"Addiction is the hallmark of every infatuation-based love story. It all begins when the object of your adoration bestows upon you a heady, hallucinogenic dose of something you never even dared to admit that you wanted - an emotional speedball, perhaps, of thunderous love and roiling excitement. Soon you start craving that intense attention, with the hungry obsession of any junkie. When the drug is withheld, you promptly turn sick, crazy and depleted (not to mention resentful of the dealer who encouraged this addiction in the first place but who now refuses to pony up the good stuff anymore - despite the fact that you know he has it hidden somewhere, goddamn it, because he used to give it to you for free.) Next stage finds you skinny and shaking in a corner, certain only that you would sell your soul or rob your neighbors just to have that thing even one more time. Meanwhile, the object of your adoration has now become repulsed by you. He looks at you like you're someone he's never met before, much less someone he once loved with high passion. The irony is, you can hardly blame him. I mean, check yourself out. You're a pathetic mess, unrecognizable even to your own eyes.
So that's it. You have now reached infatuation's final destination - the complete and merciless devaluation of self."
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I got home from work today before 3:00. I don't think that's happened since September. I changed into my pajamas immediately.
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After school the cast and crew came by to strike the set. It was an easy strike because the set was so simple and it didn't take long. But it took longer than it needed to because the kids were socializing, of course, more than they were actually doing anything, and making a mess with their pop cans and chip bags in the process, thereby adding the mess at about the same rate they were cleaning up.
When the strike was finally done, one of the girls told me I should have had them clean up first and then handed out the food afterward. Then it would have acted as a motivator to finish faster, and they could have eaten it elsewhere and not messed up the room while they worked. Brilliant wisdom. It's funny how I still make mistakes like that after nine years of experience, how I need someone else's bird's eye view to bring things into focus like that, even though I think I do a pretty good job of mentoring other teachers. It's like those athletes who are better coaches than players, or artists who are better directors than actors. Those who can't do, teach, is what they used to say. And those who can't teach, teach teachers. Hah.
When the strike was finally done, one of the girls told me I should have had them clean up first and then handed out the food afterward. Then it would have acted as a motivator to finish faster, and they could have eaten it elsewhere and not messed up the room while they worked. Brilliant wisdom. It's funny how I still make mistakes like that after nine years of experience, how I need someone else's bird's eye view to bring things into focus like that, even though I think I do a pretty good job of mentoring other teachers. It's like those athletes who are better coaches than players, or artists who are better directors than actors. Those who can't do, teach, is what they used to say. And those who can't teach, teach teachers. Hah.
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Today I got a Christmas card in the mail from T. It had a photo of her and her husband and their little daughter. It was a strange relief to me to see that T still looks like herself in the photo - not the way I feared she would. She looks happy and healthy and though the hair is obviously a wig (only obviously because it's much longer than her own hair would have been right now) she looks normal.
She looks like a woman who can kick cancer's ass.
She looks like a woman who can kick cancer's ass.
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1 comment:
whoa that reminds me so much of me and K it's almost scary!!! I'm the addict of course.
Baby dust in the next couple days..think pink...or actually think pink or blue, as long as it happens.
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