And the cooking begins

It has been wonderful to have some time off. I worked the first week of break and then spent much of the week after Christmas with one of these dogs in my lap.



Can you blame me? 74 pounds for the light colored one and 60 pounds for the little black one, I often end up with both of them trying to squeeze next to me. There is no better way to recharge one's batteries than by sucking up the good energy of these two boys.

I've been relieved of my duties at my mom's store until there is a busy day, she can't be there, or one of her (I'll save my commentary here) employees quits to do um...nothing. Good help is damn hard to find, people. I've got only one class to teach at the university and am looking forward to working on getting to that sense of balance in my life. I'm very much looking forward to trying some new recipes that I've been drooling over the last couple of months. I've got a fancy new food processor (like, I'm a little scared to use it) and a big butcher's block cutting board and am ready to get busy using them. We'll see just how fuzzy that fantasy/reality line gets between my kitchen and the food network.

Although...a side note for those of you who know me.... I hate stuff out on my counters. I even put the burner thingies away on my stove and get them out when I need them. However, with my little kitchen and little bit of storage I am doing a piss poor job of it.... My cutting block, red Kitchen Aid stand mixer (swoon), Kitchen Aide Architect processor, Kitchen Aid blender, (thus far, I have been really happy with these appliances) espresso machine and coffee pot all live on the counter. I've also added some lovely large glass jars for things like onions, potatoes, apples, and garlic because my crisper drawers (and meat drawer which is usually full of stuff that should be crispered) isn't big enough. They are pretty and look really sharp, but they are on the counter. Gah. I have to keep a beat down like hold on my inner Rain(WO)man.

I've been wanting to make my own veggie burgers. Making them yourself, you control things like salt, additives and any overly processed ingredients. Also, you're looking at a buck or so for maybe 8 burgers instead of maybe eight bucks for the same bought in a store. That extra money goes pretty far on organic root veggies and apples. I noticed on Vegan Dad (see my blog roll) a recipe for sausages and thought it would be the same. FAIL. Somewhere, I blew it. Maybe its because I don't have a real steamer.

This is my stock pot full of water going at a full tilt boogie boil.
I've decided that even if it had worked, the hour plus it would have taken to make four... was not worth it. I can live with buying my vegan sausages from Trader Joe's.

However, in my ongoing quest to 'eat the rainbow' and increase my veggie intake (in a real way...beyond, 'this is my side of veggies' which often leaves you feeling like you're grazing) I also made squash cakes. They're like potato cakes only um, with no potatoes. I cooked a spaghetti squash, mixed in a third cup of flour, 4tbsp Earth Balance, a half cup of Veggie cheese and a healthy dose of pepper.



I think I could have gotten away with less oil because of the fats on the inside (maybe just cooking spray or olive oil in my Misto). Likewise, I think I could have cut the Earth Balance a wee bit, although damn... it was good. Additionally, I think a plant based diet can get a bit lean on the fats if you're not careful. Finally, the smaller you make these, the better. a quarter of a cup is pretty good.

These were got yummier, the more I thought about it. I like them for dinner better than breakfast, I think. Next time I'd like to add a pinch of chili flakes. But a great and inexpensive way to get in some yellow veggies. I've got some good left overs, but am going to reheat them in the oven because the 'crisp' value is important.

Today I've got a black bean soup I'm itching to make and some pinto bean veggie burgers I want to cook ahead. Wish me luck that my new processor doesn't outsmart me.

Yawn

So. New Year's Eve post. This could tell you a lot about me I suppose. Its 8:41 on New Year's Eve and the only reason that I'm not in bed is because I have a pot of pinto beans on the stove so that I can make veggie burgers tomorrow.
You could conclude that I am lame and don't have plans. But even in my wild, 'you let me study till 11:00 then I'll clean up and meet you at the club' doctoral days that often enough that it didn't make for a legendary night wound up with someone in my group getting kicked out by the cops and once a senior in a leather thong and hard hat with suspenders I didn't usually go out New Year's Eve. Its one of my issues that could go a couple of posts lower. I don't like organized holidays. I don't like to go to church the few days that most people do haul their goods out of bed (Easter, Christmas, Mother's Day), and I don't like traditional reasons to party.
And no lie these days I don't party a lot. In a way its odd. I love to get cleaned up for the evening. Decide what part of me I am going to be. City-fied girl with some class in a high end blouse or sweater? Tattooed hood rat's girl with smokey eyes that are too overly made up (let's not kid ourselves people... I like make up). More often than not, tattooed hood wins out. I'm good at it and it works well in the dives I frequent. I don't think I'm too old and I love to dance. But given my friends, our spots, and our fun... these night often end with some bullshit. And I've worked pretty hard to weed that out.
In all honesty what keeps me in bed these days is a ridiculous work schedule, my efforts to eat a mostly plant based-whole food-unprocessed diet, and the fact that about 3 days a week I am up at 4:40 am to go Crossfit. I can lead this simple life, or shake my tail feathers.

And what Dr. Err does this have do to with any-damn-thing? Be real, Err... we all know you're just trying to kill time while your pinto beans cook....

I suppose it brings me to my end of year post. The highlights include a long, long walk down the beach on a stormy day with two black dogs who don't like each other and two girls who love each other and each other's black dogs. Deciding that Ben Franklin is maybe evil and eating a whole day's meals in bed in a fancy hotel room. Finding a yoga studio that is not fun, but healing for my body. Finding a Kraw Maga (Israeli street fighting) studio that also offers Crossfit classes which are good for my mind and my soul. 2 days holed up with my little furry family complete with one nap squeezed between 2 big dogs and a boy on a little double bed.
There was a flat ousting of me from a group I previously was right in the middle of. It was a weird, weird thing, but its ok and very likely good for all. There some horribleness. For me and for some folks I love enough that I swear I can feel a piece of their pain. But I am thankful everyday for my horribleness because I get through it and my people are getting through it. And we're getting through it together. And not everyone is that fortunate. Some people break and they break alone. Me and my people... we are some bendy mothers.
I look forward to 2010 more and more knowing that who I am is complicated and ok. I am more and more going off the whole food deep end. However I maintain that until I decide to go vegan and RAW.... that I'm coolio (except my beans just boiled way the hell over). I am looking forward to what I can learn about food and eating and health this year. I'm also looking forward to what seems to be an ever shrinking food bill (even with the amount of organic food we eat). I think my work schedule is freeing up just a wiggle. Enough that I'll be busy working and playing (playing for me is yoga, running, Crossfit and Krav (my favorite way to kick off a Saturday) with a peppering of Sunday hikes. Which will feel like working hard to play hard. Something I am totally ok with.
I struggle with balance sometimes. Work and play. Being a homebody and going out. Trying to do everything at once. Wanting to volunteer (like at Habitat) and feeling like I have to work all the days. This year I would like to achieve a better sense of balance. More time with friends. More quality time at home. I feel like I need to be more organized but at the same time, I think sometimes I am overly scheduled. I need more balance. I'm pretty good at tree and standing pigeon. You'd think I could work this out.
Perhaps at the equinox?

My job

I love my job. Really.
Sometimes it is difficult. Students who I love in jail, on house arrest, expelled. Students who've been locked up for assult and trafficing who walk past me daily giving me the head bounce, "s'up docta err" or patting me on the shoulder, 'how you doin' docta err' or 'mama, if it wasn't for you... I wouldn't even be here."
Good stuff. Hard sometimes, but good.
The thing about my students and I is we are the same. They sing to me almost every day. We know the same music. We crack the same jokes. Even on difficult days, I laugh (like put my head on my desk and laugh) every day.

You should hear the convos we have:

J: (loudly in a voice that would normally get him kicked out of another room) OH MY JESUS!
me: (pointing to self) naw, baby.... Dr. Err...
J: OH MY DOCTA ERR!

*************
students attempting to riff on someone who is arguing with someone else.
J: You're beefin'
J: You're beefin like...like... a cow!
J: You're beefin like...a steak!
Me: (passin out papers) Baby. Get it right. They beefin like Burger King.
J: AHHHHH!!!! MAMA!!!!!!

**************

D: (making a fist and grinning from ear to ear) Ma, you don't know. Some day you might just drive me over the edge. I might just snap and have to lay a beat down.
me: yeah. and when you do, baby, I'll get you a step stool so you can reach me.
D: disolves into laughter. that's a good one, Mama

************************************

I also had a week where one student wanted to be the first African American do things. Things like give the answer to a question, write on my board, leave the class.

**********************
Err: So folks, one of the things that the colonist bogarted from the Native Americans was corn. And that was a big deal, not only to keep them alive, but when they started to export corn products. Shoot, just corn bread was worth the price of admission.
kid: I don't like corn bread
C: Dude. You ain't black if you don't like cornbread.
Err: Really, C? Thats what decides it? Really?
C: Yeah. You know it is!
******************************

Issues

I've been waiting until after the holiday season to write. I can honestly say that the last two months I have been working too hard. Though I haven't really said it, because in this time we live in...the last thing I am going to complain about is too much work. I'm thankful for the work. I'm thankful every time I sit down to do something for the university that employs me that I have the opportunity to work there. It is the university where I spent nine years (sophomore year of undergrad through doctoral program). You're not supposed to do grad work where you do undergrad. Its academic inbreeding. You're not even supposed to be able to get into these programs. You sure as shit aren't supposed to work where you did doctoral studies (unless you've gone some where else for an extended time). More academic inbreeding. While we're at it... you also not supposed to leave the university and still finish or teach 8th grade with a PhD. Eh. I sort of hate being told I can't do something.

Its one of those Dr. Err things.

I have a lot of things. Not material things. Just...well quite frankly... mental issues.

Every now and again, someone will say something to me that sticks like one of those cartoon arrows with the plunger thingy where the arrow stabby thing should be. It doesn't happen a lot, but when it does I never forget those words.

Once in a time of despair over school bullshit a dear tattooed hood friend of mine with a GED (who still doesn't have the slightest idea what I was doing in school, but happily tells his clients while he's tattooing either me or them that I am, "a professor and shit") told me that he thought I'd be ok because we were a lot a like and, "people like you and me....we do ok." Another time another good friend told me, "you know who you are." Both times, time seemed to stand still and the air seemed to bet sucked out the area for just a second. I knew I was hearing something profound.

This happened again, while (not) lost (0nly late) in Philadelphia in a car with a chosen sister. We see each other about once a year for a couple of days. Sometimes its just the two of us, sometimes we bring family, sometimes (magical times) we are lucky enough to have the other sister with us, sometimes other friends join us for an afternoon or an evening at a local dive bar. Really, it doesn't matter. We pick up right where we left off (or really, where we started....we were sisters from the start) and its a magic time.

This visit, I'd made some comment about some oddball feeling or behavior of mine being 'my shit and I recognize it and work around it.'

She said some other things but what hit me like the cartoon arrow was, 'you're one of the most self aware people I know.'

I took it as a huge compliment. And also, maybe a bit of a challenge.

So here is my David Letterman style list of issues that I have.

I hate being told what to do. I hate being mothered. My own mother doesn't mother me in a traditional sense. Women who have a lot of kids and a lot of teachers seem to forget that they aren't the mom/teacher of everyone. I have a lot of trouble with people like this. This is closely related to the I hate being told I can't do something that I mentioned above. My response is almost always 'why not' and the effort I will expend to prove that I can too can and has almost killed me. Along the same lines, I take an almost perverse pleasure in knowing that as far as my education/occupation goes...I am doing every.damn.thing. that they said I couldn't. If you could turn IN YO FACE into a feeling...its like that.

My shit around race and culture and class is complicated. And often it makes it really, really, really hard to be me. And sometimes, I'd just like someone to be like, "damn... that's tough" instead of "but you look...."

I have anger issues. I work on them every.day. I am low class, ghetto, or crazy (I'm not sure which or if its really all) to knock someone the fuck out. Much of my exercise regime is to help channel this into good places.

I have o'haulic tendencies. Everything I do I tend to do to death. I also try to channel this into good and productive places instead of into booze and drugs and cheap hooker men. You can read this as I have a family history of bipolar/manic depression etc. I try really, really hard to make sure I don't go off the deep end.

Feet flip me the fuck out. Gah. I'd rather not even touch my own. Please don't touch mine...but especially...don't touch your feet on me. The Boy will occasionally touch his feet on me in the middle of the night and it wakes me up.

I need an invite. Don't ever just expect that I know to show up, or that I know I'm invited because I've come every other year. I come from a family where you just up and get uninvited. I married into a family where I am not wanted. I need an invite. Otherwise I won't come. I sure as shit am not going to check in with you like I'm begging to come. If I don't get invited and I normally do (or think I should) that shit will hurt me to the core. I won't get over it for a long damn time.

My uncles used to flick the kids in my family until they'd cry (I mean like really hard). And then they'd tease you until you cried more. No lie, they never did this to me. Everyone knew that my father was not someone to be screwed with. Looking back, they were all just a little scared of him (which if you know about my uncles... tells you A LOT about my dad). Flicking upsets me. Weird I know. This was clearly not the worst thing I've ever seen. No where near...but it makes my chest tight. I also used to watch my mom's dad call their dog over to him and then knock the shit out of him. Pet, pet, pet, SMACK. I wasn't raised this way. My dad taught me from the time I could use my hands to pet, how to be gentle with a dog. How to make a scared animal feel better. Where they like to be scratched. How to know what dogs were doing so that I wouldn't be scared. It must have worked as I picked two of the scariest looking dogs in the shelter (according to visitors). I makes me feel scared and tight inside to see someone wrestle with a dog or give them a good playful swat on the rump. Logically, I know its ok. In my heart, it makes me want to get in the middle of it.

I like boys to be edged up and clean shaven.

I don't trust other people (except my dad) to drive me.

I almost never cry. Its a hood thing. But when I do... its silly and dramatic and embarrassing. When my friend VJ died, I cried until my eyes were swollen almost shut and I made myself sick. I am tough about my students hardships almost all the time. In jail, in a gang, blah, blah, blah. I'm tough. I give them what I can. But when one lost his dad last year, I went into my class, put my head on the desk and cried. There is a lady who comes in my mom's shop that has something similar to Parkinson's. She can't control her body. Its bad. Her arms fail from side to side and her husband is always scared to death she's going to break something. He came in the other day by himself and said, "I wish you could have known her before she got sick. You don't know how good it makes her feel that you folks talk to her. So many people ignore her." I got all indignant when my mom told me this. Well of course we talk to her!!! Shit! She's still a person. She ain't a crackhead... Her body isn't minding her anymore.... (and here is where out of nowhere my anger turned into tears I couldn't stop for a lady who's name I don't even know) Shit, ma... how bad would it be to have your body just do its own thing...

So. I don't watch movies that touch my heart. I don't read books like that. Please don't ask me to. I won't do it.

I have a lot of other issues. I work hard to make sure that my enjoyment of things stacked and lined up in my pantry and fridge is something I enjoy...not something I need. I think things happen for a reason and I get a little weird and wrapped up in that. JC don'tcha think its weird you got another teacher who doesn't fit in, teaches at the university and names her dogs after real people in your life? I am flashy and ghetto when I get cleaned up. When I don't... I really don't.

I always try to do the right thing and sometimes it pisses me off. I think I am a fighter because my mom isn't. When someone who scares me comes into the shop, I have a knife that I take with me. I am scared to death of someone 'getting me.' Dying doesn't scare me in the least. I am overly aware that the earth can kick my ass. I love the woods. I love WV. I'm scared in the South. And somehow this all makes sense to me. I have had to work to be able to wear dark jeans and not be weirded out by it. I am unreasonable about how soft things need to be if they touch my skin. I think blogs are narcissistic, but I love them. I like to do factory work and I time myself. I count everything. Some people can tease me. Other people can't. I don't think twice about most things. The stuff that I get hung up on, I don't think I can ever let go. Do. Not. push me if you don't want me to push back. You won't win. I can't lie/cover my feelings to save my soul. I wish I could just a little. It makes life hard on people I love sometimes. But I think its one of the things they love about me.

I know what my issues are. Some of my issues I work on every.day. Others I am comfortable with and actually enjoy. I said once on an on-line forum that I am 'hard to handle.' Its true. Its not always easy to be my friend. Its often hard to be me. But I take comfort in that for whatever I am... everyday you get the best me I can be.

on running

I seldom post about my fitness (that makes me feel like I should have a thong leotard with a belt and leg warmers) on my blog. Everyone who reads knows I am hyper active. I am regularly frustrated with having to sit through a movie, I am always doing something while I read, talk on the phone, watch tv.
You all are familiar with my eating situation. Spinach for breakfast in my green monsters. Homemade soup for lunch (made a killer pot of mushroom soup this weekend) and nothing I can pronounce and tell you where it comes from. I count my veggies daily. I keep track of water in-take. I cook. Organically and whole whenever I can. Lentil tacos instead of TVP. Local veggies if at all possible. Blah blah blah. I still cook and have no desire to eat raw, so I've not gone off the deep end yet.
You all know that several days (maybe 4) I walk my dogs an hour or so ...like me you have to wear them out so they will be good in the house. If given a choice between a fancy dinner with wine and hiking and a jug of water...I'll take hiking almost every time. If it weren't for my love of pretty girl make up and kick ass knee boots, I'd be a total hippy granola outdoors girl. But I do plan some of my activity.
My most recent addiction is crossfit 2 to 3 days a week into my routine. Folks, I love it. Its hard. I mean, face scrunching, sweat dripping in 3 minutes of work, I can't do this anymore hard. It feels good to work so hard at 6 a.m. I come to school bouncy, endorphins working, students giving me the sideways, "Mama, its so early...." look as I sing and joke with them walking in the door at 8 a.m. Plus, one of my instructors plays House of Pain and stirring up my Everlast lust juice early in the day is a nice little jolt.
I also do Krav Maga every Saturday. Its not as hard, but it feels good to hit things and coordinate my body movements one after another in the complex choreography that this form of fighting uses. It also feels damn good to hit my instructor in the chest (he has a kick pad) and still hear him go, "ooof, good hits, Err." And it cracks me up, that when he introduced himself as my partner for end drills that my natural response was, "Yeah, dude. I know you. You choked me last week." I've noticed that while I am working hard during both of these exercise classes, I'm not gassing in the same way that other students may be. I give this credit to my main sport. Running.
Except. I'm a really sucky runner. I destroyed my hip about three years ago. Two (count 'em two) doctors (both team doctors for professional sports teams) told me I wouldn't run again. I am slow. Like 11/12 minute mile slow. But I'm steady. At races where others pass me and then walk up the hills, I gain time on them (shorter steps, harder work). I have some serious trouble with PF. I go to yoga twice a week (the big girl's class that other instructors take not because I am bendy, but because I am strong... how long do you want me to hold chair? No sweat). I've strained my calf in the middle of half marathon training and am not sure it will hold for more than a few miles at a time.
Which begs the question. Am I a real runner? What if (and this is a question thats been looming in the back of my noggin for quite some time) I can never be sucessful with long runs? With high miles for the week without injury? Am I a real runner when I run 3 to 4 comfortable miles a few days a week? Am I a real runner if I am comfortable with that? Am I a real runner if running becomes part of a more circular training plan instead of what all my other workouts strive to support?
I'll bet you thought I had some Err style philosophy to lay on this question, huh? I don't, really. I know I love to run. I love the time alone. I love being outside. I love my shower after and feeling hungry (especially when there is something good waiting for me to eat). I love the rhythm and sweat. But I don't love the frustration of trying to go for more and hurting myself. I don't love icing my hurty parts. I don't love the judgments of really good runners who would consider me a jogger. So I don't really have an answer for this. But I'll let you know what I come up with.

Just Laugh

People. I am slammed. Totally working all the time. My union rep 'job' is a helluva lot of work (in a contract year after the levy failed and our district staff has lost twenty five percent of its teachers). Getting ready for the holiday season at WM's shop, getting my house and yard ready for winter, getting ready to do all the fix up stuff we should have been doing when I was in school, and teaching two new preps is whipping my ass. Just wait until Christmas season finally starts and my training cranks up a notch. But that's ok. Because I'm insane and thinking of adding a mix of crossfit and krav maga classes to my mix. Ya know. In my spare time. Seriously, people. What the holy hell is wrong with me?? Damn good thing I channel this dysfunction into good things instead of booze and crack and cheap hooker men.

I moved this year from 7th grade to 8th grade again, which means I haven't taught the same subject 2 years in a row since my return to public school teaching 3 years ago. But this has created this magical situation where I have most of the same kids I had last year. And I have them for 2 hour blocks. An hour of Language Arts and an hour of Social Studies (my staff went from 34 staff members down to 20... we are being creative, people). The kids know me. They know what I expect and the relationship and trust is pretty much already there.

I tease the kids daily about how they clearly didn't pray enough over the summer if they had to have me two years in a row....

We're doing a unit on horror and they like that it breaks up the boring crap I have to teach (which I tell them is the boring crap I have to teach) like vocab and paragraph structure. I know, I know. You're already wondering how someone who forgoes any kind of real grammar in leui of the use of ..... to convey the rhythm of talk can teach this crap. I dunno. I just told you I tell my kids its crap. Go find me in English teacher hell in 60 years....

I'm having a lot of fun with these kids. I'm already Mama to most of the new kids even though I didn't tell them to call me that. I've already had some white lady call the principal because she doesn't want her kid to call me that (um, so tell your kid not to... she can feel free to call me Dr. Err...it IS my name). Really. I got 4 white kids. Way to be uncomfortable lady! At least all four haven't called. Funny that her kid calls me this anyway.

There is something that feels right standing in the hall, getting DAP from some hood and hearing, "'sup Mama."

We're having fun with convos like this:

Knucklehead 1 and 2 are boys. Um, I don't mean males... I mean close friends. Knucklehead 3 just don't get some stuff. The class is reading Legend of Sleepy Hollow (we also rewrote it in our own words...the kids did amazing jobs and dang, it was funny). I walk up in time to see Kh 2 and 3 getting a little loud with each other.

Err: What is wrong with you boys?
3: He's calling me Bobby (lets say boy's name is Robert).
Err: So knock it off (to 2)
2: He's calling Isreal Izabod (like Ichabod).
3: He did it first!!! (pointing to 2).
Err: Dear sweet Jesus. Robert, there are things that some people can call other people, that not everyone is allowed to call them. Let it go and don't call him that anymore.
1: Dr. Err. I don't get it.
Err: Isreal. Do you want 2 to call you Izzyhuny like I do???
Laughter from all boys
1: (who now sounds very much like a cow who's voice is changing) Nooooooo
Err: Ok. So knock it off, act right, and get to work, huh boys?

I laugh out loud every day at my job.

I laughed out loud telling my mom about the boy who just got expelled for all but swinging on a teacher, (like he said, "hold my books while I drop this so and so).
My mom didn't laugh. She knows that one of these classes has 5 boys who are trouble enough shut down a class on their own. 4 of them are in a gang.

Err: Man. Ain't nuthin' you can do but laugh about it.
Ma: (who is worried, because at 14 and 15, these boys are getting big) That's not funny.
Err: Yeah. I guess not. But I can't take that home. I can't take home, how this kid got so screwed up. How someone screwed him up enough that he thinks he can wink and flirt and touch me. I can't take home that 75% of my students mentioned that they have either never met their dad, or he's in jail, or they didn't meet him until they were 9 because he was locked up when they were born. Or how their dad is in jail because he tried to kill their mom and them. Or how they got jumped in to the neighborhood gang. Or what the life expectancy is for a gang member.

I can't take that home with me every night.
So I laugh about it.

Tired Monkey Mind

There have been so many times I've clicked on my blog to read my blog roll and thought, 'dang...I should write something...". And then I don't. I just plain don't have the energy. But I've been up since 3-something, and at 5 I decided to just get up, and am back in bed with a sleeping little black dog (ok, people keep telling me that 50 some pounds isn't little, but compared to Mr. 70 pounds, it is...) and I really feel like I should write somethings.

I've worked way too hard this summer. I'm teaching an on-line class and its for a new certification program, I didn't write the syllabus, and the technology and registration system is all new to me and the university. So naturally, its been a huge cluster-you-know-what. Beyond that... pedagogically speaking, I don't believe in on-line classes. Everything I know about what teaching (or what I really consider the facilitation of education, I just don't want to sound like a sanctimonious tool) tells me that the learning here, isn't like the learning that goes on in a class, where I know you, I know what you're doing, what you're thinking, etc. A lot of it is my notions of language and the way work is done with language. Whatever. I still feel a bit like a tool because the bottom line is teaching these classes keep me current at the University (take THAT all of you people who told me: a) I couldn't teach at the academy and public school b) I couldn't teach where I went to school c) I couldn't continue to publish/research/be active without a university (I was just added to an editorial review board of a pretty major journal and ya know...that book was published a few months ago...reviews are great). And no lie... the money is good and we did just buy 33 acres.

I've also been giving Habitat 2 days a week. Ten hour days when you figure my drive time. Wears my shit out. But I've learned a lot. And ya know... I figure its the right thing to do. I know about substandard housing, government housing and how my grandmother was so proud of my parents buying a house that she carried the pic in her purse (she never owned a home). People keep asking me if I'm having fun. Um. No. I went to college so I wouldn't have to lift tresses up on a roof for all day. But I've been crazy blessed and I know it. I figure I'm supposed to do something with it and this seems reasonable.

I am so seriously behind in my life. With the exception of a really nice week at the beach with friends (which I don't mean to discount) I haven't seen anyone I love. I've gone to lunch with my mom 3 times. That's not enough, folks. I haven't gotten shit done around my house. School starts in 2 weeks or so and I feel more behind than when school was in session. I'm freaking out a little.

I've been running a bit (more than I typically do in summer), not nearly enough yoga and walking my crazy dogs daily. Hank is doing great with his doggie rehab from his attack. I am still totally f-ed up. I'd go get some help with that, but I think (and man, this sounds rude...) that I'm smart enough to know that I'm trying to change my mindset. I dunno if it would work anyway. Weird that I've seen enough people die that I have to count it on my fingers, seen a couple of 'em murdered (yeah, that's what I think that cop did to T) and interestingly enough, I've seen 3 (count 'em 3) people pulled out of car windows to get their ass beat.... and THIS is what screws with my head. Nuts, man.

I lost a buddy last week. Funny. I knew this was coming. You know how you just know these things. I dunno. Maybe because things like this pop off in the summer. Maybe because I spend a lot of time in environments where ya know... people die more (had 4 students loose a parent this year folks...you do the math). I'm not sure. But I knew a loss was coming. To be honest with you, given the climate in the neighborhood... I thought it was going to be a student. I'd braced myself. I checked work e-mail daily. This, however, hit me like a brick. Totally not ready for it. And it hurts way more than these things usually do. I'm typically pretty good at sucking it up and shaking it off. This one, boy... stings. And I've found I think I deal with things differently than a lot of my other friends. I'm not really one to 'talk about it.' Rather I stuff it down and try to stay busy (check) and not think about it for a while. So I don't have like a tribute, or anything... maybe someday. Not for a while.

This loss, however, cause a total spin out of my life. The busy schedule I was keeping stopped. My fridge ran low and now I find myself eating way too much processed food (cuz that's what TB can fix). I need to pull my shit together and I know it. This process has also been slowed down by the fence I've been building in my backyard. Little sweetie dog asleep in between TB and me (who's got his 'arms' around TB like they're spooning) is nuts and won't stay out of my flowers (which I need to weed really badly). So a fence. That I've had to build all by myself. Its almost built, but its about 70 feet long so it took some doing. I like to think of it as the Fence that Err Built. If LD can get through it... I'm pulling the garden out and setting up a white flag.

I'm ready for school to start. With 40 percent of our staff gone (and all my homies) its going to be a long year. But I'm ready to get at it. I love my kids. I miss them. I'll be working more (sort of) because I'll still have another university class, and it will be Christmas at WM's shop, but I should be more scheduled. I thrive on a schedule. It should be a bit easier, actually. At least that's what I'm telling myself.

You could tell me that, too. Because right now... my magic veggie bag is totally freaking me out....