That's how I'm feeling. I seem to be kinda floating right now. Not depressed, exactly, but certainly not focused or "happy," whatever that is. It's weird having this time off, because there are things I know I should be doing--and yet, I can't quite seem to do them. (For instance, I should be preparing for summer school, looking for jobs, and trying to straighten out my finances, but the thought of doing any of those makes my head explode.)
Bleah.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Temptation
Today, a girl somewhere in her teen years rang the doorbell. In her arms was the most perfect little squirming, mewing kitten I have ever seen. She asked, "Is this your kitten?" I said it wasn't, but HOW I WANTED HER TO BE MY KITTEN. The girl asked me if I knew whose kitten it was, and I told her I didn't, and then she asked me if I wanted her. That's when the kitten looked right into my eyes, and I almost died. I wanted to say, "Yes, this is my kitten, thank you for finding her." But what I said was, "I would love to keep her, but my Mother would kill me." The girl mentioned that both she and her mom were allergic, and I just wanted to scoop that kitten into my arms.
If my slumlord of a landlady would allow more than one cat, I would have taken the little cream kitten in a heartbeat. I loved her sooo much. She was just perfect. But my Mother already has enough to do with Baby and with the outside cats who belong to my sister. I knew she would be furious if I had taken the little kitten off the girl's hands...
If I owned my own house, I could have taken that kitten. Now I'm all depressed and sad again. Though I am sure my Cat would not be so happy if he suddenly found he had a little sister.
If my slumlord of a landlady would allow more than one cat, I would have taken the little cream kitten in a heartbeat. I loved her sooo much. She was just perfect. But my Mother already has enough to do with Baby and with the outside cats who belong to my sister. I knew she would be furious if I had taken the little kitten off the girl's hands...
If I owned my own house, I could have taken that kitten. Now I'm all depressed and sad again. Though I am sure my Cat would not be so happy if he suddenly found he had a little sister.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Tomorrow, I Am Officially Over the Hill
Tomorrow is my birthday, and I've been doing the usual self-evaluation things that you do when you are about to approach a milestone birthday--that is, recognize that you are a failure and your life is over.
Examples:
1. When my Mom was my age, she had a husband and two children. I have a cat.
2. I have a bogus job, that I get paid a pittance for. I read in the paper that a person with a high school education can expect to earn $22,000 a year, which is only a few thousand less than I am making right now, and I have a Ph.D.
3. No one will publish my poetry. Which means, I'll never be A Famous Poet, which is, frankly, all I've ever wanted to be.
4. If my weight were a country, I would be Australia. Considering Boyfriend is the size of Bora Bora, this is a sad discrepancy.
5. I do not own a house.
6. Everything I own, including my beloved Red Couches, still resides in a non-climate-controlled storage unit in Small Town, Midwestern State. Also included: my entire library, most of my CDs and DVDs, and my antique piano. There is no opportunity to retrieve my worldly goods, as I have no money to move them. The likelihood that one or all of these items have been ruined: 98%.
7. I have no friends in Big City, Southern State.
8. Bogus Job Issue #2: Next year is the last year of the 3-year gig, and I have yet to find another job that a) pays at least $15K better, and b) is anywhere near where Boyfriend lives. Oh, and c) I do not have the publication credits to make the liklihood of a good academic job even remotely...err...likely.
9. I owe the Department of Education a staggering amount of money for student loans, which I will be repaying in retirement. Unless my father dies very soon and leaves me money, which I doubt. Considering that he's probably cut me out of his will anyway (on the advice of the Succubus Queen), chance of inheritance: 0.2%.
10. Despite protests to the contrary, in my heart of hearts, I feel that I will always be unloveable. Please, this is not a plea for either of my two readers to contribute to the protestations. I know you both love me. I know that Boyfriend, Sister, Mother, Old Friends, and Cat love me. But that doesn't mean that I feel loveable. Morevover, the truth is, I cannot love myself for any of the above reasons, and for probably 1 million other reasons that I don't want to go into right now.
Happy Birthday to Me. I think I will go chuck myself off the nearest building.
Examples:
1. When my Mom was my age, she had a husband and two children. I have a cat.
2. I have a bogus job, that I get paid a pittance for. I read in the paper that a person with a high school education can expect to earn $22,000 a year, which is only a few thousand less than I am making right now, and I have a Ph.D.
3. No one will publish my poetry. Which means, I'll never be A Famous Poet, which is, frankly, all I've ever wanted to be.
4. If my weight were a country, I would be Australia. Considering Boyfriend is the size of Bora Bora, this is a sad discrepancy.
5. I do not own a house.
6. Everything I own, including my beloved Red Couches, still resides in a non-climate-controlled storage unit in Small Town, Midwestern State. Also included: my entire library, most of my CDs and DVDs, and my antique piano. There is no opportunity to retrieve my worldly goods, as I have no money to move them. The likelihood that one or all of these items have been ruined: 98%.
7. I have no friends in Big City, Southern State.
8. Bogus Job Issue #2: Next year is the last year of the 3-year gig, and I have yet to find another job that a) pays at least $15K better, and b) is anywhere near where Boyfriend lives. Oh, and c) I do not have the publication credits to make the liklihood of a good academic job even remotely...err...likely.
9. I owe the Department of Education a staggering amount of money for student loans, which I will be repaying in retirement. Unless my father dies very soon and leaves me money, which I doubt. Considering that he's probably cut me out of his will anyway (on the advice of the Succubus Queen), chance of inheritance: 0.2%.
10. Despite protests to the contrary, in my heart of hearts, I feel that I will always be unloveable. Please, this is not a plea for either of my two readers to contribute to the protestations. I know you both love me. I know that Boyfriend, Sister, Mother, Old Friends, and Cat love me. But that doesn't mean that I feel loveable. Morevover, the truth is, I cannot love myself for any of the above reasons, and for probably 1 million other reasons that I don't want to go into right now.
Happy Birthday to Me. I think I will go chuck myself off the nearest building.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Gahh, Students!
The last few days, b/f has been in town, and so I haven't had the opportunity really to go online or check my work e-mail, but I did that today, and man, am I sorry. There were 12 messages from students bitching about their grades--though, granted, four were from the same person. I hate that they think they can bully me into changing their grades. And I have to admit that I am particularly cranky right now anyway, and their complaints after the fact really irritate me. Frankly, after the semester is over (or a week before it's over, in the case of one student) is NOT the time to be pestering your teacher about how the grade can be improved... You know how the grade can be improved? DO A GOOD JOB THE FIRST TIME AND TURN IN YOUR WORK. Gee, how hard is that?
This is the BS that makes me HATE being a teacher. I am so sick of their dramas and trying to guilt me into fixing their grades. One student who got a a C in the class wrote me a note telling me how suprised and disappointed he was to receive a C. I wrote him back and said that if he had turned in the second annotation assignment and received at least an 78% on it, he would have earned enough points to get his precious B. I'm sure he's going to e-mail me back and try to convince me that he turned it in--but the fact is, students have to turn in a hard copy for me to grade, and an uploaded copy into a anti-cheating database of student work, and when I checked it, there was only 1 out of the 2 annotation assignments there. So he won't have a leg to stand on--but the fact is, he's going to e-mail me any way and bitch some more. I just hate this stuff.
In other news, I'm leaving tomorrow to visit my Mom. It will be a welcome respite from this hellhole city I live in.
This is the BS that makes me HATE being a teacher. I am so sick of their dramas and trying to guilt me into fixing their grades. One student who got a a C in the class wrote me a note telling me how suprised and disappointed he was to receive a C. I wrote him back and said that if he had turned in the second annotation assignment and received at least an 78% on it, he would have earned enough points to get his precious B. I'm sure he's going to e-mail me back and try to convince me that he turned it in--but the fact is, students have to turn in a hard copy for me to grade, and an uploaded copy into a anti-cheating database of student work, and when I checked it, there was only 1 out of the 2 annotation assignments there. So he won't have a leg to stand on--but the fact is, he's going to e-mail me any way and bitch some more. I just hate this stuff.
In other news, I'm leaving tomorrow to visit my Mom. It will be a welcome respite from this hellhole city I live in.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
A Stranger Approaches
Today, after I finished meeting with a student and doing some more grading on campus, I went to my favorite salad bar restaurant, Lettuce Souprise you. Their soup is always marginal, but their salad is great, and I try to go there if not every week, at least every other week. I couldn't go tomorrow (if I go, it's usually on a Friday after work) because I have a meeting at 12:30 and I don't know how long it will run.
Anyway, as I was buttering a corn muffin, this very attractive blond man (who had come in after I did with his other attractive blond man friend) came over and started to talk to me. Told me that he and his friend noticed me, that they haven't been in the city long, and are looking for new friends. So we chatted for 10 minutes, and they said that they noticed that I looked "happy" and that they like happy people. He was very clear to make sure that I knew he wasn't picking me up--which is a good thing--picking me up would break anyone's bones to rubble--but that they don't know anyone and thought I might be a kindred spirit. He gave me his phone number, and I gave him mine. He invited me out to a lesbian country bar tonight, but I told him that I would be grading. Which, hopefully, I will be. ;)
I do love the idea of a lesbian country bar, though.
I might just call him. Dare I?
Anyway, as I was buttering a corn muffin, this very attractive blond man (who had come in after I did with his other attractive blond man friend) came over and started to talk to me. Told me that he and his friend noticed me, that they haven't been in the city long, and are looking for new friends. So we chatted for 10 minutes, and they said that they noticed that I looked "happy" and that they like happy people. He was very clear to make sure that I knew he wasn't picking me up--which is a good thing--picking me up would break anyone's bones to rubble--but that they don't know anyone and thought I might be a kindred spirit. He gave me his phone number, and I gave him mine. He invited me out to a lesbian country bar tonight, but I told him that I would be grading. Which, hopefully, I will be. ;)
I do love the idea of a lesbian country bar, though.
I might just call him. Dare I?
Reading Blogs of People You Hate
I've been reading the blog of a former best friend who was quite repugnant to me back in the day, who dropped me as her friend for who knows what reason. I think it had something to do with my depression, which yes, was bad, but also to do with her insane self-involvement, and the fact that as a person, she is so morally decayed that she thinks it's ok to eviscerate her "friends" when they don't behave like she thinks they ought. Anyway, I finally had to stop looking at it, because I was starting to hyperventilate. Ok, maybe I wasn't that mad, but I was certainly annoyed.
Anyway, the moral of the story is, those people suck, and I'm going to try not to read her blog any more. Because the urge to write a really snotty comment is quite overwhelming, but I don't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that a) she's gotten to me; b) I have this blog; and c) that I'm even expending the energy to hate her. I should follow my own advice to people who have sitches like this: DISENGAGE. Be the anti-Captain Picard. DISENGAGE. MAKE IT SO.
Anyway, the moral of the story is, those people suck, and I'm going to try not to read her blog any more. Because the urge to write a really snotty comment is quite overwhelming, but I don't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that a) she's gotten to me; b) I have this blog; and c) that I'm even expending the energy to hate her. I should follow my own advice to people who have sitches like this: DISENGAGE. Be the anti-Captain Picard. DISENGAGE. MAKE IT SO.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
