There are a few strange thoughts that I have allowed not only to wander through my mind, here causing me a shudder, here evoking a smile, but that I will also transpose into literary for you to read a muse over in your own way.
It is a great deal of energy to love someone so fervently; to memorize one's face, their ways, the feel of their hair, even the unpleasant- and then to be called upon to forget them entirely. I have to remind myself everyday that this is the right thing. And that I will be happier after all is said and done. But oh- to smell him, to fell him lay beside me- thoughts that haunt me now were once so welcome, so warm. But as Jane said, God's law was not made for us when we are sane.
D.H. Lawrence's Sons and Lovers is a difficult read. It's a thick book with much cockney dialogue and vague references to foreign Northern england culture, circa 188-. But the characters are deep, believable, and relatable. Walter Morel represents a past prominant, dominant man in my life- crude, ill-educated, and a forceful drunk who knew nothing but physical labor and how to be a rotten father. Mrs. Morel is a quiet, forbearing but independant woman who should have run when given the chance. Paul is Mr. Hamster through and through, glued to his mother's side and wary of everything. This book is exploring many of the feelings I know and hate. Maybe it's true and broken nature lends to the difficulty of the read... Maybe I am just a lazy reader.
I long to be excited again. About anything. I have this silly thought that maybe excitement is for the young and stupid. But I don't think so now. I think I will see it again. I think I will feel a tug on my heart everytime he calls my name, or touches my shoulder, or asks me if I am happy. I think he will be again, despite myself. Or maybe he will never reappear, that ellusive Cupid. But maybe I will learn a new form of excitement. Some women are blessed with children out of broken marriages, while others have the expanse of time, culture, and opportunity laying before them. I should be excited about opportunity, right? But, then again, opportunity is no sounding board. Opportunity won't kiss you on the forehead, or hold you hand at the doctors, or smile when you come in the door. Did he ever do those things anyways?
Crystal Light is an indulgance I am forcing myself to afford. (Hey, I didn't promise depth here, you just assumed)
WARNING: My thoughts do progress from here and may not be particularly suitable A) for people who know me really well, or B) for children
Sex... Sex is a privilege. I haven't talked about sex in a long time because I was too proud to admit that I am a slave to a sexual appetite, that I am a sexual being with sexual receptors in my brain. I have disregarded the fact that I am an animal, with instincts to procreate and enjoy the act. But I have to admit, it's been weighing on me lately. Not just the sex I'm missing out on, but the horrible sexual choices I made. I have long since denied my mistakes in judgement, and I have found them staring back at me everytime I open my closet to view each new skeleton I throw in. I was never promiscuous, but my partner was. I knew it from the start, but I was too blind, too stupid and too unawares to do anything about it.
I thought I would get over it, overlook it, or just simply "move on." But I can't. Or my heart refuses to. In either case, Sex ruins everything. I did things the "right way," save one mistake that I have paid for in an amazing way.
Sex is one of those things- Sex is like driving a car... One day, there you are, rockin' out to Billie Joel, abiding by the speed limit, wearing your safety belt and sunglasses when BAM! Some Teeny Bopper named Mitzy slams her 1997 Black Manual Corrola into your 2006 Luxery, leather interior all wheel drive fully automatic with a moon roof and child safety locks BMW. And she has no insurance.
What I mean is, you can go along your whole life protected and safe. Then you get married and think, great, here's a safe and secure way to procreate and enjoy sex. So you do. Until you realize that you perfect partner who shares this God-given right to fulfilment IS NOT using protection. When he has sex. With other women. Women who are not you. Women who may or may not be dirty. Women who may or may not be attractive. Women who may or may not know that he has a loving and doting wife who- aside from one horrible exception- saved herself for him and would do ANYTHING to make him happy. Women who have no right procreating with your husband.
And there you are. Alone, Sexless, and Unprotected. All because of Mitzy. Who, in this case is not a teeny bopper who stole her brothers car to go buy illegal cigarettes and listen to Justin Timberlake on his Sirius satelite radio... Oh no. The person in that 1997 Black Manual Corrolla is the one person in all the world you trust more than life. The one person who turns you out. The one person who you feel sexy around in any capacity. The one person you have sexual relations with.
And here I am, alone. Sexless. Unprotected. Bitter. Hurt. So bitter and hurt, in fact that it is ruining every chance I have to meet normal, caring men who like to talk over coffee and indulge me when I talk about really boring things like the countryside, recreational hair cuts, and the best thing out of BBCA, Coupling. So bitter and hurt, that I think every man is gay or a serial killer or both. So bitter an hurt that I think 'Maybe that's all I ever deserved.'
Maybe blondes do have all the fun. Maybe the nice guy doesn't finish last, just the fat nice guy. Maybe the pretty girl ends up with the guy. Maybe that's all I'm worth.
I think I'm a weenie. I think I should stop being afraid to walk to my car at night in a well lit and populated parking lot. I think I should be able to overcome my fear of answering the telephone. I think that when a cute guy hits on me at a bar, I should be more receptive and ignore the instincts that he is a trained assasin sent here to kidnap me.
I should have the courage to tell people "I beg your pardon, but my whereabouts are my business alone. If you should chance to know something about where or with whom I travel, what I do on my days off, or where I go to school, kindly keep it to yourself."
I should also have to courage to tell people, in a nice way that my marital status is not something I would like to be grilled on, or scolded for, or looked at with concern and told "Atleast you didn't have any children. Think of how your actions would have ruined them" Nor would I like people to allow their children to ask me whether or not I am still married and when the divorce will be final and whether or not I get allimony. There are so many things wrong with that, mainly that the preceeding information IS ALL TRUE.
I should have more than dreams to sustain me.
I'm just never going to have the relationship with Oranges that I think they want. They will always be for me a great juice and a horrible texture. Kind of like that guy that you love but that can't kiss you like you want to be kissed or dance just right.
When you have shoes in boxes that you are afraid to break out because you don't want people to think you have a problem, it's time to reevaluate your lifestyle. Or just the people you hang out with.
Wow, what a catharsis.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
Young John Takes a Country Ride...
We were driving along alright. No real incidents for the past 20 miles or so. I wondered if she had changed her mind or not. I wondered a lot of things though.
"Young?" she whispered in her sleep like she always did. I was begining to wonder if, in waking hours she remembered me at all, or if I, like a vision haunted her as a dream that one cannot shake eerily does in the dim winter daylight.
"Yes?" I expected her to roll to her side and forget having ever called for me. I expected the sky to fall in heavy crashing waves on the road before the glaring red hood of the car outside of ever expecting her remark.
"Young, I love it when you drive" She smiled and twinkled and sat spritely and playfully up in her seat, readjusting her chaise and hair and camisole where necessary.
Most of our rides continued in silence. I usually played something inspiring, something soft, something the hum of the engine would disguise to her delicate ears in her relaxed horizontal position. A position from which I gained much and she lost little in beauty, grace and my admiration.
But not today. Not on what had already become the most interesting day in the history of my life with her. No. Today, she was alive. Today she was free. Today, she had obtained a refreshed spirit from her short nap and she had something different in her.
"Do you?" I had almost discounted her voice as my imagination. Prone to wander, I had learned in these long rides not to trust it; It often overtook me when I would chance to look over at her, soft, vulnerable, unchanged, and dreaming of her escape. Violent with expression, it would call out to me "She only lies so you will see her" or "she only sighs in her sleep because she is dreaming of you" or "She only cries so because she longs for you"
But today I had to test it. I had to wait it out until it was thrown out the window by her own soft sweet voice and it was left behind on the highway.
"Yes, I really do. It gives me time to think. But you know, I had always wondered where you drove me to"
She would wonder no longer, nor be surprised at our route. I drove her over low rolling hills just outside of the city. Hills that she photographed time and again. Hills that she obsessed over. Hills that I just saw as hills and that romanced her very soul. Hills that provided slowing, rolling curves that I could easily navigate with the windows down, hopping a draft would catch her hair and reveal her bright pink cheeks.
"Young?" She held it sweetly on her tongue and then let it fall across her lips and linger in the air before her.
"Yes?"
"Thank you" And then she was gone. She rolled down the window as I came to a stop into the town and she was gone. Just as quickly as she had awaken and seen me and made out our whereabouts with certainty, just as quickly as she gave me hope that she truly saw me and wanted my company and pleasure in her, she was gone.
I, for once, and not undone by this. If she knows me enough to smile and draw out from herself a whisper of me, I am not undone.
"Young?" she whispered in her sleep like she always did. I was begining to wonder if, in waking hours she remembered me at all, or if I, like a vision haunted her as a dream that one cannot shake eerily does in the dim winter daylight.
"Yes?" I expected her to roll to her side and forget having ever called for me. I expected the sky to fall in heavy crashing waves on the road before the glaring red hood of the car outside of ever expecting her remark.
"Young, I love it when you drive" She smiled and twinkled and sat spritely and playfully up in her seat, readjusting her chaise and hair and camisole where necessary.
Most of our rides continued in silence. I usually played something inspiring, something soft, something the hum of the engine would disguise to her delicate ears in her relaxed horizontal position. A position from which I gained much and she lost little in beauty, grace and my admiration.
But not today. Not on what had already become the most interesting day in the history of my life with her. No. Today, she was alive. Today she was free. Today, she had obtained a refreshed spirit from her short nap and she had something different in her.
"Do you?" I had almost discounted her voice as my imagination. Prone to wander, I had learned in these long rides not to trust it; It often overtook me when I would chance to look over at her, soft, vulnerable, unchanged, and dreaming of her escape. Violent with expression, it would call out to me "She only lies so you will see her" or "she only sighs in her sleep because she is dreaming of you" or "She only cries so because she longs for you"
But today I had to test it. I had to wait it out until it was thrown out the window by her own soft sweet voice and it was left behind on the highway.
"Yes, I really do. It gives me time to think. But you know, I had always wondered where you drove me to"
She would wonder no longer, nor be surprised at our route. I drove her over low rolling hills just outside of the city. Hills that she photographed time and again. Hills that she obsessed over. Hills that I just saw as hills and that romanced her very soul. Hills that provided slowing, rolling curves that I could easily navigate with the windows down, hopping a draft would catch her hair and reveal her bright pink cheeks.
"Young?" She held it sweetly on her tongue and then let it fall across her lips and linger in the air before her.
"Yes?"
"Thank you" And then she was gone. She rolled down the window as I came to a stop into the town and she was gone. Just as quickly as she had awaken and seen me and made out our whereabouts with certainty, just as quickly as she gave me hope that she truly saw me and wanted my company and pleasure in her, she was gone.
I, for once, and not undone by this. If she knows me enough to smile and draw out from herself a whisper of me, I am not undone.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Oh Jeffrey Vader, How I love thee.
This is quite possibly the best use of legos I have seen since Rick and Steve. Curled plastic high fives all the way round.
PS THIS IS a game of who the F*** are you.
PS THIS IS a game of who the F*** are you.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Being Late is 13 Leagues Better than Never
T13. Late as usual. But timely.
13 Reasons why I am going back to school
1. Because I hate having so much money that all I have left to do is stick it in my ears; I would much rather spend $13,000 on a crazy local education.
2. Because I long to have "townie" removed from peoples description of me.
3. Because my life just wasn't busy enough.
4. Obviously and most importantly I miss writing papers for english class.
5. Because, as life is, my sarcasm only reaches so many.
6. Piano Lessons just weren't enough.
7. Jeff said so.
8. Because my in-laws would never approve.
9. Ultimatetly, Young John will benefit from the expansion of my mind.
10. I miss debate class. Which was every class I was ever in. Coincedence? Don't kid yourself.
11. I like just being another nameless face in the crowd.
12. I failed at marriage, I had better just stick to something I know this time.
13. They tricked me into believing I really could get a B.A. in Underwater Basketweaving; my true heart's desire.
13 Reasons why I am going back to school
1. Because I hate having so much money that all I have left to do is stick it in my ears; I would much rather spend $13,000 on a crazy local education.
2. Because I long to have "townie" removed from peoples description of me.
3. Because my life just wasn't busy enough.
4. Obviously and most importantly I miss writing papers for english class.
5. Because, as life is, my sarcasm only reaches so many.
6. Piano Lessons just weren't enough.
7. Jeff said so.
8. Because my in-laws would never approve.
9. Ultimatetly, Young John will benefit from the expansion of my mind.
10. I miss debate class. Which was every class I was ever in. Coincedence? Don't kid yourself.
11. I like just being another nameless face in the crowd.
12. I failed at marriage, I had better just stick to something I know this time.
13. They tricked me into believing I really could get a B.A. in Underwater Basketweaving; my true heart's desire.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
The Interview, a Prequel
The REAL 15 questions that Young John was supposed to answer that I will now answer for myself here:
Was your childhood characterized by positivity or negativity?
I would say over all positivity. There were dark clouds but they were merely a teaching tool for appreciation.
Who was your more receptive parent?
My Mother, she was my only parent.
What did/ do you love most about that parent?
Her dedication. Once she made a decision- a truly important decision or commitment- she never disregarded it.
What do you dislike most about that parent?
Her practicality. Which is also one of her most respectful qualities. But I always long for her to have a fruitful and wandering mind along with me on occasion
Who, outside of your family, is your biggest inspiration and why?
Young John. He has given me freedom, a greater one I know I shall never fin; weightless and owing nothing, I am floating through life and becoming more and more the woman I want to be because of Young.
What profession most appealed to you when you were eight years old?
Being a ballerina like Audrey Hepburn. Never mind that I am a beast of a person with the gracefulness of a two legged ox...
What profession would you enter into now, other than you current one?
Nursing. For no real reason other than someone ought to
What is your mantra for life?
Quit Bitching, Start a Revolution, if I have to pick just one. Guard your heart for it affects all you do, if I am allowed two.
If you could speak any language, what would it be?
Italian so I could prove to the skeptics that I do belong to my people.
Name 3 people you wish were in your acquaintance.
Mr. Right, whoever he might be, Eddie Izzard, and Audrey Hepburn. I know, not very profound...
What is the most entertaining story you have from your life experience?
Borrowing from another's life experience, My mother grew up with her mother and Grandmother. She came home one day to the women speaking Italian rapidly and peeling potatoes or stirring boiling water or some kitchen task. When she asked what the were talking about, my grandmother, her mother said "Dinner" when she asked what that might be, she was directed to a bucket on the kitchen floor. A bucket full of live, writhing, swimming, curling, eels.
As far as my life is concerned, every day is a new adventure, a new amusement. I can't peg those joyful, serenely funny, heart stopping moments because they are so plentiful.
Have you ever gotten over your first love?
No, and he knows it.
What is the last book you read?
The Professor, Charlotte Bronte
What is your favorite work of fiction?
Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte
What is the answer?42
Was your childhood characterized by positivity or negativity?
I would say over all positivity. There were dark clouds but they were merely a teaching tool for appreciation.
Who was your more receptive parent?
My Mother, she was my only parent.
What did/ do you love most about that parent?
Her dedication. Once she made a decision- a truly important decision or commitment- she never disregarded it.
What do you dislike most about that parent?
Her practicality. Which is also one of her most respectful qualities. But I always long for her to have a fruitful and wandering mind along with me on occasion
Who, outside of your family, is your biggest inspiration and why?
Young John. He has given me freedom, a greater one I know I shall never fin; weightless and owing nothing, I am floating through life and becoming more and more the woman I want to be because of Young.
What profession most appealed to you when you were eight years old?
Being a ballerina like Audrey Hepburn. Never mind that I am a beast of a person with the gracefulness of a two legged ox...
What profession would you enter into now, other than you current one?
Nursing. For no real reason other than someone ought to
What is your mantra for life?
Quit Bitching, Start a Revolution, if I have to pick just one. Guard your heart for it affects all you do, if I am allowed two.
If you could speak any language, what would it be?
Italian so I could prove to the skeptics that I do belong to my people.
Name 3 people you wish were in your acquaintance.
Mr. Right, whoever he might be, Eddie Izzard, and Audrey Hepburn. I know, not very profound...
What is the most entertaining story you have from your life experience?
Borrowing from another's life experience, My mother grew up with her mother and Grandmother. She came home one day to the women speaking Italian rapidly and peeling potatoes or stirring boiling water or some kitchen task. When she asked what the were talking about, my grandmother, her mother said "Dinner" when she asked what that might be, she was directed to a bucket on the kitchen floor. A bucket full of live, writhing, swimming, curling, eels.
As far as my life is concerned, every day is a new adventure, a new amusement. I can't peg those joyful, serenely funny, heart stopping moments because they are so plentiful.
Have you ever gotten over your first love?
No, and he knows it.
What is the last book you read?
The Professor, Charlotte Bronte
What is your favorite work of fiction?
Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte
What is the answer?42
And Yet Still More... An Interview
15 questions with Young John
John, tell me about your childhood.
Well, Dennis that's hardly a question.
Jesus Christ John, give me a f---, you know what you're impossible. Fine. John, tell me about your childhood, was it a happy one QUESTION MARK?
Sorry, I had no idea you had such low blood sugar... Testy... Ok, well happy? Sure Dennis it was relatively happy, what little of it made any impression at all on me.
Ok... What's the one thing you remember most about your mother?
Dennis...?
Yes, John?
Why do I have to remember anything about my mother, She's still alive...
I apologize John I'm just trying to add a little drama. Work with me here.
Okay... My mother sings a lot. Used to sing, I suppose I mean. She has a terrible voice and absolutely no pitch, but she insists on singing every song that pops into her head, it's ridiculous. In the car, the shower, in cue at the grocery store, with her mouthful, when you say "Good Morning Cindy" Non sto--
JOHN!
Sorry...
What did you want to be when you were a young boy?
Dennis, young is a state of mind, but I suppose when I wasn't as far on in years I always saw myself as a father figure. The job I had never occured to me, I just always knew that I wanted to put food on my loving family's table...
That's good shit John, Jesus I hope i have to tape recorder on... ok, next question, Who's your biggest inspiration?
There are a few, I suppose. Drew inspires me to go to church, Maggie inspires me to be more open minded, and we know there's always that special someone that inspires me to wake up each day and take that first breath. That person that reminds you that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. That person that quiets my mind so i can finally stop thinking and obsessing and worrying and get some sleep so I can start all over again...And Joe inspires me to never drink more than I can handle 'cause who hasn't driven that jerk home.
John, How is she doing?
I didn't come here to talk about her I came here to help you with you assignment
Yeah, but John, How is she, be honest.
Fine, I don't know good, I guess, why?
I just thought about her. I saw DR the other day and I was just wondering about her and him and what she decided-
LISTEN, I don't want to talk about it. It's hardly my business to even ask her let alone to run my mouth to you.
ok, sorry... What is your favorite word?
What the hell- what kind of crap is this?
I'll ask the questions thank you. James Lipton, Inside the Actors Studio. Focus John.
Fine.. um... Bolox.
What?
James Lipton asks every guest what their favorite CURSE word is, and mine happens to be BOLOX
Fine, Who'd you take in the Ravens/ Dolphins game?
DENNIS
What? I have to fill out my sheet and I hate taking that teams you take.
You are a moron of epic proportions. This interview is officially over-
C'mon, I only have like 12 more question Young!
No absolutely not
Well can I botch your response to the rest of them?
Whatever Dennis, I'm going to the bar. She'll be there tonight if you want to ask her your 20 impertenant, obnoxious, invasive questions.
I'm game.
John, tell me about your childhood.
Well, Dennis that's hardly a question.
Jesus Christ John, give me a f---, you know what you're impossible. Fine. John, tell me about your childhood, was it a happy one QUESTION MARK?
Sorry, I had no idea you had such low blood sugar... Testy... Ok, well happy? Sure Dennis it was relatively happy, what little of it made any impression at all on me.
Ok... What's the one thing you remember most about your mother?
Dennis...?
Yes, John?
Why do I have to remember anything about my mother, She's still alive...
I apologize John I'm just trying to add a little drama. Work with me here.
Okay... My mother sings a lot. Used to sing, I suppose I mean. She has a terrible voice and absolutely no pitch, but she insists on singing every song that pops into her head, it's ridiculous. In the car, the shower, in cue at the grocery store, with her mouthful, when you say "Good Morning Cindy" Non sto--
JOHN!
Sorry...
What did you want to be when you were a young boy?
Dennis, young is a state of mind, but I suppose when I wasn't as far on in years I always saw myself as a father figure. The job I had never occured to me, I just always knew that I wanted to put food on my loving family's table...
That's good shit John, Jesus I hope i have to tape recorder on... ok, next question, Who's your biggest inspiration?
There are a few, I suppose. Drew inspires me to go to church, Maggie inspires me to be more open minded, and we know there's always that special someone that inspires me to wake up each day and take that first breath. That person that reminds you that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. That person that quiets my mind so i can finally stop thinking and obsessing and worrying and get some sleep so I can start all over again...And Joe inspires me to never drink more than I can handle 'cause who hasn't driven that jerk home.
John, How is she doing?
I didn't come here to talk about her I came here to help you with you assignment
Yeah, but John, How is she, be honest.
Fine, I don't know good, I guess, why?
I just thought about her. I saw DR the other day and I was just wondering about her and him and what she decided-
LISTEN, I don't want to talk about it. It's hardly my business to even ask her let alone to run my mouth to you.
ok, sorry... What is your favorite word?
What the hell- what kind of crap is this?
I'll ask the questions thank you. James Lipton, Inside the Actors Studio. Focus John.
Fine.. um... Bolox.
What?
James Lipton asks every guest what their favorite CURSE word is, and mine happens to be BOLOX
Fine, Who'd you take in the Ravens/ Dolphins game?
DENNIS
What? I have to fill out my sheet and I hate taking that teams you take.
You are a moron of epic proportions. This interview is officially over-
C'mon, I only have like 12 more question Young!
No absolutely not
Well can I botch your response to the rest of them?
Whatever Dennis, I'm going to the bar. She'll be there tonight if you want to ask her your 20 impertenant, obnoxious, invasive questions.
I'm game.
Friday, January 11, 2008
The Coming Home of Young John, A Split Expedition
She happened to glance over the wall to see him sitting there, quietly, alone. She imagined what face might greet hers if she could see his, but his head was bowed. Before she knew what she was doing, his name formed on her lips.
But she caught herself in the breath and the heartbeat just before one does the very thing one wants to do. She regarded their present proximities aznd situations quickly and with great alacrity of mind. She paused to breathe and then saw what she never expected from Young.
A cross here, a small prayer, another cross. Young in prayer?
He smoothed the napkin on his lap she had allowed to go unnoticed in her first sight of him. He opened his turkey club on wheat with hunger in his heart. With that hunger he sensed her and looked with a smile. Embarassed for the stupid look glazed over her face, she gave a small wave and resumed her seat beyond the protective wall.
Young thought to himself, "What a beautiful smile"
*****************
She entered the house only to find him asleep on the couch. Curled up in a fleece throw, Cinderella emblazened across it, she shook her head. She gave him on long look and remembered why she was out in the first place.
He awoke with a start, "Hey babe, how's Lisa doing?"
His sleepy voice and startled nature gripped her slightly when she remembered who she was out with and why she had lied in the first place, "Lisa's fine. Go to bed"
"Ok" where Young would normally make a conversation, she cut him to the end. Where he would typically put his arm on her shoulder and help her out of her coat, she was presently hanging the hanger on the cool steel bar. Where he would kiss her on the forehead and carry her up the stairs to make love to her he remembered he never did that in the first place.
And he remembered why she was lying in the first place but forgot why he didn't atleast try for her affections and attentions in the first place.
And now they were both assuming last place, while she slipped her slivery foot gracefully into the bath she drew while her was remembering and he took up the flannel sheets on their double bed.
Thus ended another long day for Young John; A day in two parts and more than completely unequalled and unimportant.
But she caught herself in the breath and the heartbeat just before one does the very thing one wants to do. She regarded their present proximities aznd situations quickly and with great alacrity of mind. She paused to breathe and then saw what she never expected from Young.
A cross here, a small prayer, another cross. Young in prayer?
He smoothed the napkin on his lap she had allowed to go unnoticed in her first sight of him. He opened his turkey club on wheat with hunger in his heart. With that hunger he sensed her and looked with a smile. Embarassed for the stupid look glazed over her face, she gave a small wave and resumed her seat beyond the protective wall.
Young thought to himself, "What a beautiful smile"
*****************
She entered the house only to find him asleep on the couch. Curled up in a fleece throw, Cinderella emblazened across it, she shook her head. She gave him on long look and remembered why she was out in the first place.
He awoke with a start, "Hey babe, how's Lisa doing?"
His sleepy voice and startled nature gripped her slightly when she remembered who she was out with and why she had lied in the first place, "Lisa's fine. Go to bed"
"Ok" where Young would normally make a conversation, she cut him to the end. Where he would typically put his arm on her shoulder and help her out of her coat, she was presently hanging the hanger on the cool steel bar. Where he would kiss her on the forehead and carry her up the stairs to make love to her he remembered he never did that in the first place.
And he remembered why she was lying in the first place but forgot why he didn't atleast try for her affections and attentions in the first place.
And now they were both assuming last place, while she slipped her slivery foot gracefully into the bath she drew while her was remembering and he took up the flannel sheets on their double bed.
Thus ended another long day for Young John; A day in two parts and more than completely unequalled and unimportant.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
She wakes and takes her place in line
13.
13..
13...
Hmm... 13 Insights into My Soul.
1. If given the chance, I would eat a key lime in some form every day of my life.
2. I hate socks, but I hate the lining of my shoes worse.
3. Pantyhose and I are on a strictly one-night-stand basis. (My mother, for the first time in recorded history, read over my shoulder and did nothing but giggle for a minute straight about how true this really is)
4. I consider my political views to be conservative, even though I am biased to the gays and the immigrants.
1. The former will help control our population boom.
2. The latter will do the job I'm not particularly fond of for
little money and even less job security and no health care.
3. God told me to love everyone and let Him do the busy work.
4. We all were immigrants once.
5. Don't hate because their shoes are better.
5. I am not in the least worried that the above text may cause someone discomfort. In fact I hope it does. Because discomfort causes change.
6. I am secretly anal about that stupidest things: All of my pillow covers have to be facing the same way before Ican successfully call it a night, things that fit in the dooro f the refrigerator must be kept there, everything I possibly can I alphabetize... There are so many more. But I think it is just in an attempt to control SOMETHING in my life.
7. I have strange anxieties that I don't think anyone else deals with. For instance I can't eat a hot dog in public (don't ask), I hate food prep workers that wear plastic gloves improperly, I don't like to be even slightly chilly in public because my hands turn an unsightly purple, I hate forgetting peoples names... Another long list. By anxiety I don't mean that these things slightly annoy me, I mean that on occasion I have had to control a panic attack when moving through these simple life experiences.
8. I wish that I could beathe like a dolphin and stay in the water for 30 or more minutes at a time.
9. I think one day human evolution will truly actualize the whole marine mammal obsession I have.
10. I have never talked to anyone the way I speak to myself.
11. I spy on people using myspace... I guess thats not really an insight though seeing as I know you ALL do it so:
11a. I hate sci fi now as most of you know. But very few of you know that, when I was a child I had the same negativity towards The Smurfs, The Chipmunks, The Muppets (shudder), Scooby-doo, Fraggle Rock, Arthur, The skits in Mr.Rogers that included the puppets, Alf, Charlie Brown and anything Snoopy related, and Care Bears. The majority of these things I disliked on one principle: Animals whether stuffed or real didn't, and shouldn't, talk.
I did, however, approve of Babar the french royal elephant, Thundercats, the Berenstein Bears, the Dot collection (i.e. Dot and the Whale and Dot and Keto), and David the Gnome.
I like Thundercats because they were not animals, they were mythological hybrids. And I agree with mythological hybrids with historic faith.
As for Babar, A. He was French, and B. The books were narrated by third person omniscense which means that literarally speaking, the elephants themselves didn't speak. Not to mention, Babar was freakin royalty.
In the Dot series, the only human that could understand the whales, dolphins, penguins, Moby Dick, the Crab, Keto, the seahorses, the sharks,etc. was Dot. Which means they were communicating, not speaking clear english. And an intuitive connection with certain aspects of nature is a God given talent. The same is applied to David, not to mention he himself is a mythological creature.
I was young and I don't know what I was thinking about the Berenstein Bears. I think intitially I was drawn to the very pun that was their last name, and I stuck around for the innocent fun. But I swear, I never inhailed.
12. I do not, under any circumstances give creedance to this preposterous idea many of you have about Dinosaurs. They didn't exist. Get over it.
13. And finally, everyone, in my opinion, should be required to be able to read, write, utilize arithmatic, speak 3 languages fluently, ballroom dance properly, curtsy and bow, and play some sort of instrument well by the time they graduate High school. If Jane Eyre could do all of that while fighting off tuberculosis and living on gruel and fetid water, we should atleast attempt in the day and age of motorcars, air conditioning, anti bacterial soap, and Lean Cuisine.
I think I have acheived what I set out to do, and that, my friends was share.
Now run along:
I don't feel myself today
Just a figure in a big monopoly game
Struggle is the price you pay
You get just enough just to give it away
I'm sinking but I'm floating away
Throw me a line so I can anchor my pain
The fabric is about to fray
13..
13...
Hmm... 13 Insights into My Soul.
1. If given the chance, I would eat a key lime in some form every day of my life.
2. I hate socks, but I hate the lining of my shoes worse.
3. Pantyhose and I are on a strictly one-night-stand basis. (My mother, for the first time in recorded history, read over my shoulder and did nothing but giggle for a minute straight about how true this really is)
4. I consider my political views to be conservative, even though I am biased to the gays and the immigrants.
1. The former will help control our population boom.
2. The latter will do the job I'm not particularly fond of for
little money and even less job security and no health care.
3. God told me to love everyone and let Him do the busy work.
4. We all were immigrants once.
5. Don't hate because their shoes are better.
5. I am not in the least worried that the above text may cause someone discomfort. In fact I hope it does. Because discomfort causes change.
6. I am secretly anal about that stupidest things: All of my pillow covers have to be facing the same way before Ican successfully call it a night, things that fit in the dooro f the refrigerator must be kept there, everything I possibly can I alphabetize... There are so many more. But I think it is just in an attempt to control SOMETHING in my life.
7. I have strange anxieties that I don't think anyone else deals with. For instance I can't eat a hot dog in public (don't ask), I hate food prep workers that wear plastic gloves improperly, I don't like to be even slightly chilly in public because my hands turn an unsightly purple, I hate forgetting peoples names... Another long list. By anxiety I don't mean that these things slightly annoy me, I mean that on occasion I have had to control a panic attack when moving through these simple life experiences.
8. I wish that I could beathe like a dolphin and stay in the water for 30 or more minutes at a time.
9. I think one day human evolution will truly actualize the whole marine mammal obsession I have.
10. I have never talked to anyone the way I speak to myself.
11. I spy on people using myspace... I guess thats not really an insight though seeing as I know you ALL do it so:
11a. I hate sci fi now as most of you know. But very few of you know that, when I was a child I had the same negativity towards The Smurfs, The Chipmunks, The Muppets (shudder), Scooby-doo, Fraggle Rock, Arthur, The skits in Mr.Rogers that included the puppets, Alf, Charlie Brown and anything Snoopy related, and Care Bears. The majority of these things I disliked on one principle: Animals whether stuffed or real didn't, and shouldn't, talk.
I did, however, approve of Babar the french royal elephant, Thundercats, the Berenstein Bears, the Dot collection (i.e. Dot and the Whale and Dot and Keto), and David the Gnome.
I like Thundercats because they were not animals, they were mythological hybrids. And I agree with mythological hybrids with historic faith.
As for Babar, A. He was French, and B. The books were narrated by third person omniscense which means that literarally speaking, the elephants themselves didn't speak. Not to mention, Babar was freakin royalty.
In the Dot series, the only human that could understand the whales, dolphins, penguins, Moby Dick, the Crab, Keto, the seahorses, the sharks,etc. was Dot. Which means they were communicating, not speaking clear english. And an intuitive connection with certain aspects of nature is a God given talent. The same is applied to David, not to mention he himself is a mythological creature.
I was young and I don't know what I was thinking about the Berenstein Bears. I think intitially I was drawn to the very pun that was their last name, and I stuck around for the innocent fun. But I swear, I never inhailed.
12. I do not, under any circumstances give creedance to this preposterous idea many of you have about Dinosaurs. They didn't exist. Get over it.
13. And finally, everyone, in my opinion, should be required to be able to read, write, utilize arithmatic, speak 3 languages fluently, ballroom dance properly, curtsy and bow, and play some sort of instrument well by the time they graduate High school. If Jane Eyre could do all of that while fighting off tuberculosis and living on gruel and fetid water, we should atleast attempt in the day and age of motorcars, air conditioning, anti bacterial soap, and Lean Cuisine.
I think I have acheived what I set out to do, and that, my friends was share.
Now run along:
I don't feel myself today
Just a figure in a big monopoly game
Struggle is the price you pay
You get just enough just to give it away
I'm sinking but I'm floating away
Throw me a line so I can anchor my pain
The fabric is about to fray
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
A tribute: I find hope in the beating breast
I find hope that gives me rest
I had no desire to love her. No desire to hold her. No real need for her slightly deformed beauty in my life. So I pulled her closer. Like I had done for days now.
We sat and thought and rarily talked because frankly the sound of her voice frightened me. I thought that, if I could sleep, I wouldn't think of her so much. I would hold her warmth next to mine and close my eyes and see the beauty I was searching for.
But it never happened that way. I was never transported in my waking dreamlike state to a place where the one I really longed to hold reappeared.
No. This one was skinny and beautiful and thought herself much more graceful and useful than she really was. She thought that when she gently leaned in and kissed my cheek that I were, in a way, melting for her. But the sighs I breathed were sorrowful and sour and full of a sad sensation. The sensation of loss. The stinging that comes when you know you ruined the only good thing you ever had.
But she seemed to enjoy it. When I would hold her, she would coo softly. When I would turn her forehead to kiss it gently and wait for a response she would search my face for an empty space and plow me over with a fresh dewey kiss.
It was nothing. It was nothing compared to her sweet naivety. To the moments when I would see the uncertainty in her eyes and reassure her with a kiss or a smile or just a wink or a tear. It was nothing compared to those breathless moments we spent together. There was no light behind her eyes. No youthful charm. No wisedom beyond her need.
It was nothing.
I had left the only thing that ever meant everything to me and ended up with nothing.
And even the resoulution in knowing that it was over and that it would never return didn't quiet my racing mind when I set to think about her for a while. I tried. I tried to lift my head and not think of her. I tried to draw breath and not dream of her. I tried to drive and not see her, sitting next to me, her soft brown hair awash in the gentle yellow wind of the sunshine, and her bright green eyes always searching, always asking, always looking to me to direct her to some far off deer or begging me to speak in a silent expression "I love you more than life and even that isn't enough!"
It isn't enough.
And I sleep and I dream and I see her now running from me, now fallen and hurt, now swimming in a tumultuous cerulean sea, now bent over a stream washing her feet with mud and laughing at the tadpoles, now chasing a small babe with blue green eyes as changing as the sea and a tight brow and large red cheeks and dusty brown hair and I think- Oh how I think- Is it real? Is this maybe the reality and perhaps the nightmares is this lonely thing I wake up to in my arms? This skin and bones dark woman I know well and hate as equally well?
But no.
Nothing could be so well. So true. So free.
Because I am Young John. And nothing was ever so good that I couldn't ruin it.
And, as I awake to the sad grey dim of the television set and shove her off of my weak chest; as my dreams fade and everything becomes all too real again, my hope dies.
Well the voices fall like timber, and the fear it pours like rain. And my heart is crushed to cinders underneath this kind of pain. There is no resolution when the revolution's dead so I'm left with no solution for the voices in my head.
I had no desire to love her. No desire to hold her. No real need for her slightly deformed beauty in my life. So I pulled her closer. Like I had done for days now.
We sat and thought and rarily talked because frankly the sound of her voice frightened me. I thought that, if I could sleep, I wouldn't think of her so much. I would hold her warmth next to mine and close my eyes and see the beauty I was searching for.
But it never happened that way. I was never transported in my waking dreamlike state to a place where the one I really longed to hold reappeared.
No. This one was skinny and beautiful and thought herself much more graceful and useful than she really was. She thought that when she gently leaned in and kissed my cheek that I were, in a way, melting for her. But the sighs I breathed were sorrowful and sour and full of a sad sensation. The sensation of loss. The stinging that comes when you know you ruined the only good thing you ever had.
But she seemed to enjoy it. When I would hold her, she would coo softly. When I would turn her forehead to kiss it gently and wait for a response she would search my face for an empty space and plow me over with a fresh dewey kiss.
It was nothing. It was nothing compared to her sweet naivety. To the moments when I would see the uncertainty in her eyes and reassure her with a kiss or a smile or just a wink or a tear. It was nothing compared to those breathless moments we spent together. There was no light behind her eyes. No youthful charm. No wisedom beyond her need.
It was nothing.
I had left the only thing that ever meant everything to me and ended up with nothing.
And even the resoulution in knowing that it was over and that it would never return didn't quiet my racing mind when I set to think about her for a while. I tried. I tried to lift my head and not think of her. I tried to draw breath and not dream of her. I tried to drive and not see her, sitting next to me, her soft brown hair awash in the gentle yellow wind of the sunshine, and her bright green eyes always searching, always asking, always looking to me to direct her to some far off deer or begging me to speak in a silent expression "I love you more than life and even that isn't enough!"
It isn't enough.
And I sleep and I dream and I see her now running from me, now fallen and hurt, now swimming in a tumultuous cerulean sea, now bent over a stream washing her feet with mud and laughing at the tadpoles, now chasing a small babe with blue green eyes as changing as the sea and a tight brow and large red cheeks and dusty brown hair and I think- Oh how I think- Is it real? Is this maybe the reality and perhaps the nightmares is this lonely thing I wake up to in my arms? This skin and bones dark woman I know well and hate as equally well?
But no.
Nothing could be so well. So true. So free.
Because I am Young John. And nothing was ever so good that I couldn't ruin it.
And, as I awake to the sad grey dim of the television set and shove her off of my weak chest; as my dreams fade and everything becomes all too real again, my hope dies.
Well the voices fall like timber, and the fear it pours like rain. And my heart is crushed to cinders underneath this kind of pain. There is no resolution when the revolution's dead so I'm left with no solution for the voices in my head.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
A response.
This whole long, drawn out and really useless bit is initially a response to a stupid meaningless myspace message. But I couldn't send it. Like most incredibly truthful prose, it hurt too much and offered too much chance for me to capitalize by confirming my wish to send it.
So now it is just another useless speck on the World Wide Web for those few of you that stumble across it. But it means a world of hope for me. I hope you can feign to understand that this is real. This time there are no tricks. No poetry. No imagery. Just raw feeling and being and desire and exhaustion.
This is just me.
"I can't keep doing this. This myspace thing is worse than seeing you in person. I feel like I am out in the rain outside your window, freezing and naked and watching you in a warm glow of a fire.
I can't do this limbo anymore.
Please divorce me. Please let me go. Please let me stop wishing you well and pretending that I'm ok. I need to be given a chance to heal.
You are living your life as you always have; without regard or care for what is best for me. Please allow me to treat you with the same, deserved disdain as you do me.
You've already ruined me. No one will want me now. No one will be able to love me now that you've violated every part of my heart, soul and body. But atleast without you and this "marriage" I can love myself. Atleast when you've finally set me free I will be able to look myself in the mirror and pretend to like what I see.
This thing is ruining my life. Just give me a chance.
I know you don't care. I know you are living your life and being loved regardless of whether or not our divorce is final.
I can't even make new friends this way. I am such a wreck and I am so consumed by this it is ruining every chance I have of love and acceptance.
I threw my life away to be with you. Career, school. and as it turns out, my heart. You gave nothing. You failed in no way to yourself. You took and received and used me for what I would be. And now, at the end it is your turn to bow out and allow me to cry and tear my cloth and feel every feeling I have been holding back all of this time.
I felt when we were married that I was lucky to have made you believe that I could be all you wanted. And I could have been. If you really had wanted what you asked of me.
If you really wanted a loving, doting, intelligent wife. But you didn't. And I can't possible be your crack whore. Or a human punching bag. Or as toxic as a pack of cigarettes.
Please, if you have any humanity left in you after all of this, even if it is false, employee it to let me be. Throw me aside once and for all and give me a fighting chance to be whole. Alone, lonely, unloved, and uneeded. But whole none the less.
I will never love again. I will never have my own family, or adopt another's name as my own, or sleep contentedly with someone who I love greatly. I will never aspire to own land, run a business, or be anything more to anyone thn a colleague, friend, or fellow student.
But I have the right to do all of these things without you mocking me. Without you going around and seducing women while they get off on the fact that somewhere out there there is a woman who loved you more than life and still carries your name and the shame associated with being the woman you are not with. Not loving.
I have the right to not care about you social status. I have the right to a last name that suits me. I don't know what that name might be, but I have the right to keep it and make it a proud one.
I really thought your name would have been it for me. I really htought we would do it justice together and i could forget my orphan past and forget that no one would even properly claim me. I could forget the uncertainty of not having a proper family and we could build one together. But that hardly matters now.
No one will ever remember me. I will leave no legacy. I will not even preserve my family's pride. But it would be a better fate to be forgotten, than to be remembered as your fool of a wife who allows you to treat her as less than human."
I know it was long and teadious. But maybe you understand.
I'm sure I am quite lost.
So now it is just another useless speck on the World Wide Web for those few of you that stumble across it. But it means a world of hope for me. I hope you can feign to understand that this is real. This time there are no tricks. No poetry. No imagery. Just raw feeling and being and desire and exhaustion.
This is just me.
"I can't keep doing this. This myspace thing is worse than seeing you in person. I feel like I am out in the rain outside your window, freezing and naked and watching you in a warm glow of a fire.
I can't do this limbo anymore.
Please divorce me. Please let me go. Please let me stop wishing you well and pretending that I'm ok. I need to be given a chance to heal.
You are living your life as you always have; without regard or care for what is best for me. Please allow me to treat you with the same, deserved disdain as you do me.
You've already ruined me. No one will want me now. No one will be able to love me now that you've violated every part of my heart, soul and body. But atleast without you and this "marriage" I can love myself. Atleast when you've finally set me free I will be able to look myself in the mirror and pretend to like what I see.
This thing is ruining my life. Just give me a chance.
I know you don't care. I know you are living your life and being loved regardless of whether or not our divorce is final.
I can't even make new friends this way. I am such a wreck and I am so consumed by this it is ruining every chance I have of love and acceptance.
I threw my life away to be with you. Career, school. and as it turns out, my heart. You gave nothing. You failed in no way to yourself. You took and received and used me for what I would be. And now, at the end it is your turn to bow out and allow me to cry and tear my cloth and feel every feeling I have been holding back all of this time.
I felt when we were married that I was lucky to have made you believe that I could be all you wanted. And I could have been. If you really had wanted what you asked of me.
If you really wanted a loving, doting, intelligent wife. But you didn't. And I can't possible be your crack whore. Or a human punching bag. Or as toxic as a pack of cigarettes.
Please, if you have any humanity left in you after all of this, even if it is false, employee it to let me be. Throw me aside once and for all and give me a fighting chance to be whole. Alone, lonely, unloved, and uneeded. But whole none the less.
I will never love again. I will never have my own family, or adopt another's name as my own, or sleep contentedly with someone who I love greatly. I will never aspire to own land, run a business, or be anything more to anyone thn a colleague, friend, or fellow student.
But I have the right to do all of these things without you mocking me. Without you going around and seducing women while they get off on the fact that somewhere out there there is a woman who loved you more than life and still carries your name and the shame associated with being the woman you are not with. Not loving.
I have the right to not care about you social status. I have the right to a last name that suits me. I don't know what that name might be, but I have the right to keep it and make it a proud one.
I really thought your name would have been it for me. I really htought we would do it justice together and i could forget my orphan past and forget that no one would even properly claim me. I could forget the uncertainty of not having a proper family and we could build one together. But that hardly matters now.
No one will ever remember me. I will leave no legacy. I will not even preserve my family's pride. But it would be a better fate to be forgotten, than to be remembered as your fool of a wife who allows you to treat her as less than human."
I know it was long and teadious. But maybe you understand.
I'm sure I am quite lost.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Something irrelevant and obnoxious...
I was going to leave the general contents of this passage as a comment to a friends blog, but I got really excited and when I was done typing it looked more like a dissertation than a comment.
The Piano teacher has a blog, a delicious on at that and I was perusing her thursday Thirteen looking for some inspiration for my already late installment. She made a great poignant T13 about 13 things she wants to accomplish in 2008, a sort of rundown on resolutions.
Off topic, I have never made nor kept even one resolution, so to see someone aspire to 13 blow my tiny mind.
Anyhow, one resolution was to read more and with her sons. She went on to mention that the boys both have reading goals set by their schools.
To broach the subject before I broach it I will start by saying that her children are in elementary school, my least favorite stop on the gravy train of education. I was awkward as a prepubescent. I was atleast a foot taller, 2 times stronger, and 4 years ahead of my peers in intellect between the ages of 7 and 12. The combination of those facts mademy elementary- middle school years complete hell.
I was too bored in class to participate and too bored with the kids around me to have fun. I was just a big, imposing doof with nothing to do but read. And read I did. Anything. Textbooks, novels short stories, articles, etc, until I got migraines.
With that being said....
One of her boy's is assigned to read 15 books per month. Here was my immediate and unrefined response to that fact :
"15 books a month!!! I was a book worm as a kid and I never followed the D.E.A.R. guidelines they gave us- to keep up I would have been reading Goosebumps and Amelia Bedelia until I was 17!! I would seriously consider throwing a hissy fit about that 15 book a month goal- How are they supposed to be expected to read the classics in under 2 days!! Maybe I'm over excited, but I can't even feel comfortable with putting away an OK magazine after just two days of reading and processing what I've read...."
Truth be told, I was reading 12 grade material in 5th grade. When they attempted to place me in advanced reading, our first assignment was "the Hobbit" I to this day despise Sci Fi books, especially those that involve alternate universes and things like trolls (excepting ONLY the CS Lewis series.) So I refused to read the Hobbit. They took my refusal as a sign of lacking intelligence, rather than as a sign of a maturity in taste and desire.
My point is, the educational system has lost it's purpose. Instead of being there to support and educate our youth, it is there in enforce rule and make sure everyone has a "fair playing field." Children who cannot keep up are pushed ahead and those that are ahead are ostrisized and turned into lazy idiots.
Had I been fostered properly in elementary school who knows where a better education would have lead me. But when I refused to stop talking because I already knew how to balance equations I was sent to detention instead of moving forward in my studies. When I finished my tests early I was told to put my head down and wait instead of being pushed to acheieve the next level of the course.
I watched friends struggle with simple reading and writing activities in 12th grade and peer evaluated my classmates who couldn't add and subtract without a calculator.
My teachers goal was to give everyone a fair education and to pass everyone through a standardizing testing window. Even in Advanced classes (which I was not allowed to apply for untill I was in my Junior year of high shcool) our teachers repetedly told us that we were not to learn about science, math, econ, history, and english, but instead the goal of the class was to prepare us to pass a test.
All of which I passed where my childhood friends failed, wasting time and money on tests they were never prepared for.
They were simply moved through the system like the rest. Given every opportunity to be lazy, slow and unaccomplished, and no real chance to flourish.
All because of pre-determined 5th grade reading levels and the No Child Left Behind statutes of this great state.
The Piano teacher has a blog, a delicious on at that and I was perusing her thursday Thirteen looking for some inspiration for my already late installment. She made a great poignant T13 about 13 things she wants to accomplish in 2008, a sort of rundown on resolutions.
Off topic, I have never made nor kept even one resolution, so to see someone aspire to 13 blow my tiny mind.
Anyhow, one resolution was to read more and with her sons. She went on to mention that the boys both have reading goals set by their schools.
To broach the subject before I broach it I will start by saying that her children are in elementary school, my least favorite stop on the gravy train of education. I was awkward as a prepubescent. I was atleast a foot taller, 2 times stronger, and 4 years ahead of my peers in intellect between the ages of 7 and 12. The combination of those facts mademy elementary- middle school years complete hell.
I was too bored in class to participate and too bored with the kids around me to have fun. I was just a big, imposing doof with nothing to do but read. And read I did. Anything. Textbooks, novels short stories, articles, etc, until I got migraines.
With that being said....
One of her boy's is assigned to read 15 books per month. Here was my immediate and unrefined response to that fact :
"15 books a month!!! I was a book worm as a kid and I never followed the D.E.A.R. guidelines they gave us- to keep up I would have been reading Goosebumps and Amelia Bedelia until I was 17!! I would seriously consider throwing a hissy fit about that 15 book a month goal- How are they supposed to be expected to read the classics in under 2 days!! Maybe I'm over excited, but I can't even feel comfortable with putting away an OK magazine after just two days of reading and processing what I've read...."
Truth be told, I was reading 12 grade material in 5th grade. When they attempted to place me in advanced reading, our first assignment was "the Hobbit" I to this day despise Sci Fi books, especially those that involve alternate universes and things like trolls (excepting ONLY the CS Lewis series.) So I refused to read the Hobbit. They took my refusal as a sign of lacking intelligence, rather than as a sign of a maturity in taste and desire.
My point is, the educational system has lost it's purpose. Instead of being there to support and educate our youth, it is there in enforce rule and make sure everyone has a "fair playing field." Children who cannot keep up are pushed ahead and those that are ahead are ostrisized and turned into lazy idiots.
Had I been fostered properly in elementary school who knows where a better education would have lead me. But when I refused to stop talking because I already knew how to balance equations I was sent to detention instead of moving forward in my studies. When I finished my tests early I was told to put my head down and wait instead of being pushed to acheieve the next level of the course.
I watched friends struggle with simple reading and writing activities in 12th grade and peer evaluated my classmates who couldn't add and subtract without a calculator.
My teachers goal was to give everyone a fair education and to pass everyone through a standardizing testing window. Even in Advanced classes (which I was not allowed to apply for untill I was in my Junior year of high shcool) our teachers repetedly told us that we were not to learn about science, math, econ, history, and english, but instead the goal of the class was to prepare us to pass a test.
All of which I passed where my childhood friends failed, wasting time and money on tests they were never prepared for.
They were simply moved through the system like the rest. Given every opportunity to be lazy, slow and unaccomplished, and no real chance to flourish.
All because of pre-determined 5th grade reading levels and the No Child Left Behind statutes of this great state.
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