Shank

I want to understand the thought processes that happen in people’s heads. I understand what my job is. I understand the challenges that occur when a teacher must leave his or her classroom and trust a (sometimes) stranger to take over and make sure that their students are learning. The students that they have spent the past year (sometimes two or three years) nurturing, watching them grow from immature little kids to young adults who are beginning to understand the real world. That (sometimes) stranger is me. I go into classrooms that are often foreign to me, many times not knowing what to expect, what to do, what the children will be like. How are the children going to be today? Will they be respectful? Talkative? Will they do their assigned work? Will I be able to communicate with them? I constantly think about writing a book, or putting together a compilation of my stories: Adventures of a substitute teacher in Compton. But I would probably get sued.

I swear I have a story for every day of the year. Like today…How screwed up is the education system when they keep kids in school who are a threat to other kids and adults? I was TRYING to teach a class. I say trying because some kids decided that school isn’t important so they are just going to talk and distract everyone. All the sudden I hear a boy ask someone if they like his shank. He decided it was ok to make a weapon while at school, right in front of me. Now, one would think that when a kid has a weapon at school that they would get in trouble. Not here though. Not when the district refuses to suspend students because they need every cent of ADA money. What happened to zero tolerance policies? Why are student’s lives being put at risk? Why is this ok with people?

Don’t get me wrong. I love my job (most of the time). I am thoroughly entertained everyday by the lives America’s youth. It is an amazing feeling to be able to share my stories with them about when I was their age (edited of course, because they don’t need to know the details). I see them going through the same exact things I went through, and I know that sometimes I can help them and sometimes I just need to let them figure it out on their own. It is amazing to see them grasp something that they had no previous understanding of.

I think I am burnt out. This writing is out of frustration. Had my class choice today been better, I probably would have remained silent for a day, but I find myself crying out for someone to think about what they are doing to the youth of this world by not teaching them right and wrong. I shouldn’t say my class choice for the day; I should say the choices that the students in the class are making should be better. If only I could understand what they were thinking, then maybe I could reach them.

Telephone wire puppets

Face it: Redundancy is a part of life. Most things we do every day we have already done the day before, and the day before, and the day before, and I think you know where I am going with that. Some of this repetition is good: showering, eating, using deoderant, giving and receiving kisses. However, when we do the same minute tasks day after day after day life takes us by the strings and turns us into puppets. Once a puppet, you can no longer control your own actions; you must live your simple life of repetitive movements over and over again until your muscles have them memorized and the puppeteer no longer needs to do any work because you do it all for him. What is the fun in that? Why live a life that you are not truly living at all. Why give in and let the puppeteer dominate you?

2 New Years Eves ago I decided I would no longer be a puppet. It's been really hard to break the strings, but I think life is definitely more interesting. One year ago I decided to leave my mom's nest and learn how to be an adult. It isn't easy, no one said it would be nor did I think it would, but I do not regret it for one second.

In order to further remove myself from the staged life I had to be removed from certain people in my past (not my mom or any of my family). How do you tell someone you no longer want to be in their life and you no longer want them in yours? Sometimes, you just have to walk away without turning back.

You have to give to get. Forgive to forget.

Living a life out of control is not easy. I constantly find myself wondering what to do next. Chris is pretty good at finding things. We have spent our Saturdays for the last 3 months exploring the wonderful area of Southern California known as the Grapevine. I always thought it was just a windy hilly part of the 5 freeway, but whowouldathunk that there are actually things to do up there? We have spent days talking to men who are missing teeth running art shows, bikers at a biker bar that really is in the middle of nowhere, and Park Rangers in old abandoned Fort Tejon that was once the epicenter of a very large earthquake.

Yesterday while exploring one of the fault lines up there we found a small area of natural clay. I kid you not, I almost stripped down and jumped in. Until I realized we were right next to the highway. Instead I settled for rubbing it on my hand. We were on a fault line that has natural hot springs on it, and turns out there was a random spring drip dripping out of the rocks. It drip dripped down into a miniature sag pong along the side of the road that was full of tadpoles! Swim swimity swim swimity swim swim sharoo. I just had to get that out.

These are things that keep me sane. They keep my life far from being mundane. They keep me full of adventure. And you know what? When I am old and gray and full of embarrasing moments, I am going to be able to tell whoever is nice enough to listen that I had to go, so I went. Right on top of the San Andreas fault. So there! Bring on the earthquake!

Happy Earth Day!

Because it is Earth Day, I will not water my garden. Oh wait, I won't water because it rained. Whatever. Apparently all of my tomato plants are dying. I don't know why, but the leaves are all shriveling up or something. It's not snails. I water regularly but not too much. It must be my brown thumb. My arugula is growing though! 2 more weeks til I can pick it.

So last week I bought lotion with sunscreen in it. I know one of my friends will be very happy about that. She can no longer yell at me for being sunburnt all the time. Only problem is that I smell like sunscreen all the time, and honestly, I hate that smell. Unless it's banana boat. Cause that just smells tropical and yummy.

One of my dogs keeps farting. I'm not sure which one because they are both next to me right now. But it smells REALLY bad. I wish I could tell them that farting is not good for the environment because it contains methane and other gases, but I don't think they would understand. Plus, people might think I am crazy. But we already knew that didn't we?

Out of death comes new life

The Mayans believed that when things died they went into the earth and from the earth came new life. Yesterday I was given word of a death that hit close to home. Not my home, but the home of one of my old students. My old student, who will remain nameless, lost her sister last week. She was the victim of a shooting, probably senseless, but nonetheless deadly. I feel for my old student, mostly because I know her potential, and I know many of her teachers did not. I understood her rough life and hard time getting along at school. I remember her coming to my classroom last year asking if she could use my phone to call her sister because she was having a bad day. Her sister calmed her down and she went on to the rest of her classes. It could have been my student sitting on the porch that night. It could have been anyone. The Mayans based their concept of life around the fact of death. Everything dies, but only when something dies will something be born. It is a never ending cycle.

I planted arugula last week. It might just be the only plant I am able to keep alive. I have managed to kill rosemary, freeway daisies, thyme, and even a tomato. I don't know how one manages to kill any of those plants, but I did. I did my research on it. Apparently arugula is super invasive, so I planted it in this special pot. I needed the special pot because I know the reason why everything I plant dies. I don't water. So the special pot has this water reservoir in the bottom of it to always keep the soil moist. At least until the reservoir is dry. I remembered to water this morning. Not too much though, because I don't want to drown it. I did that to the corn.

The arugula is not for me. It's for Sherlock and Irene. See, it is bearded dragon breeding season, only Irene wont give it up to Sherlock, so he is extremely horny. He is taking his frustration out on his food and eating about 2 bowls of salad a day. Anyone know how much arugula costs? It's not cheap. But a pack of seeds is only 99 cents. See, I'm smrt sometimes. Just like Homer Simpson.

Coffee and Shrooms

I write things. On napkins, coffee cups, sometimes a desk at work. Sometimes I have so many thinking thoughts going through my head at once that it whisks my brain into mush. And not the good kind of mush either. Not like a wild mushroom and herb risotto mush, or a southern grits mush, but more like a garden soil that got too much rain mush. It's that mush that makes me write. Usually on my morning coffee cup. I should probably stop killing trees for my coffee and use my reusable cup, but what fun would that be?

Today I thought about growing mushrooms. I never liked mushrooms, until one day at a certain friends wedding I ate one and it was like fireworks in my mouth. Maybe not fireworks, that's not really the best word, but maybe after three proofreading sessions I will keep it. I thought about using the word ecstasy, but that reminds me of this story a certain close relative told me about that drug, so I don't really like that word. Anyway, back to mushrooms, I thought about growing them, but I am afraid that if I do, somehow a poisonous one will sneak in and kill me. Or make me sick. Really sick. I don't like vomiting. I don't even like that word. Here's a poisonous mushroom for you. I wouldn't eat it.

I have a million things to write, but I fear people will think I am crazy for just spouting out random information about my life, nothing that really is important, but just stuff. Yesterday I was teaching a 4th grade class and the students didn't know what long-winded meant. If you don't know, look it up. Anyway, the day was half over, time for lunch, and this kid comes up to me and says "Ms. Zink, you are a long-winded person." I just about died laughing. Apparently I talk a lot. And then I talk some more.
Does anyone know anything about growing mushrooms?