Born without Boundaries

Hurting


Hurting can do some extraordinary things. It’s effectual.
Misery.
Isolation.
All from hurting.

Siting on the wrong side of the bar and everybody elses’ smiles rip into me like nails into flesh.

Curling up and disappearing would be convenient except for the fact that I want to be seen. That’s what I want: to be seen and not suffer this indifference. I think if even one person in my life had dared to care for me it would have broken through these walls that have caged me in.
Just one.

After all the witchery,
all the bitchery,
all the prickly hard-ass show,

I’m still just a damsel in distress.

Snow Day


Today is a snow day.
Only a delay for the district in which I teach
but our town district has the full day off.
So my son gets to sleep in.
Funny, as soon as I got word that school was canceled,
I almost became my mother.
When I was a school girl she’d always wake us up to tell us we didn’t have to wake up.
I hated it.
Wasn’t that just pointless?
Let us sleep.
But I almost did it.
I almost walked into my son’s room to wake him up and tell him he had no school.
That pause and breath I took made the difference.
Today he’ll sleep late.
Without interruption.
And he’ll enjoy the entire experience of having the day off.
Starting off with uninterrupted sleep.
I’m tempted to take the day off myself.
But we can’t afford it.
So I’ll linger around the living room, perhaps take in a T.V. show or two
and then get my toosh on a later train.
Then I’ll enjoy getting the same pay for a shorter day 😉
I love snow.

The Bar


Standards keep going up.
That’s what the newspapers say.
That’s what employment offices say.
But that’s not what the results show.
Teaching.
That’s what I’m talking about but I have no doubt you could apply this to many other fields.
Every teacher now has to be certified with a masters degree,
and now it’s recommended they be duel certified.
So how come tests results aren’t improving?
How come drop out rates aren’t dropping?
And beyond this, how come literacy, as well as elocution keep slipping?
If the bar keeps getting raised to become a teacher,
then how come is bares no relation to the function of teaching?
I’m certainly not trying to unload the sorry state of our education system on teachers.
What I am pointing out is that these “bars”, these minimum standards for qualifications into
entry level positions, are getting higher and higher,
but the relative pay is not.
And the quality that these bars are supposed to be ensuring doesn’t exist.
So why the raising of the bar?
It has nothing to do with quality.
It has to do with making things harder and harder for people who start low to climb high.
These standards are bogus obstacles put into place by people who had no such things in there way when they started out.
Frauds.
What exactly are they afraid of?
Maybe that we find out that these standards are effects and have absolutely nothing to do with function and performance?
When in a profession does it happen that a select few get together and decide that what they are doing is so amazing they should form a commitee that decides how all others in that field are judged from then on?
Who are these people?
And why are we listening to them?

Epiphany

My nose was runny so I needed a tissue (couldn’t find one anywhere in the classroom I was covering today). I’m looking left,
looking right,
under the desk,
under books on the desk,
inside any drawer that would open,
scanning the rest of the room, shelves, desks, tables on all four walls in search of tissue.
And the watery snot on the tip of my nose engorged;
dripping was imminent.
A student of mine finally asked me,
“What are you looking for?”
“Tissue,” I said.
“Doesn’t he have any tissue in this room?”
“Yeah, here.”
and she reached about a foot infront of her to a pile on the other side of my desk,
pulled up the box
and placed it in front of me.
Hmmm
What I took from this?

Sometimes all it takes is a change of perspective to find what you’re looking for.

Also,

To get my ass up out of my seat before I decide I’ve searched thouroughly.
First one’s more poetic though.

Lesson; the latest one.

It’s been a while.
And I’m sorry.
I’ve been bottled up and imploding a lot
and now I’m kinda forcing this blog out
because it NEEDS to happen. If not,
I’ll just be more of a mess.
The truth is I met someone. Someone I trusted was
what they said they were.
And they weren’t.
The entire situation was a kind of hoax,
well orchestrated for the maximum satisfaction of the other party.
And I could mull over and over thinking thoughts like,
it’s unfair
and
why do people do that to each other?
But I really don’t want to.
Because in the end the one thing I’ll come up with is the thing that I’m desperately trying to avoid:
That once again I’ve been passed over for someone else. Once again I was the fall back girl,
the rebound,
the one during down time.
And I don’t want to mull over the psychologist ‘speak’ about how I choose these people,
that it’s all intentional,
that it’s all about me not being able to be loved or being able to commit.
Because that’s wrong.
I do want to be loved and I’ll love being in a committed relationship.
And there hasn’t been one day that that wasn’t true.
And I wasn’t in love with my son’s father for 10 years straight because he didn’t love me back;
I was in love with him because I saw extraordinary things in his person that inspired me and,
especially in the end, helped me to grow into a better human being.
And I did not keep giving the lunatic, who would eventually try to beat the shit out of me, chance
after chance, after chance to be a better man to me because I didn’t love myself. I did it because I could
have loved him; he too had so many extraordinary things about his person. He was the kind of beautiful that could have inspired life long love in me.
I look back, proud, that I loved myself enough to get out of these situations where I was all in but the man was out and about: the first one took me 10 years, the second 2 years and this final one, it took me just over two weeks.
That means I’m learning.
And getting better at being on my own side.
That even when I see something in another person that I would very well like to see in the eyes and smile of my next beautiful child,
I will not stay in a toxic place.

I will not stay in second place.

I look at pictures of this last looser,
and I say looser because he is.
He’s a looser.
He lost me and that’s something he should have fought his ass off to keep.
But when I look at pictures of him I still feel the sadness that’s making it hard to breath right now.
I’ll never figure it out.
I can know everything, flat out and rational in front of me,
including that I’m better off and that I dodged yet another bullet,
but my heart and brain have a detachment it seems that won’t allow one to understand the other.
Rationalizing this doesn’t make it any better.
I now have to live through being passed over by another looser.
One that may never know how much he lost.
One that doesn’t care.
And that’s better for me.
Better that I don’t have someone who couldn’t care less about me in my life.
Because he should have been sticking up for me and defending me and making sure I never got hurt.
Instead, it seems, he was doing that for someone else.
He was protecting her by not acknowledging me publicly.
He was hiding me because she was the one he was proud of and I was the one he was ashamed of.
Because he wanted to be loyal to her, and by being with me he wasn’t and I’m really really glad I sent
the mother-fucker home with blue balls.
But it turns out he took a piece of me anyway. More then my mouth, my vagina, my tits or my ass, (he got none of those), he took a piece of my heart (which is infinitely more valuable).
I left it wide open for his rejection.
So now I have to patch myself up and heal my heart and do whatever it is I have to do to make myself okay.
Whatever it is.
I’m worth it.
So I thought about keying his new car.
Would have been fun.
And I thought about flattening his tires.
I even considered punching the mother-fucker dead is his blackened teeth (yeah… what was i thinking?).
But that pleasure just wouldn’t last long enough.
Nope.
Instead I’m going to move on.
To my own place, my time, surrounding myself by people who really care about me and wouldn’t throw me under the bus every chance they get.
People I belong with.
Even if it’s just me, myself and I.
Good enough.
Too good for most.
And all I’ll ever need.