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.

While walking in the hallway today, I passed one of them. He waved real big and said “Hi, Lunch!”

What a booger.

Which is nice, because it’s just in time for my first spring break! One of the perks of being in a teacher-education program and working in a public school is that I get two spring breaks. I’m out of classes this week, and at the end of March I’m out of work for a week, and most of my classes that week have been cancelled. It’s nice to have professors who work in the same sector.

This whole mono thing started several weeks ago when my sister threw her birthday party at Delilah’s that she didn’t attend due to having mono. We still had the party though, and I went, and had my last huzzah before I got mono. Well, since we’re both feeling up to being people again, we went into the city for a makeup party at Tavern. This was the first time out I’ve ever had to buy a drink for myself. I guess one out of four is still okay, but not what I’m used to. For record: at the first party, I paid exactly $0 and got 2 glasses of wine, 4 shots, and a gin & tonic. I don’t really drink a lot, but when I do, I drink whatever is bought.

Also for the record: the drinks at Tavern are awful and overpriced. Regardless, we had a good time. Lots of friends showed up, a game of impromptu charades was played, and there was lots of random fake-dancing. I also got to show off the arrows I’ve been drawing on my fingers of late at work to help redirect my buddy’s focus.  They were definitely used in the night to point out random things to a bunch of drunk 20-somethings. I’m just glad I didn’t get groped by the bros who weren’t in our group. Random gropings from bros is probably the biggest reason why I don’t go out very often.

Between my server going down and a ridiculous amount of work that had to get done yesterday, I didn’t get a chance to post. Much apologies for the interrupted service.

Let’s see, what have I missed? Well, there was the earthquake that happened yesterday morning. You know, the 3.8 magnitude earthquake with the epicenter about 12 miles from my domicile that woke pretty much everyone up at exactly 4:00am. I had the added pleasure of having a puppy launch herself onto my body in a fit of panic.

Another thing that happened yesterday was a touch embarrassing. I was taken out by a first grader. And I don’t mean on a date. I was pretty much bowled over by an autistic seven-year-old. Sweet kid and, to some extent, my fault. If I’d been watching my buddy a little closer I could have stopped him from waving and thus prompting a bit of a freak out on the other child’s account. Gosh darn my kid being so friendly! Luckily, it turned out okay and I managed to get my buddy out of the way so I was the one who got run into and not him.

As for today: today was a special day. Today was 100 Day! Our kids had their 100th day of school today (thought it’s only my 97th; shhh). So I got to wear my educational tshirt on a non-friday and was given an awesome sticker. And boy did we count to 100 a ridiculous amount of times. Out entire day was filled with math activities involving counting to 100 and kids brought in collections of 100 things and it was awesome and silly.

But comforting isn’t helping. Letting him get away with less than he can do isn’t helping. That’s not why I’m there. I’m there to help him grow, help him succeed.

And that means pushing him away. It means separating myself, because he and I are not a unit. In some ways we are, but this is his time to be in school and my time to work.

I walked away from him today. I’ve had to do it more often lately, and it’s never easy. It’s never easy to ignore a child who wants your attention desperately. Sometimes, however, it’s good for him.

He didn’t want to participate in P.E. today because getting attention from me is more fun. I had to walk away. It’s weird to walk away from the child you’re supposed to be working with: not everyone understands that, in the long run, it’s what is best.

I left him lying on the floor of the gym. And he pouted real hard when I walked away and sat down far, far away. He rolled around and stamped his feet. But after a few minutes, he began watching the class. And then he stood up. And then he walked around them and looked at them some more. And just before class ended, he walked over and joined.

The rest of the kids shouted his name and cheered. They begged the teacher to pick him to run under the parachute. They were so excited he was joining. He was, too.

The thing I don’t like is all the pee.  Especially when that pee winds up on me.

Excitement is great, especially when my buddy is excited.  He can be stubborn sometimes, and tired other times, and sometimes things are just all wrong for no reason at all.  So when he’s psyched about things, I’m psyched.  And we celebrate our triumphs with everyone: showing off stickers earned, sharing our drawings from art, giving and receiving hugs several hundred-thousand times a day.

My buddy’s been having trouble with storytime lately, which is really unusual. Especially in art class.  I don’t mind being a mountain for him, but for him to climb me during storytime is inappropriate, and I know he knows it is.  And I feel terrible struggling with him to face forward, to look at the pictures.  It’s so frustrating because he loves art.  Once we get started with projects, he happily trots along with paint, pastels, pencils, whatever.  He thinks it’s wonderful (and I think it’s wonderful that he thinks it’s wonderful).

We drew robots today.  He was so proud of his, and so was I.  He drew it mostly himself with just some hand stabilizing support.  We were both so proud, and we went and showed everyone we could find his wonderful robot.  But it just so happens that art runs right up to our potty time.

I have to admit, I laughed the entire time.  Even when some of his tinkle squirted onto my foot, I giggled.  Because he was so giddy and happy about his robot, he could not stand still long enough to pee only in the toilet.  No, we had to dance while peeing.  And as most grown ups know, one should not dance while one pees.  But we danced today, and giggled.  And I was so proud because when he was done, he grabbed some toilet paper and helped me clean up.  Not very many other six-year-olds would have helped me without any prompting.  But my buddy did. And we laughed and danced the whole time.

I lied. There is no down side.