Today was, by far, not scary. Nor was it spooky, frightful, haunting, or any other of a hundred synonymous words. It has been fairly relaxed, laid back, full of laze, and quite relaxing (once the school day ended).

Two or three years ago, I would be sitting at home right now before a veritable bonfire of candles and incenses, burying my face in Tarot cards. And while I still might do that for fun, it doesn’t hold the same utterly somber significance it once had. As I take inventory on the last night of the Witches’ Wheel, I find that I have little faith in anything beyond my body and those things I can interact with physically and mentally, and perhaps even emotionally. Over time, Spirit in any form has moved itself from my life. I have lost touch with the Old Ones I used to worship dearly, and have lost the fanatical edge regarding so many thoughts I’ve held so dear all this time. Some thoughts I’ve abandoned altogether, like the thought of an afterlife.

So, on this night when the Veil Between Worlds is supposed to be thinnest, I will be watching movies. What movies you say? Why, Jesus Camp, I reply. Yes, nothing makes for a holy Pagan night like watching a film that makes you sick to your stomach at fanatical evangelical Christians. It’s probably even lightly sensational. And I’ll be polishing off a bag of Halloween Oreo’s, cause that’s how we celebrate this holiday in my family. Have ever since the glorious cookies ever came to be.

Tomorrow is the first day of NaBloPoMo, and I thought of making another post to hang up there in the event that I can’t get to the computer tomorrow, but that ain’t happening. Last year when I did this event, I had been blogging for a little over two weeks, gearing up for the whole shebang. Now, I’m not quite so shiny and new at this, so I’m not sure how its going to go. It’s been a bit since I really heavily blogged. Much has happened since then, of course, so its all rightly justified.

That said, be expecting a whole lot more of me, and, if I get my ass in gear, a whole lot more of me in other places too. Thinking of starting a second blog, just for fun.

1. As I’m going through this little list of things I’ve found, I’m wondering about number 29: “If I were a Television Producer.” I would put together a whole post about this, and may still, but I’m thinking about why there aren’t serious gay characters on standard issue TV. Gay people are real too, people. Realize it.

2. I shouldn’t've had that brownie with ice cream that was oh so gooey and delicious.

3. Pagan Quill…Pagan Quill, Pagan Quill, Pagan Quill…

4. I have class in the morning.

5. I have class in the morning, oh my god.

6. I will not let junior high students tell me how to dress. Honestly, they have tried.

7. I like side projects, but I’m wondering if taking any of them on would be a good idea. Eh, why worry. Do cool stuff, have good fun, right?

8. Halloween is tomorrow, and the party is Friday! Hollah!

9. My grandfather is getting married this weekend. I understand the need to get on with your life, but sometimes, you need to let people grieve before you go making a lot of changes in things. Getting married is one thing; getting your whole family to instantly accept the new part of your life on a holiday is something else.

10. I hope I’m ready for this NaBloPoMo thing…

from youtube.

he says he’s worried for our children.
something has gone terribly awry in our system’s system’s system
the metacogs of clocks the run backwards and forwards
backwards and forwards
backwards and forwards
one step forward one step back until the halting action of
percussion hands on foreheads is louder than the ticking off of people

he says he’s worried
and that the way things are going, it just ain’t right
how are we gonna go around letting the middle class suck the life out of the poor children
the ones with no ibuprofren-laden cabinets and robitussen bedsheets
the ones without bedsheets at all
how are we gonna let those just-above-minimum-wage ironing board vampires
use the money we’ve set aside for children’s health preservation
they have money let them spend their own

he says it won’t work like it’s going
and something has to change, something important, something now
something very very now
and he holds his pen like a doctor holds a thermometer and says say ah
and it should feel better
and with pen in hand he scratches out the prescriptions that save lives
and with pen in hand he removes chances to survive
and with pen in hand he claims he’s making our lives better for everyone
our lives better for everyone else

so fatal strokes go down the cotton white linen fifty pound cardstock paper they use to print the really important bills so they can frame them up on coffins when the affects of the drills of democracy come about too late or too soon for anyone to do anything about them and all they look like draped over a coffin is an american flag burning out the tunes we used to sing ourselves to sleep with oh come all ye faithful oh say can you see

he says he worried that the poor children will just get taken advantage of
better kill them quicker
save time
when money that isn’t yours is the only way you are going to stay healthy stay alive
its better to end the suffering soon
who knows what villain might scoop it up before its your turn

lucky for us this isn’t socialized medicine we’re dispensing here

they say I look worried
they say I look like I’ve not slept since the night they hauled that guy in for murder
I remind them they haven’t done it yet.

I was at Fallen Words and saw thought I’d pick this up.

The sound shook his bones,
like a cymbal
crashing fast against his soul.

A soul detached from mind and body,
shivering in the dark
and fearing the coming light.

He fled to a dingy back alley
and waited. A wind rushed

to meet him at the end-
with that terrible sound wound through it.

And all he could do was wonder if he remembered to lock his front door,
or if his memories would be taken away with his sanity?

He crouched down, curling into his grief,
And all he could do was fight for water memories and gas-lit stoves still on.

the last line is mine.

Do you want to add the next line? Here are instructions to take part in this game:

It’s a game of poetry tag. Be the first to post TAG in the comments. Then take these lines and add one, in a post on your own blog, along with these instructions. Whoever adds the nineteenth line then takes the poem to Poets Who Blog at http://poetswhoblog.blogspot.com/ and puts the whole poem in the comment section there. Each person who plays need to also mention what site you were at when you found the poem so that other bloggers can follow the breadcrumbs back to this poem. You can play more than once but not twice in a row.

The 12 Suggested Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous
1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol–that our lives had become unmanageable.
2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
5. Admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.
11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God, as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

From:
ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS
The Story of
How many Thousands of Men and Women Have Recovered from Alcoholism
NEW AND REVISED EDITION
(Second Edition)
ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS PUBLISHING, INC.
NEW YORK CITY
1955
pp. 59-60

Note that this is not a checklist. Well, I guess it is a checklist, but its a sequential checklist. You follow it from one to twelve, no deviation, no skipping, no starting in the middle. Of course, in all honesty, it does list itself as “suggested.” However, this is the format the list takes in many forms of an Alcoholics Anonymous organization, and it printed in a similar for an organizational meeting.This list dates back to the 1930s, during Prohibition. So, to say that it’s outdated is a little understating. Also, I want to point out a couple things.

First, I want you to notice how often the language includes words referencing “God” or a “higher Power.” This means, without any clarification necessary, that this model is a Christian one, or at least one rooted in Christian concerns, which makes total sense considering from whence it came. According to the AA website, American courts often contribute 11% of membership. Translation: Of the 2,000,000 people that call themselves members, 220,000 are there by court order. While we may still be a country of 300 million people, 220,000 thousand is a lot. You’ve probably never seen that many people in one place at one time in your life.

Now, according to this article, the AA, under scrutiny of the the Seeger and Malnak tests (tests that determine the religiosity of an organization) does not classify as a religion, but its members do engage in religious activity, and so are protected by the Free Exercise Clause of the First Amendment.

I’m thinking right now about how an organization that isn’t a religion can foster religious attitudes. My brain tells me this is either one of two things: 1) total crap; 2) a cult, but probably more appropriately named a religion. Or a cult. Or a religion. You pick. I’m going with number one.

If such an organization’s members are so protected, yet even one of its members is forced there by law, this means this is either 1) a court-appointed load of crap; or 2) a court-appointed religion. Or cult. I’m going with number two on this one.

That said, it would be very unconstitutional (as though there are degrees of constitutionality) to order someone participate in the AA at any level of government. I have a problem with this, and you probably should as well. When I first figured this out, I said to myself, I said, self I said, this is how they will first encourage a state sponsored religion: through recovery aid.

That leads me to point two. Read the whole 12 steps again. Do you see anything about feeling good about the road long traveled, or taking control of your life again? I don’t. I see a long and arduous process of self-destruction of confidence, esteem and morale. I see blithering minds that seek release from a life of chaos. And that’s before they enter the program. Can you imagine what someone going through this program has to endure to be “successful?”

I can also hear someone screaming at their computer screen, “My life (or brother’s or sister’s or whoever’s) life was saved by AA, you beepity beep.” Uh huh. I have a hard time believing that giving up self-control has saved anything for you. It’s a process of forfeiture. I know this because my brother, who is only 18, go through the process when he was much younger than this. It’s the same 12 steps, regardless of age, by the way.

He spent most of his life up to that point feeling like he couldn’t control his world, made none of his own choices, and felt the only escape was through narcotic drugs and prescription medications. And alcohol. And self-concocted doses of something or other. He gets sent away to a camp where he has to participate in this demeaning process, and what does he get in return? A little gold coin with a “you did it” on the back. It’s called a sobriety chip. For an adult who can appreciate symbolism as reward, it would work fine, but I can’t imagine a results-now teenager having any stock in such things. My brother didn’t.

Please do not support this organization. It’s own personal studies do no reveal any of its success statistics. According to a 1989 report shown on Penn & Teller: Bullshit! (also, info here), AA only has a 5% success rate. And the percentage of people who succeed without AA: 5%. And I’m sure they feel a lot better about themselves in the end.

Ordinary, said Aunt Lydia, is what you are used to.
–Margaret Atwood
The Handmaid’s Tale

So, two days ago, I text my mother, telling her I’m quitting my job (which I’m kidding about) and we talk about how all that goes, and she gives me hints on how to deal, as she is an amazing corporate manager who kicks much accounting ass and I love her. I take the hints with me, sleep hard on my chaotic head, and wake up tired. The next day (being yesterday) was a day full of military vigor. I stood before my class and told them that their past actions would no longer be tolerated. I would no longer wait for them to stop talking before proceeding on, and that only two people would be allowed to go to the bathroom during the class period, and only if they had their hall passes.

Did I mention I teach Junior High?

Today even, after putting my foot down, I noticed a decided increase in the performance level of students, and I haven’t even sent anyone to the office yet. I simply am not putting up with stuff anymore. We’ll see what Monday holds.

I haven’t been around much to mention this, but this is just how the weeks go. I have a good-ish week, full of blah, then I have a bad week full of shit, and a little revision at the end that makes me feel better. It goes up and down and up and down like every other little emotionally and physically tied event in my life. This is how things are.

So why am i so out of sorts with the inconsistency of things? Why does nothing seem ordinary? Every day is an adventure, if you want to call it that, but I’d like a little ho-hum every now and again, you know. Granted, this may take years to get to, and it may make the job completely boring and not worth my effort. In the meantime, I work very hard every second of the day to make it work. Good news is I’m not completely exhausted until after I get out of bed.

I do find a mid-morning nap is good for the mind. Good thing my lunch is at 10am.

I’m developing rapport with the students, which is more than i could have expected, so that could be the wrench in the gears. I sit here thinking the students hate me, but in all actuality, they might actually start respecting me. One of them even slapped hands with me today. I’m cool. Oh yeah. Ungh.

Do you ever lose sleep? I do.

There was a time in my life, not so far back, when I swore up and down to myself that I would not be the kind of American employee who took my job to bed with me, and who would not share my dream time with anything but beautiful slumber. Unfortunately, I chose to have a job anyway, so I now lose sleep.

This last night, I dreamed of long classes full of chaos and fury, dressed up like Kandinsky paintings: bold lines cutting my view, blocks of color where students once were, and all I could think was “will this end?”

Yesterday was a hard day at school. One of those defining days where first years teachers sit back and think “wow, I don’t know if this is what I want to do oh well” and plug on through the day. After trying to keep my anger in check and letting the patience drive the car, trying not to be a pushover, trying not to be a hard-nose, trying not to just throw up my arms and leave, I found that the students still won’t do what I want them to do. Maybe that’s the problem: I’m trying to make them do anything.

And the one time I try to give them buy in, it blows up in my face, as my boss won’t let me play the piece of music the students wanted to play. So there I stand, on the box in front of the room, forcing them into three pieces of music they don’t like, watching them flounder over concepts they don’t understand, and try to hold my own head together.

But last night, during my sleep, it didn’t hold, and it flew apart like a fractal equation or a super-massive black hole: too calculated, too good at what it is capable of doing to remain in one piece.

So here I sit, typing out the first blog that isn’t fiction or poetry in over a month (I think) and think this might be an auspicious start to NaBloPoMo. But, on the other hand, this might be the very push I need to get to grad school.

Mom.
You are fresh groceries picked up just this morning,
delivered right to my countertop
ready for reaping.
You are the crackle and jolt of sausage and sage
cut clean from plastic wrappers
frying fast under careful hands.
You are fried eggs or scrambled, one or two, cheese or no cheese
and the choice between chocolate milk and orange juice
or soda, hell, we got options.
You are barbeque chicken on a Sunday night
where there is nothing left to do but feel full and sleepy.
You are the milk-shake heritage passed down from Meme
your mother,
And you are movies on Saturday when plans are cancelled.

You are standby and first-turn food options.
Yes, I equate you with food, and the best meals of my life.
Our lives run rigid and bloated with all the things we have to do by sundown,
but a meal is still our focus. A meal is still there to save us.
You are the dining room table on which I feast
And you are the couch that holds the same purpose.
You are Thanksgiving and Christmas, the only two meals that take proper thought,
And you are Birthday pies and cheesecake, the only two dishes that take proper love.

You’ve never made me gravy, but not for lack of trying,
and you’ve never made me eat black-eyed peas again,
so I love you all the more.
You heckle me for not liking pesole, but you’ll help me find another meal,
And you never haze me for hating brussel spouts or lima beans
cause you hate them too.

You are meals luscious and full of possibility, full of care and time
full of experience of what works and what doesn’t,
because the food that goes in must set right
The food is words, and you are words too.
Words that travel across cellular waves to save my soul once a week
from the brink of destruction raining dull thuds on my brain.
Words that pull me back from cliffs and gallows
Words that push me up on pedestals and mountains.
Words that create me, and reshape me.

Mom,
You are the tasty treats of afterschool, Little Debbie is better in your hands,
And you are Halloween Oreos when we lived too far from life to trick or treat anymore.
What a tradition, what a love.

I still find a package of them at my house every year, with you here or not,
and you have impacted me so.
Mom, you are the queen of story-telling, and you are the words and foods of nations
poured in cups and wrapped in cellophane.
When that New Mexico wind wraps the corner and whaps me,
you are the blanket and the water to keep me safe and hydrated.

At about 8.40 this morning, a chemical truck was overturned at the corner of 3rd and Kilgore in P-ville. The accident lead to the dispersal of two toxic chemicals: one released to the ground, infecting the nearby water supply; the other exploding into the sky, creating an invisible cloud of fumes that traveled over the high school. The school was placed on immediate lock-down status.

The P-ville High School Band, however, was outside during the initial accident, and the fume cloud that swamped every corner of the high school campus caught us unaware, contaminating all 90 students present on the rehearsal field the time. It was very sudden. Mrs. Head received a phone call instructing us to proceed to the gym lobby, where we would be assessed and treated as needed.

The unfortunate arose from the serene as we calmly waited for help to arrive. Several students complained about not being able to breath normally. A few even complained about itchy eyes, burning sensations, rashes. One student, Eddie Scicci, began to suffer very uncharacteristic seizures, completely dominating his body for nearly 3o minutes. Paramedics were able to get him help, but not before he completely passed out. Another student had a diabetic reaction to the chemical and was also incapacitated. The number of students with breathing problems increased, but were helped quickly. One unfortunate case cracked under the stress of the situation and claimed her body was revolting against her. She was escorted away quickly.

The decontamination team worked diligently to return us all the normal and, luckily, few had any severe reaction the airborne substance. However, of those that made it to the hospital, it was a downward spiral.

The girl with the diabetic reaction is still unconscious to my knowledge. Our prayers are with her. Another student remained conscious through progressing symptoms, but a fowl-up in the hospital personnel’s assessment of her severity of condition forced contamination on the entire facility. How that has been handled is unknown. We await news.

For the most part, P-ville has survived this drill. However, next time, it could be much worse. I advise those who read this to be cautious of the world around you. You never know when you might be a victim to something so simple and deadly. Your world turned upside down in an instant.

We still don’t know if the Smiths are allowing their cat back indoors.