I love this time of the morning. It's so dark, so quiet, as if I'm the only person awake in the whole wide world. I've always loved the very early/dark morning time, especially in the winter when it's cold and dark and ever so slightly beginning to get light until just the faintest glimps of the morning sunrays are visible.

This will always be my favorite time of day.

What is it about working with the wee short ones that makes me so tired?

Last week was the week that would never end, and I loved almost every moment of it. Monday - Friday I worked with the first grade class, who are ever so wonderful. We worked with reading, writing, math, music and on Friday, had a class pajama party. For the first time every, I wore my pj's to school. And gosh, it was comfortable.

But of course, there was more to the week. Monday and Tuesday had regular classes and night classes. Thursday had regular classes. Wednesday's class was cancelled, but I did tutor Wednesday and Thursday afternoon.

Friday after school I came home and slept until Saturday. Literally--asleep by 3:30 p.m. until 2:00 p.m. Saturday, minus little times I would wake up for an hour here, two hours there. It was bliss.

Were it not for the working with the kids part, I'd not think school was worth it. How very sad that the one place that is supposed to motivate us to be better is the place that really is demoralizing and, in some cases, useless.

I really need to vent.

Thanksgiving is coming up. It's my least favorite holiday, full of family-strife, to say the least, and bad memories for everyone. My birth father was killed on Thanksgiving, long before I can actually remember him. Now that I'm no longer on speaking terms with the rest of my family for reasons far more involved to be able to discuss at the moment, I don't really have anywhere to go for the "holiday." Since my grandmother's death in '99, Thanksgiving has been a bust, anyway, so it's not like that matters.

But I miss being around people on Thanksgiving. I miss the sharing, the talking, the laughing, watching the parade as my grandmother puttered around the kitchen and the girls worked washing pots and setting the table while the boys did whatever it was they did in the living room. Sure, it sounds sexists, I suppose, but there is a lot to be said for being able to bond with living people across the generations, and I miss that. A lot.

So...last Thanksgiving, I spent at the neighbor's house, having a very small gathering with other displaced souls. The year before that, I stayed home and watched the parade and slept the day away. The year before that, I think I went home. If memory serves, we went to a restaurant (I think). I seem to remember not being happy that we were at a restaurant for Thanksgiving. The point of the holiday isn't the food. The point of the holiday is to be around people you love, or at the very least, get along with on a tolerable basis.

The year before that (that's three Thanksgivings ago, for those keeping score), Tom and I went to my parents for the day. It was actually ok, as far as that goes, and we didn't stay too long, opting to do the dishes (I always do the dishes. It's my thing.) and leave to attend a friend's get-together in our home town. Since that year, Tom has been deployed every Thanksgiving since. That's the last two Thanksgivings apart. Christmas we've had together, but barely. This past one was a blur for him, as the military thought it appropriate to send him to school on another coast ten days after he returned from another country, but at least we were able to see one another.

So Thanksgiving. I don't want to spend it alone this year. It's depressing, y'know? And it just holds too many bad memories of late, something I want to change. I'm debating on flying to be with Tom over the holiday, since my schedule is more flexible than his and he will need to do school stuffs, but there's a problem. He's as reclusive as I am at times, especially when things get difficult. This week has seen the deaths of two people we know, though I'm not sure if he knows about both of them. There's school to contend with, as he's in a very difficult program and placing a lot of pressure on himself.

And when he decides to isolate himself, he does so in full force. No phone calls, no email, nada. If we were only friends, it wouldn't be so difficult. Having dated for over three years, it's becoming habitual. I've learned that it's him, not me, and I let him have his space.

But when airline tickets are going up $120 for a plane ticket overnight, I need an answer. It's a simple yes or no, this is a good time or it's not. I'll understand; despite the stereotype that when women say they understand and don't mean it, I actually do mean it. I've been there. I'll understand.

But no answer? At all? It's annoying as hell.

And on the other side, it's really getting on my nerves that I'm letting him be the one to dictate when we see one another. I'm annoyed that I'm beginning to feel as if I'm taking up too much of his time when we've seen one another for a grand total of 22 days since January, and those were not consecutively.

I'm angry that Michelle's mom killed herself. I'm angry that Tonto died this morning, even though I didn't know him personally. I'm pissed off that Duece killed himself and left two daughters and a wife. I'm pissed that I'm in a school program where we're left to learn like robots with no external emotions or independent thought. I'm pissed that the moaners and bemoaners are the ones garnering all the praise, and I'm really freakin' disappointed that the world is run by money. It's an arbitrarily assigned system of value.

I feel as if this is the ranting of a goth teenager with self-esteem problems instead of the venting of a grown woman. Such is life.

But what do I do? I get up, do homework, clean a room a day, read, pretend everything is great while keeping my mouth shut, and try to pretend it doesn't matter. I've willingly placed myself in this situation, so I'll of course go on. And wait for the phone call that will not come.

I'll try to be a better person while convincing myself I'm not a terrible person to begin with. And continue to watch airline ticket prices rise and fall.

Because I haven't had time/felt like writing in a while, here's a picture from last week's trip.


Lone Cypress, 17 Mile Drive, Monterey, California.

Classes are better, for the most part. Minus one, where all of the students:

1. Agree we're not learning anything
2. Agree we're not being taught
3. Are bored to tears.

Last class I spent an hour playing tic tac toe because there was nothing else to do. Sadly, I learned that I can't really beat myself at that game. It's pointless. Kind of like the class.

Began observations yesterday, three hours in a first grade class. One potential trouble maker was quite cute, especially when I asked if he would be my special library buddy and show me how to choose and check out books. He then sat beside me instead of getting in trouble. Back in class, he told me, "I like you. You're nice."

Very sweet.

It's great and I'm loving the teaching. But I'm so damned tired.

So tired.

Goodnight.

It's probably not a Very Good Thing that I continually want to cry after all of my classes.

I could blame the depressive state I seem to be stuck in. I could blame my low blood sugar, or the weather, or the joblessness I'm not enjoying.

I could, but I won't, because those aren't the reasons.

(Reminder to self: next entry--the state of special education as a philosophy and career).

It started when I entered the Curriculum for Students with Mild Disabilities class. The instructor is finally taking ownership of the class, but at a month into the session, I fear it might be too late. An hour and forty-five minute class was spent discussing first the syllabus (we should have it by Thursday? Maybe?), then spent discussing three power point slides.

Three.

I suppose this would be barable were it not for the fact that there is a student in the class who is utterly detestable. It's very rarely that I feel such immense dislike for someone, but I did upon meeting him the first time, when he called "no takesy backseys!" during a group assignment. I didn't like him much more when he spent the rest of the group assignment discussing his static line experiences with the instructor rather than actually doing the assignment.

I liked him even less when he began prefacing every statement with, "In my wife's class..."

Last week, during another group assignment, he bragged that he had not even read an article to review, yet he had an ever present opinion. The data in someone's article suggested that special education students have, typically, a lower IQ Score than their peers.

I pointed out to him that the article was stating it's the score that is lower and not the actual Intelligence Quotient itself, which may be difficult to test for depending upon circumstances.

I should have quoted Nietzsche's statement, "God is dead." Both statements would have received the same response from this fellow peer o' mine.

Instead, it took an explanation from a fellow classmate, Brian, and an explanation using the exact same wording that I had used, for this peer o' mine to accept the difference in semantics.

Today, the discussion from peer o' mine took a different turn. In discussing Free and Appropriate Education, peer o' mine said something about not allowing children with Down Syndrom in the traditional classroom, especially if they were nonverbal, because...and follow this reasoning?...their IQ is less than 50.

The instructor was the only one who responded. "No. You're wrong. And don't fight me on this one, because you'll lose."

Score 1 for her.

See, I quit listening to peer o' mine when he first demonstrated that he will not listen to me. I quit listening to him when he bragged that he hadn't even attempted the homework, yet had a valid opinion, which, by the way, was not the point of the assignment. The assignment was to view other people's opinions. I quit listening to peer o' mine when the braggart boasted, during a test study session, that despite not reading the assigned chapters, he knew all of the answers.

He was disputing the answers because he marked them wrong, of course, but trying to argue his way out of them.

I hate that this person is crawling under my skin this much but even more, I hate that he will, as of January, be in the classroom. With students. Real live people.

And tonight, sitting in the BED (behavior/emotional disorders) class tonight, I wanted to cry out of frustration. The professor let us out early; she couldn't make the computer work right and had the entire lesson on Power Point. We sat for two hours while she read to us multiple papers ver batim, then listened to her again while she complained about being "thrown" in our classroom. There is no discussion, which I would be perfectly understandable about, were there any education at all.

There is none.

I've been so worried that all of this was just me, until I saw the lady behind me make a gun with her finger and place it at her temple, then whisper, "boom!" It's not just me.

It's not just me regarding peer o' mine, either. Walking to our cars from class, the same lady said, "You know, I want to ask him what it's like to be the smartest person in the world!"

You and me both.

Dear Madam Professor,

A "mare" is a female horse, not a male horse as you told the class. A male horse is known as a stud or gelding, depending upong if its anatomy is intact or not.

Zephyr is spelled "z e p h y r." Not "z e p h e r."

You have not even tried to learn our names, so the countless threats about class participation mean absolutely nothing.

When teaching anything, it is absolutely essential that you model what TO do. Not what NOT to do.

We are in college. If you give us homework, it is assumed that we will actually do said homework. Therefore, it is not necessary for you to spend an entire 50 minute class reading to us ver batim what is on a worksheet you hand to us.

Though, it would be nice if we could actually either turn in or demonstrate our homework at some point. I'm just sayin'.