It must have started from the Bugs Bunny and Road Runner cartoons I used to watch when I was little. If you've seen these cartoons, then you know that frequently some act of violence would cause one of the character's teeth to shatter like a broken plate. I might have laughed or I might have cringed. It never mattered because in the next scene, the teeth were back in place like nothing happened. I blame the cartoons because these are the images I always come back to when I think about my own teeth.
I can handle nails on a chalkboard, but I can't stand the sound of teeth grinding together. When I think about falling off a bike, I'm more terrified of breaking my teeth than I am of breaking my arm or my nose. I can sit for an hour while someone uses a needle to put ink into my skin, but I get jumpy when a dentist comes towards my gums with a needle filled with novacaine.
And today, I have to go to the dentist for just that. I found out two weeks ago that I cracked a filling. Apparently, it has to be replaced, although the crack isn't bothering me, so I don't understand why. My dentist said something about decay behind the filling, but who knows because I stopped listening after I heard that I would have to come back to get the filling replaced.
I have two fillings. I remember the last one more vividly than the first because I remember my dentist holding the needle up and saying, "Are you ready?" And I remember that when he said this, I promptly slid out of the chair and stood facing him. My answer was no. Fortunately, my dentist had a sense of humor and gently coaxed me back in the chair for a horrific hour-long torture session where I can still hear the grinding and feel chards of tooth hitting my cheek.
And now, to keep my teeth healthy, I am supposed to docilely get in the car and drive to the dentist today for more of this hell? To say I've fantasized more than once today about "forgetting" my appointment would be an understatement. I've actually thought about leaving my office and heading south, the opposite direction of where my dentist is. Too bad I don't have my car today, otherwise I might do just this. John has my car because it's getting work done on it, and he might miss his car if I flee the state with it.
So here I am, turning 29 in less than a week and still feeling like a 9 year old when my teeth are involved. My only options are drill or tooth decay, and I'm somehow going to have to muster up the strength to choose the former so that I don't end up with teeth like the coyote after an anvil smacks him the mouth.
It's always nice when your supervisor comes into your office and you're looking at other job opportunities. It's even nicer when he comes in and jumps on your computer and pulls up the screen himself. No time for fast window changes here. Sweet.
The panic button for my car is right in the center of the keyless entry control. Because of this, if I happen to grab the remote wrong, I inevitably hit the button and my car alarm starts going off. I seem to do this all the time in the morning, certainly earning the wrath of all my neighbors. Because I have to leave at 6:45 every day, I'm not always awake enough to think about how gingerly I need to touch my keyless entry and I'm not always awake enough to think about all the times I accidentally hit it. My bad.
John and I arrived in Maryland at 11pm last night after an extended weekend in Florida. Even before my alarm went off this morning, I did not want to come home. Actually, I was seriously contemplating telling John to drop me off on A1A on his way to the airport. I don't know what I would have done, which is why I decided not to make my request, but it sure was nice to imagine what it would be like if I could stay in the sun and not have to worry about reality for awhile. While we were done there, John and I toured around, got real estate information, and even visited several homes. We aren't in a place to buy right now, but if it all works out, my reality may change.
I've been nursing a sinus infection since last Sunday. Until yesterday, it was getting worse rather than better. Yesterday, I could neither breathe nor talk. When I went with a teacher to sweep the halls for a truant student, I actually started to feel light-headed because I could not get any oxygen in through my nose. My whole head felt like an explosion was imminent. I took this as a sign along with my ever-worsening condition that I may need to call the doctor. Medicine is not necessarily a sign of weakness; it could even be a sign of maturity. I didn't mind going to the doctor, but I did mind when my husband insisted that I take today off from work. I like being busy. It keeps me from thinking so much that I get depressed and it gives me some kind of sick American satisfaction. It's as if I think that the more stuff I can cram into each day, the more accomplished I've become. I almost think that I'm somehow leaving a mark on the world from the sheer amount of what I do rather than from the impact of doing less but doing it very well. Like mass quantities of mediocrity somehow equal out to one act of excellence.
Finally, I did reluctantly agree to take today off. I didn't sleep any longer. In fact, I woke up before my husband's alarm even went off and I sat there in panic about all the stuff that would not get done if I did not go to work. I had promised John I would rest, and I like ot be a woman of my word, but I was at the computer at 6am emailing the secretary with details about daily student issues that I would not be there to handle. I probably ended up biting my nails more by staying home than if I had just gone into work. As I laid in bed staring at the ceiling and wondering how I was supposed to get through an entire day of rest, it occurred to me that maybe all my busyness is really not so great. I mean, the school will not fall apart if I am not there one day. Maybe I should enjoy peace and quiet rather than panicking that I'm not where I should be and stuff that needs to get done won't get done. Maybe John is right--my illness is my body telling me I need a break.
Truth be told, however, I checked my work email several times and sitting here now, I do feel guilty for missing one important meeting and having to reschedule another one. I feel like I let people down who needed my help. I feel like a slacker for laying on my coach coughing and choking on the drainage from my nose instead of spreading disease--but at least getting stuff done--at work. It's one thing when work stops for everyone (such as on a glorious snow day); it's another thing when work keeps going and I'm not there to keep up. I realize that I entrench myself in my busy-ness in order to hide from my own emotions, which seem to have been negative most of my life, biology or environment, it doesn't even matter. And this is why free time depresses me--I'd rather be too busy to think about myself than to have a day where I have nothing else to focus on. And I certainly cannot escape into the other people's problems via the news today. I'm actually avoiding the news at all costs at the moment, because that penguin story is too heart-wrenching for me to stomach.
My friend Erin emailed me a link to the Drunk Santa Game. The object of the game is to use the arrows on your keyboard to guide Santa to his liquor and the occasional cupcake without electrocuting him on the train tracks. While the game is a nice distraction from the work I should be doing, I don't really understand the point. Why would I want to make Santa drunker? Won't it make it more difficult for him to find my house? If he's too drunk, he may sleep through Christmas Eve altogether, or he may mess up everyone's presents. That would be a national disaster. Plus, he probably shouldn't be drinking and flying his sleigh through the air. I'm thinking that this game is probably not such a good idea. He should get some rest and drink some coffee so that he's ready for Christmas Eve.
***Update***My friend Marie sent me a link to another crazy holiday game, Elf snowball fight. There are only three rounds, but it's harder than you may think to avoid whacking Santa. He pops up unpredictably. If you successfully get through all three rounds, you do get a nice certificate that you can print and hang up in your office. Although, all it really amounts to is a paper trail of what you're really doing at work.
At the beginning of November, I registered a new student for classes. He seemed like a good kid, but then in the middle of the month, he disappeared. After three weeks of not seeing him, teachers started to report his absences to me. I called home. I called all the work numbers and all the cell phone numbers that we have on file for this child. I left messages on every phone and waited. And waited and waited...the return phone call never came. Yesterday, after he had been gone a full month, I filed a report with the school social worker after my supervisor suggested foul play. This morning, he showed up in my office, a mysterious apparition back from a watery grave. Only he was never dead. I am sure my mouth was slightly agape as he stood framed by the doorjamb. I asked him where he has been the past month. He responded without smiling, "In my country." I told him that he is supposed to get those absences approved in advance by the principal. "You can't just leave for a month and not tell anyone where you're going!" He stared blankly ahead, not comprehending at all that in this day and age, a school will notice when someone hasn't shown up for a month and his parents are suddenly unavailable. In retrospect, I suppose his parents didn't return my calls because they were with him in his "country," too. And I guess that country is not the U.S., since if he had been here, he wouldn't have missed a month of school work and he may even be able to pass his classes for the semester. Too late for that. But at least he's alive.
Well, we didn't get the snow day that I was hoping for, but we did manage to snag a two-hour delay so that I got to sleep a little more. Woohoo! Even with school starting at 9:30 for the students, by 10:15, I already had a lawsuit threat because of a 504 plan that is not being followed and a parent who claims I "brainwashed" his daughter into taking an honors-level science class. We're supposed to encourage our students to challenge themselves, but apparently to some parents, this is brainwashing. Not only that, but his daugther has an A- in the class. Apparently this means that she is not qualified to take it. I'm sure Russ will be back on here telling me how easy I have it dealing with these families with a sense of entitlement, and maybe it is easier than what he deals with on a daily basis, but these issues make me nauseaus when I have other kids on my caseload who are homeless, suicidal, or homicidal. While I work in one of the wealthiest and most respected school systems in the state, I work in the "black sheep" area of the county that is home to the lower class and lower test score population. Yet the fact that their kids attend this school system gives the families the same sense of entitlement as the families who live in the wealthiest parts of the county. So I have the combination of all of the poverty issues to deal with on top of all of the sense of entitlement BS that I can't even stomach. Russ, I am quite sure that you have more craziness to deal with than me. But I think any job anywhere that involves teenagers also involves a fair amount of insanity. Anyway, I'm not asking for pity. Just griping. I like that my job isn't boring and to some extent, I thrive on the craziness. I don't think this is a job I'll necessarily be doing in 5 years, but it's interesting right now.
I am a school counselor, formerly known as a guidance counselor. I work in the wealthiest school system in the state of Maryland, and one that is highly recognized throughout the country. Nevertheless, sometimes it feels like the 'hood. Working with teenagers, there is never a dull moment. Just this week I've had to deal with minor squabbles, fighting, gang involvement, suicide threats, blackmail, drug purchasing, child abuse, substance abuse, self-mutilation, sexual harrassment, sexual promiscuity, truancy, dysfunctional families, poverty, lying, and child neglect. And that's not to mention the academic issues. Earlier this week, a student wrote a suicide letter because one of my male students told her that if she didn't want him to break up with her, she would have to agree to a threesome. Just yesterday, one of my students was punched in the face in the middle of class in front of both a teacher and a paraeducator. Another one of my students was suspended for trying to buy drugs and then she attempted to blackmail her mother by fabricating a child abuse story. This morning, a huge melee broke out in the hallway when two rival gangs met up. One of the gang members is the student whose family my office donated a Thanksgiving food basket to. A more experienced counselor here told me this always happens between Thanksgiving and Christmas because of the added stress that the holidays bring on broken families and families that are struggling financially. The kids bring their anger and frustration into school where it bubbles over and combusts into fights that leave teachers injured and my office into a tumultuous mess. I am already in need of Christmas break and Thanksgiving was just last week....
I am generally not a party pooper, but I'm getting pretty tired of being asked to shell out some cash for department birthday celebrations. In addition to the schoolwide social dues that all staff are asked to pay, I'm asked to give $5 every time someone in our office has a birthday in order to help pay for snacks that I don't even partake in. These birthdays seem to happen at least once a month and this week is the second week in a row that I've been approached for cash. I usually grudgingly cough it up, but I'd rather just skip the whole thing. Truthfully, I'd be just as happy if no one had to shell out money for my birthday either. I don't need the recognition of my advancing age. While $5 isn't a great deal of money, it certainly adds up. We'd be better off saving our wallets and our bodies from monthly snackfests in favor of putting our money into the scholarship fund that our department developed in lieu of giving each other cheesy Christmas gifts this year. Maybe I am a party pooper and a tight wad and a scrooge, but I don't care if those are my labels. I don't want to have to conform to spending money on what are unquestionably true frivolities for the sake of office politics when my husband and I have pretty big debt to pay off and every $5 helps with the mess we are in.
Even though I don't love my job, I have to admit, it has some perks. As a high school counselor, college recruiters are interested in telling me all about their schools so that I can tell my students all about them. While this in itself does not sound like a perk, these colleges are willing to pay to fly me to their campuses so that I can see their schools first hand. To me, that is a perk because I get to leave my office and be flown to different parts of the country where recruiters try to turn me on to their programs. Personally, I always prefer working outside of my office to being in here. Next Wedensday, Ohio State is flying me to Columbus, OH for a tour of their campus. The Wednesday and Thursday after that, Ball State is flying me to Indiana so I can check their school out first hand. I am now waiting for schools in Florida, California, and Hawaii to call me so that I can go check out some warmer locales on someone else's dollar. The next time I complain about my job, I'll try to remember that it's not ALL bad.
As a school counselor in a high school, I hear some crazy and horrific stories on a regular basis from my students. I would think that I'd be building up a numbness to it all so that I'd be better able to maintain the "blank slate" on my face that as a couneslor I'm supposed to have. It is, however, one thing to hear about what happens to my students and another thing to get a visual sneak preview of it. Yesterday after schoool, I held a parent-teacher conference for one of my struggling tenth grade Latina students. If it wasn't bad enough that the mother began her interaction with me with a racist comment about the population of my school, she ended it by leaving a traumatizing image burned into my mind. After thanking me and saying good-bye, she turned and backhanded her daughter across the mouth. The office door hadn't even shut and her daughter was still facing me when she was struck. I got to see the hurt, shock, and humiliation flash across her daughter's already tear-stained face. More than the sound of her mother's hand crossing her mouth, the student's face is what echoed in my head the rest of last night. In Maryland, parents are legally allowed to use corporal punishment on their children, even when their children are 15. I cannot pass a value judgement on the parent for making the choice to slap her child as long as no mark is left on the girl, but I can question the timing of the slap. It seems to me that if discipline is the goal, the slap could have waited until they were in the car or even at home. Slapping her in front of me seems to come more with a humiliation motivation rather than a disciplinary one. Humiliation and discipline are not the same. In fact, humiliation can often lead to the opposite effect of discipline. Instead of positive behavior correction, humiliation can spur further rebellion. Before our conference, the mother told me how disgraced she was that her daughter was not doing her work. On some level, she may have wanted to humiliate her daughter to make up for her own embarrassment over her daughter's behavior. She did not think about the effects that such humiliation could bring in terms of worsening her daughter's behavior rather than improving it. Regardless, I would have personally preferred not to witness the slap. Legal or not, I would rather not close my eyes and see that image.
I have a new friend. A lone fruit fly. He has been in my office fluttering around for a couple weeks. I find this interesting because I thought fruit flies only lived for 3 days or some small amount of time like that. I've also noticed him, or perhaps its his cousins, fluttering around our office bathroom as well as our staff lunch room. He is a mutant fruit fly. Not only does he have a longer life than the typical gnat-sized insect, but he lives on no matter how many times I swat him down with my hand. I don't know where he came from. I have no fruit in my office. I don't have any windows, so there are no plants here either. I have no idea what he feeds on, but it is obvious he is finding nourishment somewhere since he lives on. It's probably just as well that his life surpasses the lives of most fruit flies. I'm so accustomed to his presence, that I'll probably miss him when he's gone.
My husband and I work at the same school. He's a history teacher, so we don't see each other a whole lot, but we do email frequently during the day. It's Monday morning, so no one is thinking 100% clearly today. John just sent me the following message that made me laugh out loud:
"Well, I am going to be fired now. As I was reading your email [a female student in his class who is also on my JV field hockey team] asked me a question. Without thinking since I say this to you all the time it slipped out. She asked something and I did not hear her completely and I said, 'What, baby?' Well the class started laughing and I had to explain that I was reading an email from you and my mind was elsewhere."
The more I work, the more I realize that work is not something I want to do for my whole life. I don't like it. I don't like waking up early. I don't like getting yelled at by psychotic teachers, parents, and students who don't understand that we're all on the same team. I don't like eating lunch in front of my computer and not having any windows in my office to look out at the free world. I don't like having to leave a paper trail for everything I do and then having to retrace the paper trail when the sh*t hits the fan, which, by the way, it always does. As the days pass by, I find myself becoming more and more committed to winning the lottery so that I can move to a beach and leave my computer behind me.
Of course, the other side of my heart reminds that while I may long to be on the beach, work does have a purpose beyond meeting my financial needs. Perhaps what I need is a change in my attitude towars work. Instead of viewing my job as a prison, I can view it as my ministry (1 Corinthians 15:58). In this light, my work is not for my gain, but rather for the gain of God's kingdom (Ephesians 4:28), which is always purposeful even if I can't see the purpose from where I sit in my office. When I feel like I'm not getting anywhere with my angry parents, teachers, and students, I can remember that I may not always see the fruit of my work, but a positive impact could still be there if the Holy Spirit is in what I do. The Holy Spirit rarely calls us to be comfortable. He calls us to serve and to grow and to do so with the kind of joy in our hearts that only God can provide.
While I may feel that I would personally have a lot more joy in my work if I was able to do it on my time instead of the public school's time, I realize that God can fully renew me even while I'm running in my hamster wheel for over 8 hours a day. God can keep me from burning out because God equips us for what He calls us to do (Acts 13:2). Putting my hope in God is more certain than the lottery ticket. Especially since I'm only committed to winning the lottery in my daydreams--I haven't even bought a ticket yet. Of course, at the very least I would like to do my work on the beach if that is possible....
Exhaustion weighs down my muscles and eyelids. Movement requires extreme effort that comes even slower due to the apathy of tiredness. It's only Monday. Weekends without rest lead to dragging weekdays peppered by stressed-out sighs and short-fuse growls. Daydreams reel on repeat in my mind, stirring within me a deep longing for the 7 hours I will spend in my bed tonight. I need 14, but I have time only for 7. I vaguely remember days when sleeping late did not seem to be an unattainable luxury. I took those days for granted, unaware that an increasingly-busy schedule would one day render even a normal night's worth of sleep impossible. Time is a precious commodity. I want to spend my share doing good, but I cannot do much good when I am even too tired to move my fingers on this keyboard any longer.