I've neglected this for quite a few months now, and I'm not entirely sure why. I know that between not getting the full time job at the high school and the uncertainty resulting from that, I just don't have much to say in a positive light. I was able to get approved through two school districts to sub day-to-day, but it's just not the same as teaching. It feels extremely menial and faintly demeaning. Most teachers don't leave more than a VHS for the sub to tackle...and that it both unchallenging and extremely boring [times five-six periods of the same thing]. I thought that maybe subbing at East High would result in some teachers who know me actually giving me something productive to do with the students, but as it goes, I often don't get the teachers I know/the teachers I know call off last minute and have nothing planned. Sigh.

As far as everything else goes...let's see. The boyfriend is good. As is becoming the norm, he is pursuing further education and will be moving away in the fall. I'm kind of getting used to this, sadly. He did come with me to a therapy session; this was both intimidating and panic-inducing....almost embarrassing too.

To be continued...

Repetition.

Go to bed at 9:45. 

Fall asleep at 10:15

Wake up at 11.

Fall back asleep at 12:30.

Wake up at 1:15.

Fall back asleep at 2:30.

Wake up at 4.

Maybe fall back asleep till the alarm goes off at 5.

Get up, get ready, and leave for work by 6:25.

Work till I get home between 4-6.

Grade, prep, plan, and maybe eat.

Go to bed at 9:45.

Sigh.

Some days I just don't see the point in repeating. Some days I do.

And then there's this...

http://www.cnn.com/video/data/2.0/video/crime/2013/11/16/newday-valencia-rapist-no-jail-time.cnn.html

Cause and Effect

the best often die by their own hand
just to get away,and those left behind
can never quite understand
why anybody
would ever want to
get away
from
them

Charles Bukowski

Are You Still Being a Good Girl?

This is what I heard as I locked my car and started walking towards cvs to pick up my medicine. The question has been looping through my mind all day. 

As soon as he spoke I whipped my head up from my phone and saw him standing there. This little, cocky, half grin crept across his face. I didn't look any longer after that, though. I backed quickly to my car door, unlocked it, and smacked my head on the way in ( I'd find out a few hours later that I cut it open and probably had a concussion). 

Then I drove. I'm not sure how far he followed me, but somehow after thirty minutes I managed to lose him. I drove out to Roundtop and when there weren't any cars behind me, quickly turned around and headed to a friends'. 

I still cannot get those words and the face out of my head. I'm ready to be done. 

People Always Ask:

I could always stop cutting; that’s the plain and inelegant truth. No matter how compelling the urge, the act itself is always a choice. I have no power over the urge, but the act itself is always a choice. I have no power over the flood tide of emotions that drives me to that brink, but I occasionally have the power to decide whether or not to step over. Stopping, however, is not at all the same thing as ending the desire. I still ache with a fierce, organic need for cutting’s seductive, minimalist simplicity. I expect that I will always be the kind of person who is too much aware of the boundlessness of chaos; it’s like having an unfortunate sixth sense, alive to the teeming, invisible undercurrents of anarchy streaming past us as every moment. I don’t say it makes me stronger, or more interesting, or gives me character; it’s just a part of my fabric of self.