When in god's name does it ever become anything at all resembling easy?

I remember being a kid and thinking that I would have it all together by now.
I'm really just a thirteen year old with a great apartment.

Yep, definitely the calm before the storm.
Getting ready to hyperventilate again.

I've fallen into a bit of a routine during my Saturday mornings. I usually wake up earlier than I meant to, make some coffee, and eat a mound of eggs with goat cheese and tomatoes while watching CNN. I blog, Yelp, or read the NY Times online. I eye the stack of papers in the corner that are always waiting to be graded. I feel guilty for putting it off until Sunday.
Guilt has been occupying a large part of my time lately. During the first few weeks of school, I felt that I could never do enough. And I still can't, but now I feel guilty that I'm not exhausted and burnt out. I actually behaved like a functional human being this past week. I slept between six and seven hours each night, I cooked dinner, I went grocery shopping, I went for a run. I didn't stay up until 1 am hyperventilating (well, besides Sunday night.) But now I feel that I haven't tried enough. Because I feel more healthy and balanced than I have in weeks, I feel that I'm slacking. When presented with a challenge (and this is most certainly a challenge), if I don't completely kill myself over it, I think I'm doing something wrong. I'm a first year teacher teaching four subjects at three grade levels. I'm working on my Master's degree. I'm helping with an after school club and I'll be tutoring twice a week starting in October. How was it possible for me to wake up this morning without a migraine? To actually keep a hair appointment yesterday? To gasp! do my laundry?
I don't want to give the impression that I have it all together. I don't. My room is still a mess. I still need to buy new sheets. I would like to work out more. That stack of papers is still there. My lesson plans definitely still need tweaking. I owe my EDTE professor a theorist presentation. All these boys are still driving me crazy.
It's not that I've conquered anything at all.
But I feel more together? It's probably just that I've been getting more sleep.
I'm so afraid that this is the calm before the storm.

 I love me some Def Poetry.
"What Are You Fighting For?" by Gemineye

I would stand to miss the fists on the battlefield
Among an army of red and an army of blue
And I stand tall and true
As I ask you
What are you fighting for?

This four foot by four foot concrete block
You’re arguing for and bartering for
Is merely a prison without bars
That still manages to arrest you by
Confining your mind
And you allow this corner to define you
And now you’re redefining yourself by calling yourself a street corner
Entrepreneur
And I ask you
What are you fighting for?

You see now you’re standing on corners
I used to call my own corners
I once considered a safe zone
And now, I’m too afraid to let my mother walk to the store alone
Cuz these streets
They’re covered with cowardly fake gangsters
And I’m angered at the nonsense
That rag on your head is somehow
Keeping knowledge from seeping into your brain
Don’t you see that you’re dying for nothing
Rather than living for something
You’re self-destructing and just fucking your own self over
And I ask you
What are you fighting for?

You’re waging wars over something that never was and never will be yours
Cuz owning the streets is just a fictitious concept
That gets misused by hip-hop dudes
Trying to pass themselves off as reincarnated gangsters
So, contrary to popular belief
no matter how deep your gang is or how much money
you’ll think you’ll make from crack rocks
The only concrete rocks you’ll ever own
are the ones that come with steel bars
Or the ones we call tombstones
So I guess the only decision left for you to choose is whether
The fabric in your casket should be red or blue
And I ask you
What are you dying for?

 Or watch the video: http://justasynopsis.blogspot.com/2008/11/what-are-you-fighting-for-by-gemineye.html

I accidentally rediscovered my PopTart obsession.

If it weren't for my affinity for soy meats, wine, and caffeine, one might mistake me for a five-year-old sometimes.

Some of my favorite "Sunscreen Song" interpretations from my students:

"Don't talk to hobos. Give money to burn victims. Don't listen to advertisements (on the phone.) Don't buy anything on the Internet. Don't get your mom mad. DO NOT GO COW TIPPING. Don't eat before going on a roller coaster. Never say "what's up, homedog?" to people in Del Paso Heights, Rio Linda, or Antelope. Don't live in Del Paso Heights. Be good. Don't be bad. Don:t copy any jackass stunts. Be a smart cookie. Respect your elders. Convince your dad not to get married AGAIN."

and:

"I would like to tell you not to stay home when your mommy or daddy gets a new boyfriend or girlfriend. The new person is always dumb and rude no matter what anybody says. If your mommy or daddy gets a boyfriend or girlfriend, run away to Grammy's house. Grammy always has open arms for her little bear. Grammies love their little bears. I love my Grammy."


It's a damn good thing they crack me up so much.

My boys insisted on being disgusting and talking about their poop today during 8th period.

Soooo I jumped right in and made it a teachable moment about metaphors. And dammit, they learned some stuff.
I make it work.

Oh goodness gracious gumdrops, do I love snarky parent emails or what?!?!?!!!! 

Must remember to keep my perspective. It's sociological, it's economic, it's anything but personal. 
And besides, I'm getting to them, one by one. Slowly.  
I'm a persistent little bugger.  


You know you've got to go through hell before you get to heaven. 

But writing does de-stress me. And I always want to post things from my old blog here and pretend they're new, but then I just decided to do this instead:
http://worthington08.wordpress.com

I'm exhausted. I must find a way to do this more efficiently.
This was not enough weekend for me.

I feel like I've been taking a lot of abuse lately.
So here's a positive:
Student: "Hey, what are you doing tomorrow?"
Me (bewildered): "Um, it's my grandmother's birthday..."
Student: "Well, I was wondering if you wanted to come see what I do when I'm not acting up in class. I have a baseball game tomorrow if you wanted to watch. You said you liked baseball."
Me (taken aback. Why is he being so nice?): "I love baseball. Can I come next Saturday?"
Student: "Sure. Have a good weekend." Hugs me.
Whoa.

Another interpretation, this one based on "Advice, Like Youth, Probably Wasted on the Young," better known as "The Sunscreen Song." I'm having my students make a mural on the wall of my room with their various pieces of advice.
Here's mine (and I did not share this with my students):

Always be the first to go in for a hug. Make friends more often than you make enemies. Be polite to waiters, secretaries, custodians, and cashiers. Chivalry applies to everyone, regardless of gender. Never think you're more important. Drink as much water as you comfortably can. Laugh when you're embarrassed. Don't cry at work. Scream when you're alone in your car if you need to. Let an argument go. Breathe before you speak. Don't drink amaretto sours. Let yourself fall in love with an inconvenient person. Find someone you want to please, and make them proud. Buy some lingerie entirely for yourself. Think of what's important to you and let go of what isn't. Don't hold anyone in your heart who doesn't belong there. You can be mean or rude if provoked, but never be cruel. Find your "usual" drink and your "usual" bar. Vote. Admit when you're wrong, and people will pay more attention when you're right. Thursdays aren't the new Fridays. Don't let anyone fool you into thinking that you shouldn't have to work hard your entire life. You are never above an honest days work. There are no shortcuts to anything that matters. Don't expect to be an adult the day you turn 18. Your looks are never more important than your brain. Your birthday is a day- not a week, and certainly not a month. Your friends will date people you don't like, and supporting them is going to be more important than calling out someone else's  faults. You will probably date the wrong person a few times in your life as well. You will be ugly sometimes. If people can tell when you're lying, you're doing something right. Forgive yourself. Be gentle with your parents. Know that they did what they could. Defend your loved ones. Read as much as you can. When guessing a woman's weight, never go above 140. When guessing a man's height, never go below 5'8". Try not to be bullied into guessing these things. Being blunt is overrated and being tactful is underrated. Have a plan, even if it's just for tomorrow. Take your grandparents out to dinner if you still have them. Remember that no one's life is as perfect as it seems, and know that to someone else, your life is probably pretty appealing. It can always be worse. If you doubt this, spend the day volunteering at a soup kitchen, a women's shelter, or an inner-city school. You do not want to be with someone who is willing to leave you. Moisturize more than necessary. You'll be glad you did when you're older. Try tolerance, and go for acceptance.
Be kind.
 

I didn't actually mean to tell them anything much about my personal life.
But then I saw the way they continued to trash the classroom, and my pleas to them to not undo all of my hard work at putting the room together were futile. I told them it wasn't just about that, and how much it hurts me when students deliberately make messes and think that it's someone else's job to clean up after them. As though someone else's dignity is less important than their need to do whatever, whenever. The first time I ever cried when I was a student teacher-and surprisingly late into the first semester- was when I saw the blatant disrespect they showed to someone else's occupation, as though he or she deserved to be picking spitty Oreo halves out of the carpet because they didn't have a college degree. "Maintaining the school grounds" is very different from "throwing away spit wads," and a grown man should not have to be treated like the hired help by children a quarter of his age. It literally made me sick to my stomach, and it still does.
So I told them a little about my family.
I may be a prissy little white girl and I will never have to live through much of what they have to deal with, but I don't come from a place of privilege either. And no one's father should be treated like that.

My file cabinet in my classroom is full of my grandfather's old folders. Most of the tabs are still there, either in his handwriting or from his typewriter. Putting my own labels on would help keep me organized, but I don't want to get new ones.
I like having him here with me.

I'm really ashamed at how much I heart my new Blackberry.

This is not the Tara you all know and love.