Tag: education
Beddy Bye
Well, today’s moving day for thousands — if not millions — of teens and young adults as they go out to college and start their higher education career and a new life in general. Tonight for some (such as a few friends of mine — Terrable, Sarah) are sleeping in their own beds for the last time for weeks or months.
Actually, it’s their last night to be able to use the term “my own bed” period. As of tomorrow – it’s not your bed any more. Does that sound odd? Or feel odd? It’s not supposed to, I’m not trying to put a scare into anyone, but tomorrow is end of one part of your life that they’ve known and the beginning of another. Where home will not feel the same in the not-too-distant future when they return there, and their bed – though comfortable compared to what they had in the past — just doesn’t feel the same for one reason or another.
It’s not your own bed any more. It used to be your bed, alas, no more. Your bed is in your apartment or the one in your dorm. Some day it’ll be something else when you further move out on your own to some place and time that isn’t the here and now. It’s lonely thinking of this in some ways and it’s torture in others… It’s moving on from the past and striving forward into the future.
But as all that moving forward is going, I’m going to go sleep in my own bed tonight and crumble up in my comforter as I have for the past 13 years and find slumber while tucked among my pillows. It’s the one familiar in my life — the one constant… Maybe that’s been the same for you and your bed? Whatever it is, there’s no place like home… And when you’re home, there’s no place like that specific spot you’ve been sleeping
For now my heart is going to go get snuggled cozily into my own bed. It might be too small, it may be aging, it does have a smell — but it’s my little piece of heaven. It’s the one place on earth I only want to share with special persons (heh, tell that to my parents for every time they took a seat on my bed when I was sick and nagged me to move so they could sit on the mattress), it’s the only place in the world I’m guaranteed solitude. It’s the only place in the world where my mind can run un-bridled with dreams.
It’s beddy bye time. And whenever that moment comes around for everyone else, I’m hoping they can find just as much comfort and peace in their beds – wherever they may be – as I find in mine.
I'm Ranting on Ranting and non-fiction!
I don’t get it. I honestly don’t fucking get this.
How come an opinionated asshole like myself has written dozens of rants on topics from local roads to Dubya and had them published as letters to the editor in the newspaper, has had thousands of rants (be they sports related and or political related or music related or what) posted on message boards across the Internet, and yet I don’t feel comfortable at all writing out this non fiction assignment?!? UGH!
I mean, you do a search on Google for me + the St. Petersburg Times and the following is just some of what will show up (you’ll have to scroll down for each of these letters most of the time:
Light Rail should be Joint Venture
Rail Transit Plans have some big holes in them
"Sunset
Point crossroads needs Overpass" – only one of several letter’s I’ve
written with regard to US 19
"Mass
Transit Could work if Counties combined efforts"
"What if views had been conservative?"
"We Didn’t Deserve the Olympics"
Scientology and Anti-semitism displayed in St. Pete Times letters section
That’s just a brief glimpse of stuff I’ve ranted about. Plus those who know my journal know full well I have ranted on and on about other things and other concerns of mine in here… I already made mention of that in a recent entry into this journal.
It drives me friggin’ INSANE knowing I can write all these short quips about things that concern me but now that I have to write 1000 words on them I’m shit out of nerve to do it. Someone pinch me, someone cuddle with me and someone re-assure before smacking me and telling me to snap out of it and get with it, that this is no big thing and I’m making a mountain out of a molehill.
Swan Song — SING!
So me and Bill Erickson got to talking about things and I had been really concerned with some local news I had been reading concerning the state budget, local school budget cuts and the basic needs (assistant principles, aids for disabled students) being forced to be let go in an effort to meet the significantly tighter budget demands (all thanks to Tallahassee and their lack of willingness to raise taxes to fund education)….
Bill started telling me about his childhood days and how, after moving down here, he was years ahead of the public school children. The same was true for me, we got to rambling about elementary school and I had an memory from 3rd grade rear it’s head into my mind while talking about Ms. Webber (my 3rd grade teacher).
Singing “America the Beautiful” on the morning PA at Sylvain Avenue Elementary School in Blue Point, New York.
Oh man, I couldn’;t believe how I remembered the story so well. Some things come to you with clarity and some things come to you really weakly. This story started out with Ms. Webber getting done with the roll call very early on one morning and having me (and someone else, I think) take it down to the School Nurses office. I was walking real fast trying to make it before the announcements go tot to the Pledge of Allegience but didn’t make it. I started to recite the pledge while walking down the hall. The principle – Mr. White – pulled me into the office because I was being disrepectful by not looking at the flag or something like that (he wasn’t reprimanding me).
Anyway, so the pledge gets finished. We’re still in the office, and immediately after the Pledge they would play a tape of America the Beautiful – which they did. I sang along to it like I always did in class and everyone in the office started looking at me (not kids – the teachers, principle, secretaries, etc). I got finished and Mr. White remarked “Beautiful.” I don’t remember the exact things that happened right after that but they wanted my name and my teacher.
So a couple of mornings later, I had gotten to school and was sitting in class about a few minutes before the morning announcements and the PA came on requesting me to go down to the front office. The class all went “Ooooooooooooh” as third graders would when they thought someone was in trouble. I got up and left. I can’t too clearly if I knew why I was going down there or if I was nervous because maybe I was in trouble? Now that I think about it – I did know what was going on.
I got down there and I sang “America the Beautiful” on the PA. Just like I usually did it in class (though in class I would sing it to myself, not real loudly).
After I got threw, I went back to class… Now, I didn’t enjoy Ms. Webber so much (and if by any chance and elder Ms. Webber finds this journal entry — it wasn’t you that I didn’t enjoy. It was the fact that my parents didn’t deal with me in the proper way when I brought home a notice from your class that I was in trouble. I think I might have been a year too young to be in 3rd grade as well and not focused enough) but on this day I think she had told the kids in class to react when I got back… And they did. I got applauded by them. I hadn’t expected it and it was a real plus.
I had done it a few more times after that. Then they had other people start doing it and it lost it’s mystique. It was real cool for a time though.
Anyway, my friend Kari from the University of Tampa is going to be heading over here soon and we’re going to go out and get her car title and just hang out for a while. Don’t know what is going to go on but I’m sure we’ll find something – and that’s got me worried.
Renovations and Vowel Movement
Sometimes it gets to the point where you break over the slightest things. The sameness flowing around you, the lack of variation from the norm… Or maybe even the norm makes you ill to your stomach and makes you want to toss your cookies.
I’m at that point right now.
I’ve been sick of my father the last few weeks but then again, my mom isn’t that much better than dear-old-dad. I’m tired of her habits. I’m tired of his habits. I’m tired of this house and of this room… I’m tired of this neighborhood and the suburbs in general.
I’m tired of the word “Liberal” being used like a 4 letter word in society. I’m tired of tattoos and body piercings being stuck on everything and everyone (can someone please tell the cute girls that natural skin is sexy? Please?). I’m tired of Florida, where education and infrastructure mean next to nil to the government and somehow it gets elected again and again. I’m tired of the fact I have to have social hour on the computer because my social skills are lacking with my poor-ass hearing situation offline.
I’m tired of feeling so boxed in.
Yet the answers aren’t aparent or aren’t coming into view very easily on how to deal with this mess and where to go to solve these quesitons. I don’t have the money to move, I don’t have a job. I don’t know where to look for a job that doesn’t necessitate phone skills or driving.. You can pray only so much until it gets to the point it feels like God is laughing at you and snickering while you are pleading to him.
Things were a lot better when there was someone else that I felt I shared things with. Now there’s no one to share things — emotions, thoughts, frustrations, dreams, etc — with.
I need help.
