http://almostkindasorta.blogspot.com/

I hope you’ll update your links/readers.  In December, I have promised myself I will be blogging the 25 days until Christmas!  This site will likely disappear sometime next week when I cancel my subscription.  Hope to hear from you at the new site!

I could myself truly blessed knowing that I have a wonderful family, that both my husband and I have mostly recession proof jobs, our house, our marriage–and many of those are things that have been added to my  list since last year, which is great.

Sure, I wish certain things were different, but in the end I know I’m so lucky to have what I have.

And, I had a dream last night that Barack Obama was a contestant on Top Chef and he got kicked off and was PISSED.  He was the nastiest sore loser the show has ever seen.  And my dream self is thinking, wow I really didn’t think Barack Obama was like this.  How is he going to lead our country with a level head when he’s yelling at all those other people that merely cooked better than him.

In short, I am also mostly thankful for my subconscious which almost never fails to give me a funny story to tell someone.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE!  I’m off to stuff my face and listen to my Grandpa tell stories about hating Jimmy Carter and counting fat ladies at the supermarket.

Also, stay tuned for December–I’ve got a great idea in which I will be posting every day until Christmas!

We had an early release today, somewhat unplanned.  I went out to lunch with a group of other new teachers. I went to Target to buy my husband some new video game.  I saw some of my students–they expertly avoided me (and I them).  I came home and caught up on reading blogs for over an hour.

And, I got to thinking.  Thinking about how I don’t have the time or energy anymore to think.  To reflect.  There is something about teaching that just sucks the brainpower out of me.

I miss thinking about things that don’t relate to lesson plans or grading or all the things I need to do.  I miss sitting down to enjoy a moment.  I miss sitting with this computer in my lap and writing about the most mundane things.

I feel like I’m just rushing through each day, waiting for those glorious days of summer when I will be free to think again.  Free to accomplish something.

Because, even on days like today when I have a moment to blog.  When I feel that desire to say something truthful and meaningful, this boring garbage is all I can seem to pump out.

I believe words are powerful–so powerful, and I feel as I’ve lost the words.

On the other hand, I haven’t entirely ruled out NaNoWriMo.  And by “not entirely ruled out” I mean, November 1st I had the itch to write and opened up a Word Document, titled it NaNo ‘08, wrote 500 nonsensical words, and haven’t opened it since.

The thing about NaNoWriMo, as opposed to NaBlo, is that you can make up your ground any time you wish.  I still remember the exhilarating feeling of my first NaNoWriMo wherein I pulled an all-nighter the day before Thanksgiving writing 10,000 words to get me to my total.  Now, I don’t remember much about the actual “doing” it part, but I remember the feeling of having ended a novel (I had never completed a novel before, only started 8 thousand).  It was indescribable and an invaluable experience.  So, each November it’s hard to let that opportunity slip me by.

So, I’m kind of NaNoWriMo-ing, we’ll see how it goes.

Also, is Daylight Savings screwing with anyone else’s head.  Is it really only 7am?  It’s always so much easier to spring forward than to fall back.

I am stuck in survival mode.  It’s not that anything particularly stressful is happening, it’s just this job is sucking the life out of me.  In fact, if I didn’t have a stack of papers knee-high staring at me, I still probably wouldn’t be writing this post.

I don’t have higher brain functioning.  I don’t have the time or energy to reflect on what’s going on, to analyze what I should be doing or could be doing.  My brain is dull and it’s the only way I can make it through.  If I think about all the things I’d rather be doing, reading, thinking, learning, I can’t function.

I’m counting down the days to my 5 day weekend over Thanksgiving.  Every early release/late start is cause for celebration.

I am so grateful for the great group of teachers I work with who make it bearable.  Today, I didn’t leave school until almost 5 because we were chatting and goofing around.  So, despite dealing with a slough of nasty attitudes and apathy, I came home with a smile on my face.

Maybe I’ll regain some brainpower in December.

Just because I am not pro-life, does not mean I am pro-abortion, asshole.

Charter schools do not encourage competition.

Teach for America, in essence, is throwing money at the problem, and the worst schools in America (East St. Louis, for example) are WOEFULLY underfunded.  GOOD TEACHERS WONT TEACH THERE, so you can give teachers merit pay all you want–they’re not heading to poorly funded schools.

GOOD TEACHERS = GOOD EDUCATION.

VOUCHERS ARE BULL SHIT.  If you’re going to throw money into vouchers, wouldn’t that money best be used fixing those failing schools for those families that don’t get vouchers?

To use your running mate’s special needs child as political fodder is despicable.

End result: neither candidate cares enough about the environment or education–both issues which would, in the long run, improve our economy.

America does indeed need a new direction.  Regardless of who wins, we’re not going to get it.

I hope you all live in a world where your parents do not discuss groins or balls with you.

R. and N. try to move to a quieter place, but their noise is a little excessive. But, hey, they’re excited and isn’t that nice?’

Mom: (loudly) Isn’t this going to be fun girls?

Girls: random shrieking and yelling

Oldest Girl: I don’t want to put on bug spray.

Mom: Well, you have to, so shut up.

(N. and R. exchange looks and back further away)

Dad: (yelling so loud everyone in the orchard can hear and holding his head) Oh my God you hit me with that! Watch the hell what you’re doing. What is wrong with you.

Mom: Tell your father your sorry.

Dad: That’s it you cannot pick apples.

Mom: Yes she can! You’re fine.

Dad: I’m bleeding.

Mom: No you are not.

Dad: (getting louder) Damn it, I am bleeding. Look at this. I am bleeding.

Mom shoos the girls away while Dad goes and stares at himself in the mirror, observing his minor scratch. A few minutes pass.

Dad: (to no one in particular, but loud enough for everyone to hear) IT CONTINUES TO BLEED.

N. and R. must run quickly away to muffle their laughter.