildren, seeing Blacksheep overcome the darkness that is her existence, and all the other wonderful things that people over the age of 55 experience. 

I’m trying to be a rock, and I’m sucking at it so far. Yesterday, the hospice nurse told me I looked like I was having a hard time, every time I talk to husband on the phone I am in tears, and this afternoon when Frankenmommy and I were alone and I laid down next to her, I broke down and she comforted me. I felt like such an asshole. She is in excruciating pain, and I’m the jerk-face being comforted.

I know this isn’t a space where I talk much about my faith and God, but I am fairly religious. I go to mass somewhat consistently and am a proud Catholic. I know this is going to sound corny, but I really believe that the reason my mom has taken this turn so quickly is because she needed elsewhere.  Her mission (that sounds creepy, but you get what I’m saying) here has been completed, or will be soon. 

Over the past few years, my mom has repeatedly told me she misses her mother, and I guess soon she’ll be able to see her. While I’d love to be selfish and keep Frankenmommy to myself, I don’t think even I could deny my mother the joy of being with her own mother. 

So readers, if your mother is healthy or isn’t, or you’ve said something mean to her, or you haven’t called her today. Call her, hug her, and apologize. You don’t know how lucky you are to be able to do that. 

Back from the Dead

It has been entirely too long since we’ve spoken and for this I apologize.

I am pleased to announce that the paper was a success, despite my amateur knowledge of  journalism and inexperience, as well as a lack of support from the administration. I now have a small amount of knowledge about journalism, media law, and AP style. Oh, and I can sort of use Photoshop now. I hope all you’re seeing is what I like to call “resume building” or “lines on the CV.”

I also managed to survive teaching a night class at the college, but have decided that I will not be doing it again this spring because my waistline paid dearly for the late night dinners and my ability to stay awake past 10 was beginning to wane.

Husband and I also survived our first year of marriage without any major issues. We still love each other and can say we are more successful in our marriage than over 70 percent of celebrity couples. In case you’re not sure, I made that statistic up. Pulled it right out of my a&$.

Husband and I also spent our first Christmas together. We were with my family and spent quality time with Frankenmommy and Black Sheep sister. I think he was a little overwhelmed at how much food there was and how much talking at the table over coffee went down, but he survived, and I’m so grateful he was with me. I needed him by my side when my family got a little crazy and mildly negative and somewhat depressing (post to follow). I think he enjoyed it. It’s tough to tell. I’m not sure how well I will fare when I’m not with the crazy Italians for the first time next Christmas.

Looking up, it seems as if this semester hasn’t been so bad, and yet I still dread waking up to go to work and do not enjoy cooking, reading, or writing nearly as much as I have in the past. I feel as if my identity is slowly slipping away from me. So in an effort to regain who I am, I have made the following resolutions. They aren’t necessarily new year’s resolutions because I’ve been working on them since October, so please cease with the eye rolling, I get enough of that at work.

This is how I reclaim my identity…

• Keep the house clean by not going to bed with a messy house. (It saddens me that I even have to make this part of my identity recapture project, but alas I do. I was once the biggest neat freak ever, then all of a sudden over this past year and half, things have gotten messy. It’s been awful. It’s time to reclaim the Lysol and Clorox and make things shiny.)
• Complete at least one organization project a weekend. (This is partly because I fear becoming a hoarder. My father is a hoarder, and I think having an organized house leads to other aspects of your life being organized, including one’s finances and ability to manage time. These “projects” may entail cleaning out a drawer, or a closet. They will be big some weekends and small other weekends. It will depend on what I have time to do. I’m hoping to have the house in order by May. I’m not delusional in thinking it will happen overnight.)
• Devote at least 30 minutes a day to writing. (I’m happiest when I’m writing, and 2012 was a year that I did not feel so good about myself, the direction my life was taking and it’s time to get that back. Writing is a calling, and it’s been yelling at me for months. “Come back!”  I’m coming back thirty minutes at a time.)
• Submit at least 1 story or essay a month. (I have quite a few essays and short stories sitting on my hard drive and flash drives that are dying to be available in print or online. Enough is enough, I need to suit up and send them out. I’m not going to get a professor job with my fiction and essays sitting on my computer. They need to be on your Kindle or your bookshelf.)
• Read at least 30 minutes a day. (This one, so far, as proven to be the biggest challenge. I have been unable to find anything to read that holds my attention. I blame Facebook, Twitter, and my insatiable addiction to television. While I know I read meaningless crap everyday, it is time to refocus my love of reading. There was a time in my life when you couldn’t find me without a book in my hand. I used to devour books. I miss the attachment I had with characters and the near euphoria of experiencing a damn good story. Not to mention, this 30 minutes a day will only make me a better writer.)
• Take better care of myself. (This includes grooming–ladies we all get lazy with the shaving of the legs and washing the makeup off of our faces before bed–well no more!–I refuse to not take good care of myself. Taking care of my grooming and putting more care into my outfits and how I look when I leave the house will help me regain some of the confidence I’ve lost. Husband is always telling me how sexy it is when a woman is confident and how unattractive low self-esteem is. Well, I need to be sexy in my eyes in order to be sexy in his, so a-grooming I will go!)
• Be a better Catholic. (These past few years I’ve neglected my spiritual health. It’s so easy to just not go to mass. I know many people do not agree with the teachings of the Catholic faith, but I do and since I do, I should be practicing what I believe and get my a** in church. It’s one hour, once a week. I do my best during the week to be a good Catholic, and going to church regularly helps keep me in check.)
• Follow through. (In general, this is difficult for me. It’s one thing to set all these goals, it’s another to follow through on them. The thing is I struggle to follow through on small things like laundry. I will start a load of laundry, get it into the dryer and leave it there for two days. I think if I can start by following through on things like laundry, good eating habits, exercise, and so on, I can make these goals a reality.)
• Spend less time at work. (Let’s be honest, that place is sucking my soul right out of my body. I know it’s a clichéd image, but damn it, it is the truth. It’s not just soul sucking, it’s soul crushing. As an example, the newspaper was a huge success this December. It was the first issue the school saw in over a year. It was well designed, the kids did everything, sold the ads, did all the writing, fact checking, editing, and so on. When I was hired to be the adviser, the principal wanted me because I had helped the students produce the first literary magazine issue in over 5 years. The principal was adamant that I do it and demanded that we have a hard copy of the paper. I was then not given the resources to do this. The class ended this semester, so I don’t have a newspaper class in the spring. We had to meet after school. The computers did not have the necessary software to layout the paper. I fought and fought. The kids were so determined to lay out the paper, they did it on their own computers, which they brought to school with open source software. We even met on a Saturday to finish laying it out. When the paper was finally delivered to students, the faculty and students flipped. They loved it. I was then, however, snubbed repeatedly by the principal AND have yet to even get a thumbs up, head nod, let alone a “good job.” Now, I didn’t spend my month of December at school until 7 p.m. to get accolades from my principal, but acknowledgement that it was even glanced at might have been nice. This, of course, is just one incident of many that have pushed me over the edge. I’m no longer volunteering at school this spring. I leave fifteen minutes after the bell rings, unless there is a meeting. Frankly, that place can suck it. Life is too short to be spending it where my dedication is under-appreciated. If people want devoted teachers, then they ought to give them some damn adulation. I’m a newlywed and staying at work until 7 p.m. is madness.)

And so these are my goals. They are lofty and ambitious, but I’m feeling feisty this year.

Teacher Oppression: An American Epidemic

In November of last year, the high school where I teach at got a new principal. The previous principal, the one who hired me, was loved by all of the staff. He was easy going, wasn’t a micro-manager, and was one of the most approachable principals I’ve even worked with. As our new principal took over, the staff seemed uneasy and unsure of what the following year, this year, would bring. The new principal didn’t make any major changes last year and sort of just went with the flow. Things were good.

Oh how the tables have turned.

This summer our new principal brought in new assistant principals that were moved up from the middle school where she’d been the principal earlier. I call them her cronies.

And now I am currently living in micro-management hell.

For the past three months, I have felt heart flutters and a crippling pressure on my chest. I dread reading emails and get depressed on Sunday night knowing I have to go back to that place.

I  do, however, have WONDERFUL students this semester. I’m not even being sarcastic for once. They are wonderful. They high five me when they come to class, they seem excited to be in English class, they do their work, they eagerly discuss the literature with gusto and enthusiasm. They aren’t jerks. I’ve only written ONE referral. They are an English teacher’s dream.

They, of course, will  be awful now that I’ve said good things.

Anyway, as I was making copies yesterday, one of my fellow, veteran English teachers came into the planning room. We started talking about the school year, our students–you know teacher-talk and he said, “We’ll get through this.” After he said this, we sort of joked and headed our separate ways. I got in my car and it really hit me, the mood at school among the faculty is that of an oppressed nation. We get late slips for being a minute late–not an exaggeration, I’ve received five of them– we get emails about how to write referrals, in faculty meetings we are show videos of “high caliber teaching,” (a post to follow on the video and the late slips to follow) and we are constantly being treated like a bunch of uneducated, moronic monkeys.

This type of oppression is very common among public school teachers. My father, a teacher for forty years, consistently complained about the issues he dealt with as a teacher. The complaining definitely increased over the years. He was so relived to retire this past summer. In the wake of the Chicago teacher strike and movies like Won’t Back Down and Waiting for Superman, teachers are often given a bad rap–some of it is deserved–but should teachers–or anyone really–be forced to work in such oppressive conditions?

It is very easy for administrators to forget what it is like to be in the classroom and have unrealistic expectations for their faculty. The teachers are in the classroom everyday dealing with the variables that are often ignored by society and administrators when it comes to student performance. Teachers have to cope with variables like students from broken homes, homelessness, negligent parents, and hunger–just to name a few. We are then shown footage of teachers team-teaching in affluent schools with classrooms with less than twenty five students. I have three classes of over thirty five students, and I teach in an urban school where affluent is a far reach. Frankly, these kinds of expectations are insulting to those of us who teach students whose last priority is school and first might be helping their mothers pay rent. It is insulting and patronizing to know our leaders–our administrators think we are not planning engaging lesson plans. Oftentimes, I create awesome lesson plans that blow up because half of my students do not do their homework or talk through the instruction beforehand.Also, engaging lessons with thirty seven kids is very challenging. It’s frustrating.

Administrators forget because many of them only taught for two or three years before becoming principals or assistant principals. Oftentimes, they are handicapped by the district to have certain expectations of their faculty. Although, this year with our administrative changes, it is very evident that our leaders have no faith in us. The administration dictates to us what needs to be on our white board, where it needs to be placed, how to write referrals, how to structure our ninety minute class, and on and on.

It’s depressing as hell and frustrating. The little bit of creativity that I have is being completely stifled and my contributions, all those extra hours I spend being a teacher beyond what my contract pays for, are not appreciated. When I get to my work thirty minutes before I need to, but am them one or two minutes late to a duty post, publicly shamed for not being at that duty post, then leave two sometimes three hours after my contract day ends, it makes me feel like not showing up and forgetting the whole thing.

If America wants good teachers, there are some things society needs to consider.

1. Treat your teachers how you’d like to be treated.

2. Appreciate them for all those extra hours they spend being teachers after the school day.

3. Stop treating them like they don’t know what the f*&! they are doing. They know what the f*&! they are doing.

4. Remember that teachers spend every damn day with the kids: not the principal, not the assistant principal, sometimes not even the parents spend as much time with their own children.

5. Remember that teachers are educated. Stop treating them like kindergarteners. They are professional adults. They are already under paid college educated adults, how about treating them like they’ve earned that degree?

6. Stop wasting their time with extra bull crap. Let. them. be. teachers.

7. Remember that they are human. Just like you are human, they are human. They have feelings, families, struggles, and challenges, just like you do.

8. Stop vilifying them for the under achievement of the students. Teachers are not the villains: the broken homes, absent parenting, and disrespect by the media are the villains.

9. Instead of making changes to education every five minutes, wait ten and let the teachers show you what they can do.

10. Let the teachers do their G-ddamn job.

 

Still Alive

I am not dead, contrary to popular belief. Instead, I foolishly decided to teach at the community college at night, volunteer like a mother effer at school, and am now the newspaper adviser at the school. Also, I’m trying to soak up some me and Husband time before we decide to reproduce.

I’m busy goddamn it!

Why? Do you miss me?

Aurora Colorado Shooting and My Concerns Regarding Humanity

I’m sure you’ve heard about the shooting in Colorado by now. If you haven’t here is the link from CNN.

I don’t ever comment on the news, politics, or anything that might be slightly controversial even thoughI am news obsessed  But this morning I just couldn’t take it anymore. I have to get some thoughts out of my system and send them out into the universe.

When I turned on the Today show this morning, I was shocked and deeply upset by the news of the theater shooting in Aurora. I sat down with my coffee and oatmeal and couldn’t eat or drink because I was crying. I even stopped to say a a few Hail Mary’s, because I didn’t know how else to react. I don’t know any of the victims, but I am fellow human.

And, I have to say, for the first time ever, I’m a little worried about leaving my house to go to a place where there may be crowds.I’m not agoraphobic. I enjoy crowds and being around people. I did attend the Jon Stewart Rally in D.C. and had general admission tickets to Gaga for crying out loud. Crowds don’t really bother me. I have also attended midnight showings of Harry Potter, Twilight, Hunger Games, and a few others. Never would I have imagined something like this happening at a movie.

While what happened in Colorado is tragic and abhorrent, I also feel deep sadness for the people in Syria, Egypt, Libya, Tunisia, and of course, Israel. Yesterday, there was a suicide bomb attack in Bulgaria yesterday that killed a bus full of tourists. I mean, what the hell? It seems there is so much turmoil everywhere, and I just hate it. I feel so terribly helpless and sad. The thing is, those international events of violence are part of a revolution, and while they are tragic in their taking away the lives of the innocent, unfortunately death and violence are a product of revolution and of course religious extremism (which is a whole other topic and I’m not about to digress). I don’t like it, I’m not justifying it, but I get it. However, my brain can process violence caused by war.

Shootings in schools, malls, college campuses, and movie theaters; random killings of innocent people just because–those kinds of massacres make me afraid to produce children. These events make me want to build a bunker so I can shelter myself, my family, and my friends. Acts like this make me question my faith in God and in humanity.

I think one of the reasons that makes a situation like this so upsetting is that the killer showed warning signs, or had a manifesto, or was bullied. Of course, oftentimes society doesn’t get an answer because the killer was shot or took his own life. At least in the this case, society may get answers, although to what end. Knowing his motive isn’t going to change anything. It didn’t change the way we felt in Norway when Anders Behring Breivik shot 69 teenagers. It was only more upsetting to find out why he murdered those teenagers who were at a camp learning about tolerance and diversity.

Of course, even though I’m tempted to hide and never come out of my house, I know that is not going to be happen.

I was a senior in high school when 9-11 occurred. A club I was involved in had planned a trip to New York. We had been planning it for almost a year, and our club sponsor had no intentions of canceling the annual trip. The trip was scheduled for 3 weeks after the attack, and we were all weary of flying. Some of the parents pulled their kids out of the trip. My mother did not. She wanted us to go. I asked my mother why she wasn’t pulling my sister and I out of the trip and she said, “One Mean MFA, when it is your time to go, it is your time to go. You can’t stop living because of tragedies. If that was the case, you’d never live your life.”

I remember thinking she was wrong. I wanted her to come with my sister and I because I was afraid. Of course, the minute I saw Ground Zero (still smoking from the attack) I knew how important this trip was and that it was going to shape me in some way. I remember a few things very vividly from Ground Zero. I remember the smell, the energy of the place–there was such a sorrow in the air (cliche, but how else can you describe the feeling of death all around you?), and I remember the disdain of the native New Yorkers who shouted at our group for stopping to see Ground Zero. One man shouted at one of the teacher chaperones telling her, “this isn’t a tourist attraction. Why don’t you go see the Statue of Liberty instead?” She countered by saying, “It’s important for them to see this. It’s important.” He was hushed after that. That visit to Ground Zero was a lesson in the evil that lives on this planet. That humans are very capable of destruction. Still, time moves forward, people heal, and life goes on. The Earth continues to spin with the good and the evil together. There isn’t much we can do about it.

What happened in Colorado is simply devastating and, quite frankly, frightening. Acts of terror, like the one this morning, can happen anywhere; in a small suburb outside of Denver, on a college campus like Virginia Tech, at a high school–anywhere, at a mall–anywhere. That’s what makes them so horrifying. Where is the next one going to happen? Still, I know I can’t go hide for eternity to avoid being a victim in something tragic. As Husband, so eloquently put it, “something is going to get you.”

Even though these events make me question humanity, seeing the victims being interviewed is shocking, some discussing bravery, remorse, and regret not sure why they were spared while a friend or family member was not shows me that not all people are bad, most are just victims of circumstance. Of course, the media finds ways to make tragedies about politics discussing how the Obama campaign and Romney Campaign have pulled attack ads in Colorado–as if they are doing the people of Colorado a favor. This isn’t about politics, this is about the tragic human condition. The same is true for Bloomberg who is calling for Obama and Romney to explain how they would prevent attacks like this. Can’t society be given a time to process this before we decide who the hell we’re going to vote for?

Tragedies like this are tough on everyone: victims, the families, politicians, and society. The responses to these acts are just as tough. The news is calling on “experts” to discuss gun control and speculate on motive, and analyze how this will impact the election in November. Meanwhile the rest of America is wondering if it’s okay to go see The Dark Knight Rises, not necessarily because they are afraid, but if it’s socially acceptable now that this tragedy occurred (what is the etiquette in a situation like this?).  Then, of course, there are people like me who are deeply concerned with the welfare of humanity and know only one way to put a Band-Aid on the symptom: say the Rosary.