Post election deep thoughts (why I'm not shrieking nor obeying in advance and how novels help me make sense of all this shit)

I never voted for Donald Trump, and I never bought into the notion that because he wasn't part of government he could "fix" it, draining the swamp and all that nonsense.

I had read Jack Gance by Ward Just, after all, just one of many novels that show how despite whatever idealism a person brings to government, that will soon be beaten out of them for a more realistic (and/or corrupt) approach.  I had also lived and seen just how much the idealism that goes into entering the teaching field is quickly beaten out of you. AND I had become a parent, where the idealism of "my child will never" is destroyed within moments of leaving the safe cocoon of the hospital. 

If anything, in my mind, Donald Trump had a worse shot of fixing anything because he knew nothing about government, probably less than a fifth grader. Government is meetings and negotiations and downright fucking boring, and I never got the sense that Donald Trump could even handle that for a millisecond. 

But beyond all this, the reason I refused to ever vote for him was his behavior---making fun of disabled people, calling immigrants horrible things, telling people they come from shithole countries, his basic linguistic abuse of anyone and everyone. He embodied, and still embodies, the antithesis of everything I have ever taught my children or everything I was ever taught about being a decent human being. 

When I think about people voting for him to pack the courts or "save the babies" or close the border, I heard them compare him to biblical figures who, despite their flaws, did great things. But I saw the choice to vote for him for any of these reasons as a Faustian bargain. I still see it that way. 

Since the election, there has been great gnashing of teeth and shrieking, and perhaps those things are warranted, but they also feel like the exact same response from 2016, and it seems so extra this time. 

I am not at all suggesting that by 2020 things weren't shit because they were. Immigrant children were separated from their families, and the government was unable to locate and reunite them. The national debt grew even bigger under the Trump presidency per year than for many previous presidents.  Hundreds of thousands of people died due to COVID, but the fallout was profoundly shittier for the people who listened to Donald Trump and not their own physicians. None of this seemed like anything that would fall under the "What Would Jesus Do" heading. 

None of the people I see or read about who are carrying on are Cassandra, the Trojan princess. Unlike her, they have not been cursed with the knowledge of the future. And even if they did know the future and could speak to its accuracy 100%, no one will listen anyway. The assumption is that things will be horrible under Trump, and based on past experience, I don't doubt this, but how horrible will they be. Who knows? Will they be equally horrible for everyone? I doubt it. Or will it be like A Thousand Ships by Natalie Haynes where everyone, but especially women and children, are most ravaged?

The assumption is that if Kamala Harris had won, life would be roses, and that isn't a given either. I have been thinking about 11/22/63 by Stephen King about the assassination of JFK and what might have happened had it been foiled. The assumption is that everything would be wonderful in the future if only JFK had been able to complete his presidency, but protagonist Jake Epping visits the future to see the fruits of his work and finds that perhaps leaving history alone to play out as it did was the best option. 

Another thing I have been thinking about since the election is how much someone's political leaning matters to me. 

I recently had a falling out with someone who is very much left-leaning as I am. This person has a good heart, but I was working with this person in a professional capacity and was going crazy. I didn't understand why this person made the choices they did, why they micromanaged, why they were inefficient, how things could be in such disarray. It was stressing me out to a degree I just couldn't handle anymore and so I extricated myself in a way that hurt this person. It wasn't my desire to hurt this person, but I had just hit my proverbial wall. The relationship ended because I couldn't tolerate the manner in which this person operates; what works for them did not work for me. Should I have continued just because we are politically similar? Of course not. 

In another work situation, I am surrounded by people who are generally much more conservative than me. The working relationship is supportive, and I am not micromanaged. They value my input, and I value theirs. They are organized and consistent and communicative, all things I think are important to my professional mental health. So should I discontinue that relationship because we are politically different? Again, of course not. 

In October, before the election, some members of my family and I visited a small town in Kentucky and ate at a local restaurant. This town is largely white, and the county in which this town sits voted for Trump in the election (64/35). 

At the restaurant, I noticed that there were two black children sitting at a table. The little girl was coloring pictures, and the boy was watching a football game on an ipad. Their mother was working tables. What I noticed was how all of the other employees, who were white, took turns caring for the children. One server would sit and color with the little girl. A guy who I assumed was working back in the kitchen took her to a back office so she could watch television. Everyone was looking out for the kids and helping the mom, and that told me a lot more about this restaurant and, perhaps, the town, than who they vote for in a presidential election. 

Yes, this is simplistic, and I know there are horrible racist people in the world. But there would be horrible, racist people in the world if Kamala Harris had won. There were horrible, racist people in the world when Jesus lived. There will be horrible, racist people on the planet until there is no planet Earth. 

But I cannot listen to and watch people shriek and lament and wail because they just make me anxious. 

Whatl I can do is put good into the world in which I live. I can work with students and treat all of them with respect and kindness. I can share stories with them about history and discuss the ways in which life is complex and gray much more often than it is black or white. I can donate to causes that plant trees to help mitigate global climate change and help people have their civil rights restored (because that is a nightmare I will have to write about at some other time). I can stand up for others when they are being harassed or marginalized. I can stay the hell off social media much more than I was. 

I can refuse to submit to unkindness. I can refuse to call the police on my neighbors. I can decide when something is legal versus when something is moral...because don't we all do that anyway to some extent. 

And I can hope that MLK Jr was right and that the arc of the moral universe bends toward justice, but it will only bend if I am doing my little bit in my little corner of the world. 

I've been paid

Today I have been paid the full amount I was owed--April, May, June, and even July.

It took more emails and texts than was necessary, and I even contacted an attorney to find out what my legal options were. But before I made that move, I decided I had nothing to lose and emailed the head honcho of the company directly. It led to a not totally comfortable Zoom meeting with the head honcho and the office manager (who I had emailed a ton and who had been unable to get anything done until this point).

I'm not sure what the problem was or why it took so long to get resolved, but it stressed me the heck out and made me feel devalued. 

I don't wish them ill, but I don't want to be part of their chaos. 

And so now, I'm reshuffling and reevaluating and maybe this is good even though nobody likes to feel like the carpet has been pulled out from under them. I just figured out that this part-time work I did made up about 24% of my total income so it's not nothing. 

Maybe this empty spot will fill with something I hadn't planned but that ends up being something great. 

I don't believe that humans are puppets on a god string or that god moves things in certain ways. But I do think that humans are very good at making meaning. 

And so I will make meaning from this.

My vague-posting (and employment)

A week or so ago, I posted something on social media about how being honest often means a person is subject to criticism or worse, such as lost employment. 

I suspect some people who know I can cuss like a sailor if necessary and have an opinion about most things that I am willing to share might suspect that I maybe did something on the order of this and got fired.

I mean, I did make international news several years ago over dress code bullshit, so anything is possible when it comes to my mouth. 

I have not gotten fired.

All I did was send an email before I chickened out that basically said the following:

"I am a dependable, high-quality producer, and if you value this dependable, high-quality producer you need to pay me in a more timely manner."

I don't think it is being unreasonable to expect that by July 4, I should have been paid the $725 that is owed me for APRIL. (And the remaining $2,200 owed me should come sooner rather than later.)

More or less, I don't trust this employer anymore. I don't think this employer values my work and my dependability. And if I don't trust you, there is no point continuing a relationship whether it is personal or professional. 

While I was honest (and civil) in my email, I guess the bigger point is that I stood up for myself. 

And I'm glad.

But I'm also flailing a bit, and I'm not sure why.

Because they didn't fire me. I'm just about 99.9% sure I'm firing them. I have a swimming pool full of tolerance for young people and kids, but I do not babysit adults. 

But this marks a change, and I'm going to have to adapt, and that is always uncomfortable and scary. I got comfortable and, admittedly, lazy. 

Now I'm having to think about whether I'll actively seek something new or do what I've done in every professional experience for the past 13 years....hang out and let things kind of organically happen and go where they will. 

Multifarious: working with seniors, the a-word, boiling rage

I. Working with seniors

Since mid-April I have been working at a local high school two days a week to help seniors who need course recovery in order to meet graduation requirements. 

I have been, more or less, their mom on these days. When they are with me, they work. If they don't work, I nudge and harass and cheerlead and tell them to NOT SCROLL DOWN on the course recovery work because they will get overwhelmed. Or I explain things to them. Or I help pace them if they lose focus and have them check in with me. 

It has been mostly rewarding work, especially when a kid who has been coming to work with me finishes up her/his assignments, and we know they'll be able to cross the stage later this month. 

There are some, though, who won't walk the stage. They may not be able to finish course recovery this summer. Some of them will be back for another senior year. Or they will drop out. 

I think seniors overestimate their "adultness" once they hit that magical 18 on the birthday cake. I think sometimes teachers overestimate it, too, although I suspect this has more to do with teacher burnout than the kids to be honest. A lot of the kids are mature and responsible, but there are some who need a lot of hand-holding for a variety of reasons. And there are a lot of adults who would do a hell of a lot better with some more hand-holding. 

Even kids who are mature and responsible, who can keep track of their homework and club meetings and sports/work schedules, make bone-headed decisions. Or don't think of all the ramifications of a decision, and it's because their brains aren't done cooking yet. 

N is a bright kid whom I trust with a lot of things, but there are times I legit think to myself, "What is wrong with your brain?"

And the answer is: nothing. It is just an 18-year-old brain.

II. The a-word

The Roe v. Wade leak was all over the news last week, and I've spent a lot of time thinking about the prospect of things changing. How would that affect my daughter? How would that affect by sons?

I could be wrong, but I don't think I've ever seen anyone say they are pro-abortion. I don't think anyone likes abortion. I don't like abortion. In a perfect world, no woman would ever feel she needed an abortion. But we don't live in a perfect world. 

We live in a world where we give a shit ton of lip service to the notion that we value life. We do nothing of the sort. One million lives lost to COVID is proof of that. Our systems have not, as a general rule, valued poor life. Or black life. Or immigrant life. They do not right now. We do not value infant life because if we did we would make childcare leave more feasible and for longer. We would have ENOUGH FORMULA. We would fund universal preschool to help all children start out more closely to a level playing field. We wouldn't have such ridiculous drug laws that have put so many men in prison away from their families. 

I have never had an abortion, but I have had an unplanned pregnancy (while on birth control). All things were "right" for me. I was in my mid-30s, had been in a long and healthy marriage, had no debts or drug addiction or anything that would endanger my security and ability to pay the bills. I had two children and could afford them so there wasn't a concern that I couldn't afford another one. Despite these things, my unplanned pregnancy was scary and overwhelming AND I WAS IN THE BEST POSSIBLE CIRCUMSTANCES. 

So I will not pass judgment on any woman who is in different or worse circumstances who cannot, whatever her reason, sustain a pregnancy. And I think it is absolutely wrong for any government entity at any level to tell a person what she can or can't do with her body. We didn't mandate vaccines; we do not take organs from dead bodies that did not, prior to death, give permission. We need to keep our laws off women's bodies as well.

III. Boiling rage

Maybe the rage relates to what I just wrote about, or maybe it is perimenopausal hormone stuff? Or maybe it is the ceaseless exhaustion that comes with being a mom to three and a wife to one and none of them seem able at times to do much of anything for themselves, without me specifically directing them on what.to.do. They rely on me because I made it my priority for so long to be relied upon (the downside of the SAHM thing). 

Or maybe it is the confluence, the place where all these intersect. The place where I would like to just run away and be responsible only for myself and my wants and needs and not have to have others in my brain.

Maybe it is that our tax people told us we had to pay something like $7,000 in taxes, which we paid, but we only owed $900, which is great, except now we are waiting for the government to return out money and it is freaking me out because we had termites ($800) and the boys keep getting ingrown toenails which means $200 surgeries all the damn time. Maybe it is that I have been so busy since I got home from Ecuador that I haven't had a minute to collect my thoughts and just be. Maybe I miss quarantine just a little bit when life was a fuck-ton slower. 

Maybe I need to take another half-dose of Lexapro. 

The school choice SAGA continues AND can schools PUHLEASE think of better questions for admitting kids?

Item #1 on today's blog agenda is my comment that despite folks lamenting how much our district needs and wants kids to attend their "neighborhood schools," they lie.

They "say" they want neighborhood schools, and then they bend over backwards into something out of the Kama Sutra to get their kids into any school but their kids' neighborhood school. 

They say, "We want neighborhood schools!!!" 

They mean, "We want neighborhood schools.....except for my child."

These parents say crappy stuff about their neighborhood school whether they have stepped foot in said school. And some teachers, YES, teachers, contribute to this nonsense by telling students and parents that some schools are better than others. And some of those teachers I'm almost certain have never set foot in some of these schools that they denigrate. 

And then the kids believe all they hear so that they have ZERO desire to attend their neighborhood school which leaves parents who are totally ok with their kids attending their neighborhood school (ME) being forced into navigating applications and all the other shit that goes along with choosing high schools. 

The paper that one diploma from the "best" school is printed on in our district is EXACTLY the FUCKING SAME as the paper from the "worst" school. 

Yes, you have arrived at Carrie's blog, V2: My kid doesn't want to attend his resides school. 

His reasoning is this:

1--I don't want to attend my resides high school. (He doesn't know why, although I would say it has something to do with all the junk parents and their kids and sometimes teachers says.)

2--He wants to go where there is a computer program. (Ok, that I can understand.)

3--He wants to go where his friends are applying. (Same thing his sister did even thought she ended up not even having classes with any of those friends like all four years but whatever.)

Since I'm been through this rodeo, despite how much it bugs the shit out of me, I'm like, "I don't have the energy for this crap a second time. Apply where you want, but I'm not driving your ass anywhere."

Item #2 on today's blog agenda is why do the applications ask questions that are so heavily focused on the extroverted among the population? 

Like "Describe 3 groups or extracurriculars you have been involved in."

Which is bunk because 13 months of those three years of middle school were spent doing NTI when no one could be involved in ANYTHING. And do they want to hear about what he did when he took swimming lessons at the Y when he was two???

But also, my middle kid isn't interested in being super involved person. (He is very, very, very much like my husband who has zero interest in involvement with most of the human race.) 

He is never going to join spirit club (unless he is interested in someone romantically who bends his arm to go to spirit club.) He is never going to join a sports team (and for that I say, THANK YOU, JESUS!)

I have grown into my introversion; I didn't always use to be like this. For many, many years, I was a good-time girl (although not a drunk, orgy-involved good time girl.) I like to go out and do things. 

But I firmly believe since becoming medicated and going through therapy that my constant busyness was to quiet my mind. Keeping myself busy meant I didn't have to deal with my thoughts and my anxiety (and I think this is why a lot of people have glorified busyness...so they don't have to deal with what is going on inside themselves because it is painful and scary.)

Why can't these application questions ask things like:

"Do you think it is more important to be a leader or a follower or is there a need for both? Explain? (Because by god, we can't all be leaders. And sometimes leaders need to sit their asses down and let other people do things.)

Do you consider yourself a person who gets their energy from people or from being by yourself? Explain. (Because this asks kids to consider some pretty important self-reflection prior to high school.)

I don't know if Albert Einstein actually said this, but there is a quote attributed to him that I like, especially since he was Albert fucking Einstein. And who cares whether Albert liked to go out partying with friends? He had a brilliant mind and some of that came from taking the quiet time required to think. 

"Although I am a typical loner in my daily life, my awareness of belonging to the invisible community of those who strive for truth, beauty, and justice has prevented me from feelings of isolation.”

We have such a joiner, chatty, involved mindset that we don't even understand that our questions leave out entire segments of students who may have lots of insightful things to offer but we ignore that they could even be parts of the equation. 

How I became an introvert

I haven't always been an introvert.

Or

I have always been an introvert but my anxiety made me need to go and do and talk so that I didn't have to deal with the fury that was my moods and fears and the depression that hovered nearby. 

I don't know which of these is the correct answer. 

What I do know is that my becoming what most people consider an introvert (who gets tired from being around other people or having to talk to other people for too long) happened slowly and over a long period of time.

I married an introvert and had to learn how to occupy myself and be ok with my own company. Sometimes when I don't feel like talking, I wonder if he thinks "What happened to her?" And to this I want to say, "Being married to you happened to me."  

However, I don't say this in a blaming way. I have always been attracted to introverts. My oldest friend from high school is an introvert, as is D. 

I clearly remember being intrigued by quiet people and what seemed to me their ability to just be in space and time. I felt frenetic (which is why I suspect untreated anxiety was part of it). I sucked at being quiet for a long time. 

And to be perfectly frank, I do talk easily to others. I'm not shy at all and will literally talk about anything. There are very few topics I won't talk about with other people, and the deeper the conversation, the better. So I think people sometimes confuse "having no filter" with being introverted, but there is a difference. 

Anyway, back to causes...

I became a mom and was with my children full-time for years and years, and that made me appreciate alone time in ways I hadn't before. Being a parent who works full-time outside the home is a challenge, but there are certain benefits that a full-time working inside the home parent doesn't get (like quiet car rides or lunches with adults or being able to pee at work alone). 

When I was teaching, it took a lot of my energy. During planning and after school, I did not want to sit around and chit-chat; I had stuff to do and wanted quiet in which to do it. 

It has recently occurred to me that my work for the past 11 years has involved me talking to people A LOT. Generally, I think of my freelancing as writing, and it obviously is, but what precedes that is a whole lot of communication. 

And now I do podcasting, which is more talking and listening. After 75-90 minutes of recording, I am ready to put myself in a dark room and be alone for at least a couple hours. 

The downside of becoming more introverted as I've gotten older means I'm less concerned about how I appear to other people. It means instead of making polite excuses, I will just say something like, "Ya'll have worn me out. I gotta go." 

O, the places I'm not going this spring break

I'm engaging in quite a bit of my own CBT this week as I see social media posts from people who are traveling.

On the one hand, even though I'm fully vaccinated, it gives me a severe case of the heebie-jeebies to see people out and about engaging in life. And I have to remind myself that the pictures they post are of their own families together outside. They aren't packed into a subway car mask-less with hundreds of strangers. 

My parents, who are also fully vaccinated, got together for a meal with several other also fully vaccinated couples for dinner (not at a restaurant; in one of their homes). My initial reaction that never got past my lips was, "OMG. Are you crazy?" 

But then I went through the "They are fully vaccinated. The other people are fully vaccinated. They are fine" mantra and was ok. 

I'm doing a lot of the self-talk business lately. 

As mentioned, I do some CBT to manage the anxiety of seeing people out doing stuff.

And then I do some CBT to help me manage my feelings of meh and self-pity at seeing other people doing stuff because we're not doing stuff (even though I don't yet feel comfortable doing stuff especially if it involves being on an airplane).

My brain is putting itself in freaking knots.

So I give my brain this talk:

Me: "Brain, you've gone some really cool places, and you'll go to some really cool places again just not right now."

Brain: "Yeah, ok."

Me: "And you wouldn't enjoy traveling right now because the boys aren't vaccinated so you wouldn't want to fly. And you don't want to stay in a hotel. And you wouldn't feel comfortable going out to eat at restaurants."

Brain: "Yeah. You're right."

Me: "Not to mention that you've been able to save a crazy amount of money this year from not going places which means you may be able to do some stuff to the house that you've been wanting to do."

Brain: 'Yeah. That would be good."

Me: "And finally, Brain, you know as well as anyone that pics on social media are one moment in time. You've posted your own pics that make everything look amazing and wonderful even when five seconds later you felt like murdering your entire family."

Brain: "True, all."

Me: "So quit feeling mopey and boring. Life is 95% mopey and boring, and you know that. Cool it."

I'm finding that navigating all the rules and protocols and reservation systems is overwhelming me and taking all the fun out of doing stuff and that is just attempting to do stuff in my city. (We had a zoo attempt failure a couple weeks ago). 

I can't handle the idea of doing this from several states (or countries) away. YIKES!

This summer we're going two hours away and that will be good enough. 

I am having to remind myself a lot (more CBT) that it took me months to get used to pandemic life and it will take as long if not longer to readjust to whatever is going to look like normal. 

All the anxiety all the time

It seems my anxiety has become more problematic than it has been.

Overall, in the spring, I think I was doing pretty well, all things considered.
I was ok being at home all the time.
I was ok with staying isolated.

But this past weekend, I realized that my anxiety is starting to rear its head in ways that make me irritated and irritable and likely to fly off the handle over darn near anything.

Because anxiety often presents not as fear but as rage.

I think this anxiety is due to the following:
--the increasing levels of COVID in the country when much of the rest of the world (the sane parts) has gotten a grip on how to manage this virus.
--A former colleague who had posted on FB that a close friend of hers had COVID updated that this person had died over the weekend from COVID.
--My MIL's neighbor has COVID (although he is asymptomatic at this time).
--This evening, my daughter's text that members of her school field hockey team are isolated because they went to a Young Life event and someone is COVID-positive, therefore many of her teammates are at home.

I am feeling weighed down by the fact that what we thought was terrible in the spring and shut everything down for is now WORSE.

I am anxious, but that anxiety is manifesting as fury, and I am also furious by the general stupidity of people so I am anxiously furious and straight-up furious, and that makes me bad news right now.

Take your uncomfortable feeling and sit with it

Affrilachian poet Frank X. Walker published a poem this week.
Reading it made me feel uncomfortable.
That uncomfortable feeling was me recognizing that the poem's sentiment was honest and accurate.
What role do white women play in the raising of men who perpetrate brutality against blacks?

From my experience with OCD, I know that one of the ways to make it better or lessen its impact is to do what is called "sit with your anxiety."
Part of the reason people with OCD do their compulsions is to reduce the uncomfortable feelings they have.
The problem of giving in to the compulsion is that while it makes a person feel better for the moment, it makes the anxiety worse overall, which requires you to do more compulsions or new compulsions to make the anxiety go away.
"Sitting with your anxiety" is extremely uncomfortable but it is what is necessary to help truly master OCD and not be controlled by it.

I have seen at least two instances this week in which white women I know have posted their thoughts and/or feelings on social media regarding protests or wishing all this what they call "meanness" in the world would go away.
When their comments were challenged, they did not "sit with their feelings."
They deleted what they wrote and went back to "only happy, positive posts now."

While doing this may lessen their negative and/or uncomfortable feelings, it is indicative of white privilege.
They have the luxury of not dealing with the meanness of the world because of their color.
It is easy for them to slip back into the comfy, secure confines of whiteness where life is, perhaps not always easy or simple, but easier than if their skin color impacted how they were treated or viewed by others.

Sitting with the uncomfortable is, in my opinion, part of the hard work of understanding what your bias and prejudices are.
It isn't fun.
But it is necessary.

This week, a teacher friend posted the Harvard Implicit Bias Test.
There are numerous tests a person can choose, but I took the race one.
And before I took it I was scared.
I did not want to know what it would tell me.
What if what I thought I knew about my bias/prejudice was not accurate?
What if I had to look my bias/prejudice in the face and see myself for what I am?

And yet, that feeling of being scared that I felt was a luxury.
Feeling scared by what an online test will tell me about myself is so far removed from the feelings of fear that come from
driving while Black.
jogging while Black.
babysitting while Black.
eating ice cream while Black.
sleeping while Black.
bird-watching while Black.
kneeling while Black.

It's surreal in all kinds of ways

I often read historical books and think to myself, "I wonder what it was really like to live during whatever horrible event occurred."

My 4th grader and I just finished Number the Stars by Lois Lowry, and so my thoughts have been on life-altering, catastrophic events because I've been reading about them fictionally and non-fictionally (every time I read the newspaper).

This pandemic is surreal to me.

I generally always think that people experienced "the worst possible," but that is not the case, and I sometimes need reminders.

When 9-11 happened, it was life-altering for me, but I didn't experience the worst of it. New York City, both then and now, has been hammered.
There are degrees of experience.

Apparently, the country is anticipating over 134,000 deaths, more or less.
With states opening back up, that number is likely to increase.
What I wish I knew is how many people test positive who are completely asymptomatic.
That seems important but not included in the stats I'm seeing.
I see how many people test positive, but I don't know are they mildly sick, hospital-level sick?
There is so much we still don't know or understand about this virus.

There is economic fall-out no matter what course states and governments take.
If we close for longer, people suffer.
If we open back up, people suffer.
I think only hindsight will tell us in which scenario people suffered more.

What reading the aforementioned children's chapter book has made me notice and feel a little mystified about is the whininess I see, at least among the people I know and who post on social media.

I, too, want life to return to normal.
I, too, would like a haircut.
I, too, would like to take my kid to his orthodontist appointment.
I don't love substitute teaching but I would LOVE nothing more than for life to return to normal when I could substitute teach.
I would love to feel comfortable going to the grocery without a mask and browsing (and I hate to shop).

But my basic needs are met.
I have food, water, shelter, and prescription medication.
Everything else is an inconvenience.
It might be an inconvenience that makes me wanna cuss, but it is an inconvenience.

I have recently seen a petition going around with folks whining about maybe or maybe not being able to go to the pool which seems like a whole lotta privilege making its way to social media.
I both get it and hate it at the same time.

The petition itself doesn't make me cringe; it is the comments that go with the petition like, "How will I live this summer without going to the pool?"
And I'm struggling to know whether such statements are hyperbole especially after reading my fair share of books about people who lived during circumstances and times when even walking down the street put them in the range of a Nazi's gun.
When a hunk of cheese was a luxury and treat.
For some individuals right now during this pandemic, a hunk of cheese is a luxury and a treat.

And there are people in our city whose pools were shut down ages ago for reasons I don't even know. Because of the expense?
Because the pools are in the West End which has been redlined to death?
Because the pools were for the poorer and blacker segments of the community?

Also surreal to me is seeing the same folks who make the argument that women shouldn't have abortions even though pregnancy has severe financial/economic implications also argue that people should be allowed back to work because the pandemic has severe financial/economic implications.

How is the right of one person to control their body and what they do with it because of finances not the same as the right of another person to control their body and what they do with it because of finances, especially when harm to others' lives is the result?

Is it because harm to the fetus is a definite and harm to someone else (an older person/medically fragile person) because of COVID-19 is only possible?

It is surreal that individuals worship a Jesus who is compassionate and empathic and yet also support a president who hasn't the ability to offer true compassion and empathy to others, a man who has a necrotizing case of "it's all about me."

It is beyond bizarre to me.
And I guess it always has been but I didn't have the unfettered time to think about it almost constantly.

Yesterday felt like screaming into the void

Yesterday just felt like a shitshow, but I guess some days are like that...
even in Australia
even during a pandemic quarantine.

It just felt like all the wrongs were happening.
(And even though they were wrongs in my world, I know full-well they were minor wrongs compared to the frustrations that other people are dealing with in the midst of the pandemic.)

The computer (due to the latest update) no longer reads my iPod, which I didn't discover until after I'd done a phone interview for a magazine article and needed to transfer the audio file to the computer.
So that frustration then bled into other frustrations and responsibilities (like G having teletherapy and me trying to get the boys to do some school work), all of which would feel petty and minor under normal circumstances but feel monumental right now.

And then I read Twitter about the president suggesting life go back to normal by Easter, and that just completely set me off in anger.

I felt like I was standing on a precipice, screaming into the void that if the economy is bad now, just imagine what it will be if the health care system completely collapses and if people are dying by the multiple hundreds each day.

Inside my head, I was screaming that only the most inhumane people would say sacrifice the elders. I was screaming about the absurdity of people who claim to value "all life" and then take risks with other people's lives (by not quarantining until they get the official word that they have coronavirus; I'm talking about you, Rand Paul.)

And while I was internally railing, I recognized with greater clarity than I usually have how little control I have over anything.

But I never have control, whether there is a pandemic or not.

The great delusion we tell ourselves is that we can control our lives.
We control our choices, but we don't control the outcomes of our choices.
A person can make all the "right" choices and life still goes in whatever direction it goes.
The person who eats right, exercises, and doesn't smoke, can have a fatal heart attack at age 40.
Certain choices may help propel life in a certain direction, but not necessarily and with no guarantees.

The boys have rediscovered the old Xbox and, because it is older than the hills, it promptly died when they turned it on and tried to use it.
This brought G to tears because he closely associates things with his childhood memories.
If something breaks or I get rid of it, he has always said I'm destroying his "childhood."

His therapist is working with him on understanding that everything changes; we lose everything.
Because OCD is all about wanting to have control over everything; wanting things that don't make sense to make sense.
Sometimes it seems like OCD therapy combined with the principles of Buddhism.

Last night, when I comforted G about his sadness over the Xbox breaking, I told him about Buddhism and impermanence.
Nothing lasts.
Everything changes.
Everything dies or breaks or falls apart.
The memories are not in the Xbox but inside his head and heart.
(I didn't add that one day those will be lost to impermanence when he dies because that is just too, too heavy right now.)

In telling him about this, it served as therapy for me.
A reminder that this moment in time is impermanent.
I am impermanent.
My grasping at control is futile.
I can only make my own choices, which are to quarantine and keep my family safe.
I cannot control anything else.
Craving, grasping and clinging cause me suffering.

Quarantine(ish), Day Whatever

I bounce from Facebook to Twitter, and I hope between the two, I find some balance.

Right now Facebook is all "let's share pictures of our weird little pinky toes" and other try-to-feel-light in this moment of definite not-lightness.

Twitter is all "THE WORLD IS ON FIRE," which I think is actually more true and realistic.
But I'm already sad and scared, and I really do not need or want to ramp it up to suicidal.

I am not even remotely trying to keep a schedule beyond everyone getting ready for bed at 9 pm and still reading to the boys.

I am asking them to do a little school-work each day, and I mean a little.

I am trying to do a little of my own work each day, and I mean a little.

There is absolutely no sense in attempting to keep anything normal when nothing is normal.

If there was ever a time to ask, "Will this particular minuscule thing matter in 5 years or 5 months?" now is that time.

The only thing that matters is keeping my family safe.
Food, shelter, clothing, and sanity.

How far ahead or behind they are in math? Doesn't matter right now.
Whether their MAP score was higher in inference or main ideas? Doesn't matter right now.
Spending too much time playing video games? Doesn't matter right now.
Eating more Girl Scout cookies than I'd like them to? Doesn't matter right now.

I'm content with meeting the red and orange in Maslow's pyramid.
The fact that we are all together in our house forces us to deal in the yellow.

I'm very good at handling one crisis at a time.

When my mother was diagnosed with her first case of breast cancer in early 1997, I put mine and D's wedding on hold.
I could not proceed with a wedding until I knew what we were dealing with for mom.
Once I had a handle on that, I could move forward.

Life with COVID-19 is much the same.
I am doing what I have to do with meh effort.
Once I (and everyone) has good information, I can move forward.

Charles Dickens had it right in an age of anxiety

The first paragraph of A Tale of Two Cities are applicable to right this moment:

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair. We had everything before us, we had nothing before us. We were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way."

These words have popped into my head amid the COVID-19 pandemic. We will see both the best in humanity as well as the worst. It will be a time of glaring selfishness (ALL the toilet paper) and a time of kindness that will make you cry.

Twice since Thursday, I have caught myself brought to a feeling of tearfulness over the kindness that someone has done or said. And I am in no way, shape, or form a tearful person.

We are currently seeing the wisdom and the foolishness--the people who are being mindfully aware and heeding scientists' instructions, and the people who think this entire thing is a joke.

Internally, I am struggling.

Although anxiety medication keeps me calm on the surface, I can feel a rumbling underneath.
I imagine it is what a volcano feels like in the days before an eruption.
From the outside, things appear calm; from the inside, there is much churning and roiling of hot liquid flames.

I suspect I am either experiencing a weird form of stress-induced neuralgia, or I'm having the early stages of a shingles outbreak.
A spot on my abdomen, which was fine on Monday, is now tingling and weirdly uncomfortable.

I am having to manage my own anxiety while trying to dampen my children's anxiety.

Trying to remind them that this is temporary; that this is one of those valleys that life throws you; while we may not be at the deepest part of the valley, eventually it will rise.

All the things I'm thinking about the pandemic

1. Now everyone knows what it feels like to have OCD. The panicky feeling of uncertainty. The catastrophic "what ifs." Imagine experiencing that for everything, all the time, when there is not a global pandemic. 

2. I have spoken to my doctor about COVID-19, and I know people who work in the ER. COVID-19, as Italy is showing us, has the potential to bring the health care system to its knees. While I am not necessarily worried about me catching it, or my children catching it, I am concerned about what it could mean for all the people who end up needing non-COVID care if the hospitals become overwhelmed with providing COVID-19 care. 

What I think about is that IF you experience a heart attack and go to the hospital, your care could be compromised.

IF you are in a car accident and are rushed to the hospital, your care could be compromised.

IF you have a kidney stone attack and go to the hospital, your care could be compromised.

IF you develop appendicitis and go to the hospital, your care could be compromised.

IF you are shot and go to the hospital, your care could be compromised.

IF you have an accident with a tool or a kitchen knife and go to the hospital, your care could be compromised.

IF you develop symptoms of a stroke and go to the hospital, your care could be compromised.

IF you have an allergic reaction to something and go to the hospital, your care could be compromised.

IF you are pregnant, begin experiencing complications, and go to the hospital, your care could be compromised.

Even if your care isn't compromised, you could end up catching the virus from all the people at the hospital who have it, if it comes to that. 

Of course, those are a lot of ifs, but people need emergency or urgent care for lots of reasons all the time. Our hospitals can only handle so many patients with so many critical needs. 

3. The people who are blowing this off seem to lack imagination and empathy. 

4. The people who are blowing this off are also scared. Fear can make you do a couple different things. One of those things is FIGHT. In the case of COVID-19, it is taking precautions and doing everything possible to fight against getting it. The other thing is FLIGHT, which can be denial. 

"Oh, it's no big deal."
"It's just like flu."

"It's the media overhyping everything."

Maybe you think you are coming across as assured and confident, but I read it as FRIGHTENED, just like the rest of us. 

5. If this virus blows over, and the US doesn't experience a huge increase in cases and deaths, it will be because of public health experts and people heeding their advice. And possibly luck. 

I suspect that people who wonder why they had to learn about exponential change in math because they would NEVER need it in real life are finding out why they needed to know something about it. 

The reflection after the drama

So I've done four interviews about the hullabaloo at the school.
I have tried to state the facts to the best of my knowledge, with my knowledge including things that I was told after Saturday, like how parents tried to get the school to relax the dress code.

I have tried to stay away from social media because it makes me second guess myself.
The people who say things like, "You knew the rules and didn't follow them."

But then, before I doubt myself too much, I'm reminded of other rules that people in other times and places have been supposed to follow.
They were posted, and if people didn't follow them, they should just suffer the consequences.
They told you, and you didn't do what they said.

Like segregated water fountains.
And interracial marriage.
And the ability to be gay and love who you want.
And the freedom to worship as you want.
Not that I even remotely equate a dress code to these, but the way these rules, including a dress code, make people feel is the same.
Less than.
Not worthy.
Inadequate.
Inferior.

I have always been a rule-questioner, which is why organized religion and I don't always get along.
I have always tried to ask myself, "What is right?" with rightness being determined mostly by the Golden Rule.
Treat other people the way you want to be treated.
I have never, in my life, had my clothing measured unless I was paying someone to alter them.
Why would I want anyone to measure my daughter's clothing to tell her whether she was appropriate enough to attend a school dance?

Anxious mom sending her anxious child to middle school

Here is what rational brain keeps saying:

You worried about how he'd do in preschool, and he did great.
You worried about how he'd do in elementary school, and he did great.
You are probably worrying about how he'll do in middle school, and he'll probably do great.

Irrational brain, however, is over here beating this drum:

He's going to be miserable. His OCD will go off-the-chain. He is going to start failing classes. It is going to be an even bigger vat of suck than what middle school already is. 

I think part of the reason I haven't been crazy gung-ho for school to start is because of G starting middle school and just not knowing what this is going to mean for him, for me, and for our family.
This year I have been happy to live in a little bubble of avoidance.

G's modus operandi has always been to do great at school, to hold it together there, and then lose his freaking mind at home. Become tantrumy and belligerent.
This is not unusual for kids with anxiety.

He had gotten to a point where this wasn't happening other than a rare episode.
I don't want to start this again, even though I know we have a physician in place now to help us.

So with this school year, I'm not over-the-top exuberant to have my house to myself again because even though I have been able to clean with the peace of knowing that it will stay clean until approximately 2:45, I'm an anxious pile of goo at the prospect of how G is, how he's feeling, and how he will react or decompress when he gets home. 

Because what's the point of worrying (said my medication)

If ever I've recognized that my antidepressant medication is working it is the last four months.

Dad had his open heart surgery in February and while I was concerned, I felt like things would work out ok.
I felt this way even when Mom called me back to the hospital because they took Dad back into surgery to ensure he wasn't bleeding.
They were being precautious, not necessarily indicating that something was definitely wrong.
It was better to do this before his breathing tube had been removed.

If ever I've realized my meds work is when Mom told me a few weeks ago that her biopsy came back showing breast cancer.
Unlike the first time, 22 years ago, I didn't go into shock.
I didn't put a hold on my life and plans (which is what I did when D and I were engaged).
At that time, I stopped wedding planning.
I stopped talking about the wedding.
I had to compartmentalize my life because there was no going forward until I knew what was up with Mom.

My ability to just keep swimming probably has a lot to do with being a parent now, too.
(Although I think the medication is the bigger part of it.)
Life just doesn't stop for me because I have three other people whose lives don't just stop.
Since I am the coordinator of and driver for those three lives, I don't get to hole up and die.

Our family has one more major surgery coming in June--my nephew has pectus excavatum and will undergo surgery, a hospital stay, and a pretty significant recovery period.

I am hoping that this completes the cycle of "Stressful/Bad Things Come in Threes."

During all this stuff with my parents, I have been pretty open on social media as a way to keep our family and their friends informed.

These postings present me with a mixed bag of feelings primarily because, thus far, I've had good news to report.
While I know people want to know, and it is easier for me to communicate via social media, I feel a bit of "survivor's guilt."
Dad came through surgery well and has done a bang-up job in recovery.
Mom's node is benign so we expect her treatment beyond surgery should be minimal. (Possibly even just medication.)

Posting something socially as a way to keep folks informed makes me think about the people I know who have had to report unpleasant, scary, and downright sad things about their family members.
I know my thoughts of them are cold comfort.
I don't feel pity, but I wish they hadn't gone through pain.
Of course, we all go through pain.
It is the timing and the specifics of that pain that differs from person to person.

I don't and won't say things like "Praise God" or anything of the sort in relation to my mom's or dad's surgeries.
Or my nephew's.
I have asked people at church to keep them on the prayer list (because I do believe, if nothing else, prayer allows for a sense of community and a show of support).
I'm also "out-there" enough to believe that the energy of combined prayer can have mystical effects.

However, social media easy communication makes me think overthink about what I write when I post.

For example, I have always, always felt horribly uncomfortable with the notion of praising God when news is good.
I don't do it.
I feel uncomfortable when I see other people do it.

Because if I heap the praise on God when all goes well, what do I do when news is bad?
Praise God that this whole mess sucks ass?
Because if we're honest, I'm not loving having both parents deal with such MAJOR stuff within 3 months.

How do I praise God that my dad survived open heart surgery when someone else's dad doesn't?
That my mom's cancer hasn't metastasized when someone else's mother's cancer has?

(I realize faith and logic are not the same things.)
(But I am a logical person, so faith does not come easily for me.)
(I'm not even sure where the idea of fairness is supposed to come into this dilemma.)

Which goes back to my medication, which has allowed my anxious mind to quiet, to find peace.
And that wasn't nebulous floating God from the heavens sending a nebulous floating cloud of don't worry down to me.
That was God in the form of other human beings helping me.
Because praying to nebulous floating God didn't work for me, even though I tried and tried to make it work that way.
For years.
If I believe that each person is uniquely different, then I believe that God reaches us in uniquely different ways, with uniquely different methods and timeframes.
Your way is not my way.
My way is not your way.
Each of our ways is right.for.us.

I just now found this quote from comedian Peter Holmes who used to be an evangelical, and I find this resonates with me. I don't think God is Santa Claus or a Fairy Godmother. He's not going to grant my wishes.

I see God is as awareness. And it's something that we're not equal to, but that we're participating with. And the best chance we have at experiencing it and feeling it is not just having an ecstatic experience. It's finding your dignified, inherent place in its flow, through using myth, metaphor, ritual, chanting, meditation.. We're trying to wake up not just to a new set of beliefs, but to our place in the river. And there's all this resistance. And that's all ego stuff. And there's all these, all these, like, you know, headaches and whatever. And when we're quiet, and when we quiet that stuff down, and we can feel and identify with our piece of "divine awareness" then that's when you'll kind of find your flow.

The lice learning experience

If you think when you're 45 years old, you won't need your mom anymore, you're wrong.
You will probably need her to check your head for lice on a Tuesday when your son has lice on a Monday.

If you think you have learned all there is to know when you're 45 years old, you would be wrong because on a Monday your son has lice.
And you've never experienced that before.
So you jump down a rabbit hole of online information and get very confused.
Should you pack your unwashable items in a sealed bag for 3 days or 30 days? Which is right?
Should you dry your pillows in high heat for 30 minutes or 45 minutes? Which is right?

You send your husband out to get RID, and you start what becomes a seemingly never-ending hair-combing extravaganza.
You put everything you own in garbage bags and seal them with packing tape.
You could build a fort in your dining room with all the bags.
But you don't because you're too busy combing hair and disinfecting the combs afterward.

You end up on the phone with your friend, who you know has experienced lice once, and then she tells you her family has experienced it 7 times.
And she got valuable information from a mutual friend who has a Ph.D. in public health.
And when she suggests you check in at the lice clinic, you do.

So by Friday, your heads are clear.
But you keep combing anyway because when you're 45 years old and you have anxiety, a little extra combing is what you need to avoid drinking all the wine in the city because you've now got a little PTSD from those approximately 96 hours of lice.

Serious, sensitive, uptight, and sometimes funny.

I have been knee-deep the last 4 weeks in subbing and doing observations for the grad class I'm taking.

I cannot wait until this class is over. I'm nearly halfway through my 90 hours.

Even though I have until December to get done, my goal is to be wrapped up by the second week of November. (If everything goes as I hope, I'll be done by the end of October.)

I'm hoping to sub for an English teacher at N's school after Thanksgiving and through Christmas break.

Normally, because of my cottage school Fridays, I am unable to take long-term sub jobs, but I'll be on break from the cottage school then, and I think it would be a good experience for me.

If there is anything that observing is doing for me it is helping me remember what kind of teacher I am.

I have a theory about what makes a great teacher: it is a special deep-roasted blend of personality, knowledge, and organization.
To be great, all 3 have to be present.
A good teacher has to have two of these traits.
If I have to choose which one is missing, it is organization. Better to be a bit scatter-brained than lacking in basic knowledge of the content or have the personality of a parched hat.
A meh teacher has one-and-a-half traits.
Just one trait and..... well, we've all had a one-trait teacher.

I try not to talk too often about the grad class because it is a bit of nonsense that just makes me clench my teeth.
I've been observed two times by my college instructor and he has given me "tips" like, try the Jigsaw method of teaching.
That in itself is not a bad tip, but the reason I don't try the Jigsaw method is because THIS IS NOT MY FREAKING CLASSROOM, AND THIS TEACHER DOES HER ROOM AND STRUCTURE A CERTAIN WAY, WHICH I FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE MUCKING WITH FOR TWO LESSONS, AND IT IS PLUM WEIRD FOR ME TO COME IN AND DO ALL SORTS OF CONTRIVED GYMNASTICS JUST TO SHOW OFF FOR A COLLEGE CLASS.

(unclenches teeth)
(takes deep breath)

When I did this song and dance nearly two decades ago, I was the dumb "untried" teacher, like the "untried" parent I was before I had kids.
I knew SO MUCH!
I had all sorts of thoughts about what I would do when x, y, and z happened. I wouldn't do this, and I wouldn't do that.
Now, after having experience as a teacher, a sub (and in parenting), I've eaten enough crow to know that I should leave off the criticism and just do my thing.
I'm wise enough to know that I would do things differently not because I know more or am better or someone else is worse but because I am me, and I listen to my own drummer, and I have to follow that tune.

I do not pretend to know everything about everything related to English teaching.
I most certainly do not know everything.
But what I do know about myself is that, considering I haven't had a lick of professional development in 14 years, I know some things about how to make a lesson engaging.
I'm not loosey-goosey and go with the flow.
I'm uptight and mostly serious, but with a funny streak when I feel like it.
But I'm mostly uptight and sensitive and serious.

Which makes me take this grad class way more seriously than I probably should.
And push myself way harder than I probably should.
Countdown to done starts soon.
And my teeth will thank me.

Colonoscopy (I hate poop and all things related to poop)

Maybe everyone hates poop, I don't know.
But I really, really hate poop.
I always attribute it to my OCD--it is definitely one of my triggers.

I'm an equal opportunity poop-hater.
I hate my poop, and I hate your poop.

When the kids were in diapers, I could handle changing them and cleaning up poop UNLESS it was poop in the bath.
Oh my god--call hazmat.
Nothing set me off like that.
My hands would bleed from the bleach and the cleaning I did of the bathroom after that.

If I have to plunge the toilet and a sprinkle of toilet water gets on my sock, I have to change the sock because I will be able to feel that place on the sock for the entire day, even when it is dry.

My dislike of poop has a long history.

My dad had ulcerative colitis for over 20 years.
He started with it in his forties and eventually had his colon removed in his sixties.
(He has been much happier since then. I wouldn't have waited nearly as long to take that step.)

The house we lived in when I was a kid had one bathroom, which means that whether we liked it or not, we all were very much aware of my dad's condition.
You couldn't take a bath or a shower without him needing to use the toilet.

I spent years of my young adult life worrying that I would develop ulcerative colitis.
What I did have was irritable bowel syndrome, which was its own kind of literal pain in the butt.

Once I went on Lexapro, the IBS went away.

Fast forward to now.

I'm soon to have my first colonoscopy, and I am pissed about it.

You would think that someone would have discovered a better, less invasive, less time-consuming way to check the colon.
I'm pissed because I hate medical procedures in general.
I'm pissed because I hate not being able to eat for an entire day and a half.
I'm pissed because it is bad enough having to poop as part of life, but taking concoctions to make yourself poop is disgusting.

But I'm doing this because the American Cancer Society has now changed its recommendation that instead of age 50, people should have their first colonoscopies at age 45.

I'll be 45 in September, and I'd rather get this shit (literal and figurative) done now before school begins.

Plus, I think age-related hormones are making my bowel habits change, and I just want to ensure it is hormones and not anything more serious.
Like I need more reasons to hate perimenopause.

Plus, plus, the gal I subbed for regularly buried her 49-year-old husband in May. His cancer started in his colon and spread to his lungs and liver.

Another friend of mine is dating a guy who is 50 and has been diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer.

Because I'll be hangry and moody, I've told D to just drop me off and come back for me.

I'm liable to say embarrassing things to nurses and doctors because, although I'm generally an easy-going individual, when you make me fast AND make me poop AND then want to jam a tube in my rear-end, I'm not a nice person.

All things related to poop are a dignity-suck, as far as I'm concerned.

I'm making them put a note in my chart that I will go ballistic if the doctor even thinks about sending me home with photos of my colon (which is what he handed me a year ago when D had his colonoscopy).

Who the f*ck wants a picture of their colon?