"You can't hide your journal behind the radiator in the guest bedroom we never use and not expect pe

Okay, another diversion from grading and an otherwise productive life:

"Marie, do you remember Christy Coombs from high school?"
"You mean my arch-enemy?"
"She's working Register 5 right now, and Mom is checking out with her... Ohhhh you're gonna die..."
"Hey Christy, congratulations, I mean, it's like ten years too late but I heard you and Todd got married. That's great."
"Ermm we're divorced."
"Ohhh... I'm so sorry..."
"So we saw you on TV or whatever."
"Oh, that's so cool that you guys watched me on TV--"
"It's just like in high school. It's like you're not funny, you're just weird."
"Well, comedy's subjective, y'know."
"So are you gay? 'Cause I've heard a lot of women comedians are gay."
"No, I'm not gay."
"Well, that's good, 'cause remember when we all went to Christian Bible Camp and we all went skinny-dipping that night and you wouldn't take your shirt off? I'm like Oh My God you got nothin' to show anyway... And then you took it off and we all gave you titty-twisters? And like Oh My God if you were a lesbo you would've been all turned on by that and I just got all... grossed out."
"That brings up a lot of horrible memories."
"Pete Patterson, he does this awesome impersonation of you, he goes--I don't know if I can do it--he's like 'I'm Maria Bamford' or something, and um, he said, he goes 'I wouldn't have fucked that freak in high school and I wouldn't fuck her now.'"
"Christy, why don't you go suck it?"
"Why don't you go suck it?"
"Fuck you!"
"Fuck you too. Do you need any help out of the cart with your bags?"

Our respective psychoses is eclipsed only by our shared fanaticism for Diet Coke.

"Lots of people have told me I'm too negative, too dark, too sensitive, and I need to take a walk on the sunny side of the street.  But if there's one thing I've learned after years of struggling with panic, anxiety, and ongoing depression, it's that there are plenty of us over here, on the side of the street where it's consistently overcast.
Don't be afraid of the dark
Reach out your hand, you'll hit someone like you
Everyone's here in the dark
You might not see me but I'm out here too!
I hit my kids and have problems with rage--Fuck you
That's why there's ice cream and county mental health services
I'm obsessed with frequent flyer miles, if I don't get points I don't wanna live!
I get 100 SkyMiles every time I visit my cognitive behavioralist
I write angry poetry about all of the goddamn new shirts Marilynn keeps buyin' me
You should read my journal
Oh can I?
No, but my therapist can!
Don't be afraid of the dark
Lions and war kill kids in their beds
Global warming and more
The poor!
Drink more caffeine and just stay on your meds
I bite my fingernails down to bloody stumps
Who doesn't?
I hate the environment and dolphins and forests
Sometimes I masturbate to my clients' headshots
I can't believe you still have my headshot!
I live in an alcoholic blackout because I'm a gay homosexual transgendered woman!
You're not gonna remember me tellin' you this, but you're not alone
Don't be afraid of the dark
There's nothing to fear 'cause we're all terrified
Sink yourself into the dark
Desperation is normal, call a hotline, CONFIDE
I have Unwanted Thoughts Syndrome
A little-known version of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder
That made me avoid all eye contact
And especially knife drawers
I've been through treatment for depression
I'm 36 and have no kids
I've never been married
I have three separate addictions
And sometimes I weep uncontrollably for absolutely no reason
But I'm stayin' on my meds and drinkin' plenty of Diet Coke!
I'm sort of bulimic
I'm kind of a grump
I'm afraid of my baby
I can't take a dump
I'm shocked by my feelings
I can't stand the sun
I guess I hate God
I don't like to run
Don't be afraid of the dark
Just come in everyone if you wish you were dead
It's all right in the dark
Let professionals dance with the voice in your head!

Yes, I really can relate to this woman.

Oh sweet Jesus I am drowning in ungraded papers...

And yet I am doing everything within my capabilities to procrastinate. I'm even updating this thing!

This is the very definition of self-sabotage. Every time I chose to lay on the couch and bathe in television's familiar, coma-inducing glow, and every time that I've seated myself in front of the computer in hopes of doing work, only to find that I am suddenly and inexplicably engrossed in a game of The Sims or some mediocre Shockwave game, and every time that I've left work earlier than intended to go "play racquetball," I knew very well that I would return to this monolithic tsunami of worksheets and essays and tests (oh my!). There is no use in feeling sorry for myself, for this is all of my own doing.

Ah yes, and other than that, how was the show, Mrs. Lincoln? As much as I might kvetch about unfinished business, you might deduce that my life is nothing more than carrying around a miserable burden of inexcusable guilt -- but it really isn't! I do love my job (mostly) and I keep good company, the kind that might indulge me in dim sum or threaten to purchase me a sidecar if I don't clean out my backseat. I have a wonderful apartment, shared with a wonderful man (who, I recently discovered, looks incredible in a suit) and a wonderful cat that suffers my insatiable appetite for cuddling. And I even have a Christmas tree!

I could use another summer vacation, though. It seems to me, in my medical opinion, that it would do me a great deal of physical and emotional good to again devote my time to exercise, bad reality television, and questionable cuisine. Oh sure, I was bored at times, but I think last summer represents the first time since my childhood that I've been able to occupy myself with nothing and still maintain my sanity (or some semblance of it).

Go figure that I might prefer idleness to productivity. 

"This year I'm all about the 'woooo'!"

From reading my last entry, you may very well think that I am still stuck in Williamsburg, thank to a semi-reliable car.  Perhaps I integrated with the natives, or found a stern-but-compassionate family of stray dogs that chose to adopt me and teach me their keen survival skills?  Au contraire!  I was in fact able, by the grace of something, to start my car without the help of a mechanic or anyone else with an ounce of motor vehicle knowledge.  Now, to add to this drama, I was again unable to start my car about a month later -- okay, not completely true; I did discover that it would start if I made good on my threat to get its ass towed -- and so I took it to my local friendly auto repair shop/taxidermy gallery to get it fixed once and for all.  As it turned out, it was nothing more than a faulty main relay, which cost only about $150 to replace (not a bad sum, since I had at one point over the summer about $1000 to fritter away on anything of my choosing).

So I indeed made it back to Richmond and continued my life as I always had: I woke up, busied myself with numerous projects (as of yet, all are unfinished), perhaps went out and socialized a bit, came back home, watched TV with Kevin, and passed out at around midnight.  It was actually quite a charmed existence, since technically I guess I was earning salaried pay to stay at home for two-and-a-half months.

Not to say that I didn't need it, though.  Once the rugrats left in mid-June, I was all but exhausted -- mentally, physically, and maybe even spiritually.

But with that said, our noses are back to the grindstone, as we are well into the 2007-2008 school year.  My students this year are comparatively better than the ones I had last year, though suffice to say that I miss my rays of sunshine that sustained me in each class period.  Fortunately, most of them have moved up a grade and not out of the building, and I've already had "lunch appointments" with several of them to catch up and reminisce over the good times.  Those that have moved elsewhere have already sent emails updating me on their status, and its those moments, coupled with the hijinks of the classroom, that really make this profession worthwhile.

My car won't fucking start. I am stuck in Williamsburg. Is Ms. Johnson going to have to choke a bitch?

(That is indeed the question.)

(There is something to be said for updating every couple of weeks. This is becoming less of a day-to-day log of my perhaps mundane life and more of a tribute to the highlights. With that said, there is also something to be said for my inherent sense of guilt in not purging my thoughts onto theoretical paper more frequently.)

In speaking of guilt, Kevin and I watched "House" for the first time... well, ever. I know a good many people are addicted to this show in some fashion (including my own mother), but I failed to see the appeal. That is, until I saw an episode, which I found to be quite engaging. What I found most intriguing was in a case that House was struggling with: this girl was suffering from intense headaches and some kind of induced metabolic problem, as well as from crippling pangs of guilt. House suggested that a deficiency in vitamin B12 could be the root of her physical and emotional disorder, which then made me wonder if supplements of B12 would help me overcome my nagging sense of quasi-Catholic guilt. The new Diet Coke Plus?contains, among other vitamins and minerals, some B12, but I can't remember the percentage daily value that is included. In my diet alone, I know that I don't get enough, since B12 comes from meats and dairy products, the former of which I am eating rarely. More info on B12 deficiency here, though the NIH does not mention "guilt" as a symptom, so I'm left to wonder if House's conclusion is nothing more than a case of psuedo-TV-medicine quackery.

And, as it turned out, his patient was simply suffering from a 12-foot tapeworm. Hm indeed.

As for now, I am sitting in William & Mary's Swem Library and am taking full advantage of the computer access provided. Today is Day 4 of the AP Institute, and I will admit that I am feeling less intimidated by the notion of teaching AP World. At the very least, several textbook companies are loading us down with lots of free stuff, and Chesterfield County is paying me to eat. Tomorrow is the last day that I will be in Williamsburg, which is kind of a cute little town but it has horrible daytime television commercials. I thought Richmond was bad, but at least we don't have a car dealership ad featuring a pimped-out dog named Mack-Mack ("Don't worry about credit, I own a bank!").

And as for the wreckage I had left behind, Kevin and I had a good talk in which we discussed our cleaning habits, and wherein we both came to the conclusion that neither of us like cleaning (because we're lazy) but it is unfortunately sometimes a necessary evil. He was kind enough in my absence to pick up some of the scraps of fabric I had strewn about the living room -- I am reupholstering the couch in a black crushed velvet-type material, and it is quite a process -- but I get the impression that he wasn't exactly enthralled to do so. In any case, we enjoyed ourselves very much while he was visiting me here, and I sadly lingered on Richmond Avenue as I waved and watched his car disappear behind the Hospitality House. My mom is coming up this evening, however, to keep me company and to dine with me at the King's Arms, a fancy colonial-inspired restaurant that I'm not sure whether or not I've been to.

(In conclusion, I find it kind of amusing that I had about as much to say about my life currently as I did about vitamin B12. If that doesn't paint a portrait of some sort, I don't know what will.)