I think it’s time to own up and say that I am incredibly, incredibly frustrated. And part of that frustration has to do with a lot of the resentment I feel towards life and this blog. It seems that I stop writing here every time it becomes very obvious that the purpose of this blog will not be fulfilled. I started this blog two and a half years ago to talk about moving back to Nowheresville, Illinois after graduating from New York University in May 2009. And for awhile I wrote here regularly and happily. And then it became rocky. And that rockiness has coincided with every turn that has made it clear that I would not be leaving this place when I earned my Masters Degree.

I am frustrated. I wasn’t supposed to be in my parents’ house for more than two years. I’m still here. I was supposed to be able to support myself with a Masters Degree in Education. I make $12.00 an hour and am supposed to feel “lucky” for it. I have found a field within education that I am absolutely in love with (Special Ed), would really like to pursuit that and bonus, there are positions open in it! However, getting my LBS1 to do that would make me ‘too expensive’ to ever hire.

I’ve worked my butt off my entire life to be successful. I worked hard to get into a world-renown boarding school, then to get into the best college in the world for my field. There was lots of opportunity  and money in that field until about 6 months before I graduated. I moved home to get into a Masters program which I paid for out of my pocket. I don’t have debt, not even on my credit cards. I did everything right.

I did everything right and yet everything is going wrong.

Even the little things aren’t going my way. All my knitting mojo has left the building. How many times have I had to restart the same gift for my sister? (Hint: The answer is 5.)  How many students do I miss because of a crazy merry-go-round job switch? (Answer: 46.)  Though let me clear, I am absolutely in love with the six students I see every day now and with my job. I just miss my 46 Kindergartners, too.  And how many sticks of butter did I put out to soften that were the wrong kind? (Srsly: 4.)

I’m completely head over heels for a man, but I cannot afford to start the life with him we both want. I refuse to be a kept woman. It’s just not something I can do. And let’s not get started on how much we’re be jerked around by the credit union when we are actually trying to see if we could afford to move in together.

I’m just so angry and there is no place to direct my anger. To be honest, it’s not really anyone’s fault unless we want to start glaring at bankers and mortage lenders. Well, I perhaps could be angry with the Illinois government for jerking around Education funding and not paying their bills. But the problem is, there’s no one I can walk up to and scream at them and get them to make this right.

There’s no customer service for when everything sucks.

This will be the most interesting, perhaps, because I’m actually going to be working in the very same building where I went to elementary school. Though now I’ll get to be in the sooper sekrit teacher rooms, like the forbidden lounge. Zomg!!11!. But it will be neat to see what has happened to the building in the 13+ years since I was last there (beyond dropping things off at the main office).

I just know I’ll like it better than the last building I was in. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely loved all my coworkers and the kids, but the physical building was just…meh. Same reason why I was not too fond of the building where I student taught. I really, really, really don’t like buildings that don’t have lockers and/or cubbies in the hallways. They seem far too sterile. I guess I just like seeing students in the hallways getting things. Perhaps I’m weird like that.

Most importantly, though: I’ll have health insurance. Right now I have a $740/mo COBRA payment. It’s pretty crappy, but thankfully I won’t have to pay it that much longer. Healthcare reform apparently didn’t apply to my parent’s retirement insurance plan, so I’m not covered anymore. And as an added bonus, I’m being charged as if I were 77. This is great. Just great.

Some friends and I went bowling on Tuesday. My highest score was a 114. I never claimed to be good at it.

Why yes that is the shirt I was making last month. It made its debut that night. And yes that is a birthday crown I made for myself. Birthdays shouldn’t happen without a crown.

As for being twenty-four and all…let me present you the bucket list to do before being twenty-five.

1. Finish book of poetry
2. Knit a (real) sweater
3. Redecorate the spare bedroom
4. Spend more time outside
5. Eat less bad ice-cream and more good ice-cream
6. Climb a 5.9 route consitently
7. Hell, let’s make that a 5.10
8. Guess I’d better learn how to belay, too
9. Practice more Random Acts of Kindness
10. Move out
11. Learn how to sew
12. Pull my hair out less
13. Cook more
14. Don’t mind the dirt
15. Find a real job
16. Take more pictures
17. This includes the polaroid
18. Figure out how to walk in heels real good
19. Ride 30 miles in a day on a bicycle
20. Lay in the grass.
21. Be more consistent about posting to the blog
22. Twitter, too
23. Finish reading War and Peace
24. Continue to not grow up

Yesterday was no exception. Beyond the fact that up until the day before we were told by a (mistaken) forecast that starting at noon, Sunday was to be sunny and warm.

Bullocks.  This is what we got:

I don’t even.

But rather than let ourselves be deterred, the picnic had to go on! Only, inside. And with less nature. Boo. But it was still lovely. And we had a lot more pillows, to say the least. Sandwiches were made, strawberries were washed, and pasta salad was packed. We even opened the windows to listen to the rolling thunder.

Yes, it was raining, despite how bright it looks out my windows. Blowout is blowout.

And look, I finally lit the candles Daniil got me for Christmas. We’ll just ignore that it’s almost 6 months later. They smell amazing. He was pretty insistent that lighting Cappuccino, Warm Sugar, and Wedding Cake all at once was a very terrible, not-so-good idea, but I showed him. Not overpowering in the least, and not too faint, either, for that matter.

And of course no picnic would be complete without me stuffing my face full of sammich. Absolutely not.

The kicker of all this being, of course, was that after our post-picnic nap, it was bright, sunny, and hot. The rain had blown through and humidity had set in. I know, right?  So the happy ending to this story is that we got the bike ride in after-all.

We’ll just pretend that the hard-shell bug flying into his eye never happened.

Well, during our camping trip to Pere Marquette, I hit the motherlode.  I present to you a moving tractor on a ferry.  A moving tractor on a ferry that promptly drove into the bar right next to the ferry.

We settled that this was worth at least a hundred points in the game.   And I got to ride the ferry!

And in other news, more will be happening around here now that all of that is finished.

So I’ve got a lot of knitting books and yarns coming my way soon. Which I’m pretty psyched about. Now just to figure out what to knit for who!

I went with quite a few friends. We ended up all feasting on Silk afterward, a product endorsed enthusiastically by Howard and me. And the sunrise was absolutely gorgeous, if not a bit skewed by clouds. I’m glad that only Daniil saw me have the mos disgraceful dismount from a bicycle ever. I banged up my leg pretty well on my pedal. But hey, my bike is a beast. It’s apparently the heaviest bike ever and gets more momentum than anything on hills.

The eggs benedict afterward was amazing, even if Pick Me Up was strangely out of hollandaise sauce. The drive home was not so fun. Was starting to fall asleep in the end there. Bed couldn’t have come soon enough at 9:30 Sunday morning.

A little boy died one month ago yesterday and I learned of it one month ago today. He was a small ray of sunshine in my last summer and during this school year. He made me smile often and he was among the small group of children who was there when I got to play the Tooth Fairy last year. He was a student in my friend Megan’s first grade class. She’s a great teacher; she was lucky to have him.

On the one month anniversary of his passing, I had the terrible displeasure of erasing him from the summer school database. I wiped him out of our 2010 records, and that hurt me greatly. Today, I wrote his parents a note warning of the cold, heartless refund they will be receiving from me shortly. I could not bare for that check to arrive, a shocking reminder of what they have lost–what we have all lost–without some kind words. A weak attempt to soften news that can only be hard and sharp.

I miss him. While it’s true that he was not the most present child in my life, he was still there. And his absence is still noticed. And it will continue to be noticed this entire summer when the classes he was registered for–likely only days before that terrible one–will go on without him.

He was seven and he died and no one can say why. A healthy, happy little boy went from playing and laughing in one moment, to being missing the next. It’s as though a cruel game of Hide and Seek was started, and where this sweet child hid is a place none of us can save him from. He just slipped away when no one and everyone was watching.

Forgive me, Father. I have erased him, though I did not want to. Forgive me. Our records are too simplistic to keep students not attending classes in them. Forgive me. I am the only one who maintains them, who knows how. Forgive me. It is cruel that I have gotten to live as I have when he will never grow up. Forgive me. Forgive me.

Forgive me.

What a fun little adventure that was. While I was sad I didn’t make the cut to be a contestant, the whole evening proved to be excellent. If having eyes made at me by multiple cute girls is any indication to how the night went, well it be that! The winner of our night’s show was a very brave soul who spoke at some length about her experience as a transwoman, which of course prompted discussion among my male companions. I had to have a talking to them about how their “so brave and I support but ew ew ew” comments were not really supportive.

As sad as it is, I can’t really blame them. I know I still say really stupid and wrong things, and I’ve dated a transman and had a couple friends transition the other way. So for two heterosexual white males with no experience with the trans community, I guess I should be happy with what I got. Not that it makes it right, but it’s better than it could be. Also, I’m sure I said something else really stupid in this paragraph alone, which I sincerely apologize for and assure I meant no harm.

Back on track: Headed over to Rock Bottom with Michelle, Jeff, and Joe. I somehow wound up drinking three margaritas. This somehow lead to drinking wine until 7:30 in the morning at Michelle’s. None of us are sure when we decided this was a good idea. It was nice to see the sun rise; it’s been a long time for all of us.

Joe and I headed to Reggie’s to see his friend’s band, Under None, play, and to meet up with Kevin. This was a smashing success, led to some G&T’s and a SoCo Lime shot. However, my shirt broke. Yes. Broke. And suddenly my right boob was hanging out of my shirt (let’s all be thankful I was actually wearing underthings). This lead to lots of leering by creepy old dudes and yet another instance where I’ve had to pretend to be a male friend’s girlfriend to keep them off. Sigh.

The other instance being the previous night when some drunk dude in a dive so awesomely asked if I belonged to Joe with a pretty offensive gesture. Yeah, that’s a way to win girls over. I don’t care how drunk you are; that’s not okay. So yea, you bet your ass I belong to him in that moment. I belong to everyone except you.