September 11th

This post has been in my head for a while but time, energy, etc.

It has been (over) ten years since that day.

I did not lose someone specifically.

I did not even live in NYC at the time.

But of course I will never forget.

Who can.

When I moved to New York City in June 2002, it was one of the first places I visited.

After work one day, I walked thirty blocks to see it.

And I cried.

It was turning into a place people could and would make money.

T-shirts. Books. Photos. Food carts.

It was disgusting.

But over the last ten days or so, that is not what made me cry.

I am not super patriotic.

I do not believe this is the best country in the world.

Far from it.

Lots of places I have been are pretty awesome.

I almost moved to Sweden at one point.

But everywhere I went people talked about the men and women who sacrificed their life that day.

At the UCF football game, (almost) everyone wore a red banana in honor of one such man.  

At school, the firefighters and police were mentioned.  

On TV.

Radio.

Everywhere.

How people died so others could live.

And I know Roger did not decidedly die for me.

And I know he did not "save me" in the car accident. 

But he did.

In ways.

He gave me family that I had not experienced since I was a little girl.

He gave me the opportunity to meet my goal to finishing my degree.

A job that I am adoring.

A community, finally after searching for years.

And a believe that marriage could be a good thing.

Sigh... And I thought September would be easier.

August

Well, despite my best efforts and crankiness.
Despite all my wishing it would not happen.
August is here.

This August is even a bigger deal for me.
On Sunday, Roger would be thirty-seven.
Thirty-seven years old!
It is so hard to fathom him so old.
Ironically, since he will never be actually.
I could not believe he was thirty-four when he died.
I wonder what he would look like now.
My plan for Sunday is to bake a cake for him.
With layers.
And probably chocolate.

Although I have been working like mad in my own classroom,
I am not officially employed until August 15th.
And I have been mostly unemployed since August of 2008.
Three years of not really having a boss, except for me.
Being only responsible to myself to go to school and do my best [4.0 GPA with three certifications might I add].
To create my own photography business.
But now I will have many bosses, responsibilities, and obligations.
I am nervous.
Mr. X says I am stressed.
He is probably right.
I like being good at a job.
I like being perfect at a job.

Then, the 28th...
Three years since he left.
Since he fucking died and left me.
It is still hard for me to believe.
Still moments where I have to pinch myself.
And pinch Mr. X.
Moments where I cannot believe he actually died and did not just leave me.
Moments where I cannot believe I can feel happiness again.

Gladly, August is only thirty-one days.
Thirty-one long days.

Defending Roger

Roger's Diploma on the office wall (camera phone photo)*

I cannot remember when I took Roger's diploma off the wall in the office.
But at some point I moved it into the office closet.
I had a plan for it.
Not a great plan though according to Mr. X.

Roger's diploma was professionally framed.
It was fairly expensive.
So I thought once I received my own diploma I would open up the back and take Roger's out then put mine in.
About a month ago, I received my diploma and one afternoon I decided to implement my plan.
Mr. X was home.
I told him I was going to go frame my diploma.
He followed me into the office as I took Roger's diploma out of the closet.
"What are you doing?!?"
"I am going to put my diploma in this frame."
"No you are not.  That is Roger's diploma."
"Yes, I am going to take his out and put mine in."
"And then what?"
I was not sure.
Mr. X continued to push for Roger's rights.
"That was a big accomplishment for him.  You should not take it out of the frame.  What will you do with the actual piece of paper? Put it away in a closet? Look at it every five years?"
I really did not think that far in advance.
Mr. X continued...
"We should have it on the wall."
"But where?"
"In here.  In the upstairs bedroom. On a wall. But somewhere, not in a closet"
I asked, "What about my diploma?"
"Just spend the money and get it framed."

I started to tear up.
Mr. X was defending Roger.
Two of them against one of me.
So I gave in.
And agreed to take my diploma to Michael's to have it framed as well.
But then another thought...

"What about our kids?" I asked.
"What about them? They will know Roger. Would you not tell them about him?"
And Mr. X is right. It is not like my house is completely Roger-free.
There is a picture near our bedroom.
Roger's clock in our office.
A few pictures in the office.
More pictures in the workout room.
A trunk full of Roger related items upstairs in a closet.
So he is still here in ways.
And I am really not sure how or when I would tell my children about Roger.
When they ask?
Or as they visit Abuela's house?
And how do I explain death to them?
I guess we'll figure it out as we go but I could not help and think of how to explain this person Mommy was married to before Daddy.

Today I received my diploma back.
So on the wall it went.
And Mr. X hung Roger's as well.

*I purposefully blurred out Roger's formal name and inserted "Roger's name".

The Last Ten Days - Part I

The last ten days have been a huge emotional roller coaster.

Graduation was probably a climax of grief.
After my dad died in January, I was thrown into a highly stressful and busy time of my life.
And as any person who has suffered loss knows, grief does not just go away.
It builds and waits. And builds some more.
Like a volcano waiting to explode.
On the day of graduation, that volcano erupted.
Two grief volcanoes really.
Roger and my dad, simultaneously.

The first one I was almost expecting.
I knew the semester end and graduation were going to be a trigger for me.
I was mostly fine before graduation.
I was mostly fine minutes before I walked across the stage.
Excitement and elation filled my soul.

As I walked across the stage, my lips began to tremble.
The stairs exiting the stage seemed enormous.
Tears started to well up.
As I walked back to my seat, I was still a little shaky.
But no tears fell, thankfully.

After graduation, my friends and Mr. X met me outside.
We were throwing a party to celebrate my graduation.
There was still lots to be done.
Unfortunately, my friends could not come back to my house with me.
Mr. X and I were on our own to complete the party set up.
Suddenly I was stressed.
We had four hours to get everything done and there was a long list of things to be done.

Mr. X and I were working hard and fast to get everything done.
We prioritized the list and some extra things were cut.
I am a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to hosting parties.
As I was working on some food for the party, the onions Mr. X had so kindly prepped the night before were too big for the recipe.
Grief raised its ugly head.
I burst into tears.
Tears that consumed me for the rest of the afternoon.
Everything became a calamity.

I cried because this is not how I planned my life.
I was a smart teenager and should have finished my formal education years ago.
I was supposed to be married now and celebrating my third anniversary.
Roger and I were supposed to be planning vacations and talking about kid possibilities and when to start trying.
My dad was suppose to be calling me.
Telling me how proud he was.
But none of that was true.
None of that was happening.

Mr. X was being awesome.
He was trying to comfort me.
But it was pretty useless.
I cried for three hours.

After most of the list was complete for the party, I took half a bottle of champagne, went to the bedroom,
shut the door, and cried some more.

I finally surfaced from the debris of grief and tried to celebrate my accomplishment.
One of my widow friends came later to rescue me.
Let me cry.
Let me say all the things I can't say aloud to most people.

The next day I was still recovering from the eruption.
I still miss Roger.
I still miss my dad.
Those things will not go away ever.
But life is improving.

Part II soon...

I Wore a Gold Dress

I wore a light gold dress to Roger's graduation.
It had glitter within the material.
Every time I wore it, glitter would be all over my face and my body.
And whoever else was near me.
For days.

As I walked in to the arena that morning, a man commented on my dress.
"Lovely dress."
I smiled.
"Thanks!"

The weather was slightly cool that day.
But beautiful.
Grace, Roger's sister was there, as well as my mother-in-law.
We were all so proud.
We were all so happy for him.

Roger did not need a degree exactly.
He had loads of experience in the computer industry so he could easily get hired anywhere.
But most of the time the HR department of companies wanted some sort of degree.
So Roger went to school part-time for years to get his bachelors.
In philosophy, no less.
Not computer engineering or computer science or anything like that.
He liked the logic and elegance of philosophy.
So yes, perhaps a crappy degree for finding a job right out of school but it was a degree none the less.
The piece of paper he needed.

After Roger died, I let a friend borrow that gold dress.
And I never got it back unfortunately.
In a way, I want to wear in on Saturday for my own graduation.
To remind myself of Roger.
To have him close to me.
To remind myself of his day.
But sadly it is not in my closet.
Sigh...

Finally Finished "Two Kisses for Maddy"

The past couple weeks have been a bit hectic as the school semester closed and I prepared for graduation.
The bad thing about that is the time I now have to think again.
Ugh.
In the last week, I have found myself weeping a little more easily.
Especially as graduation approaches.
I am a little less distracted from the noise of school and life.

I have now have time to read for pleasure.
Tonight I drew myself a bath and grabbed Matt Logelin's book.
I only had two chapters left.
Matt's book has really hit parts of me as it has a lot of the widows I know.
Like Candice and Supa.
I want to share two sentences that grabbed me tonight:
Grief "would fold itself into my blood, into my cells, into my DNA.
My heart would pump it and my veins would carry it, every moment, all the time."
So many people think that grief goes away.
And every widow I know.
As well as every person I know that knows grief on a personal would scream from rooftops that it does not work that way.
Absolutely does not.
Unfortunately.
It becomes part of you.
And my grief for Roger and my dad, especially, is with me all the time.

I will think of Roger a lot more this week.
Remembering his own graduation.
Thinking about what it means for me.
Thinking about the how.
Thinking about the why I am graduating now.
Thinking about how is not in attendance.

I miss him more than I can ever find the words for.
More than I can cry for.
And it is so hard to think he has been gone for so long.

Emotional Day

My internship this semester is really starting to affect me.
Notice the lack of posts.
I do not sleep due to insomnia.
I am stressed from the difficulty and busy work the College of Education requires.
A two page paper is required for each day and for each prep we have.
I have two preps.  Except for one of my preps, I have two different schedules to be mindful of as well since one meets four times a week for an hour and the other three meet two days for 99 minutes then one day for 60.
This particular high school, which I did not choose, is an hour away and I must be there at 7am in professional attire.
I had to pay tuition of course to complete this internship.
I am commuting 80 miles per day on $8 per day toll roads and gas prices are just continuing to rise.
Then add all the political turmoil in education in Florida right now...
Stress, no sleep, and all the worry makes me very emotional.
A bit of instability I have not experienced in a while.
I knew going into education would not earn me a salary like my previous job but I did not except to be crapped on by the government either.

Today as I left my house, one of the main roads in Orlando was down to one lane.
Even at 6am it caused a 15 minute delay in my commute when I was only one the road for less than two miles.
I rushed to get to the school on time.
Speeding as much as safely possible.
As I am pulling into the parking lot, which is completely dark might I add, Roger and my song comes on.
I burst into tears.
This cannot happen.
My students are already starting to arrive.  I need to be composed.
At least enough to fake it.
I miss Roger.
Like a broken record, I just cannot say it enough to get my point across.

I got through the day.
I went to visit a good friend who just had a baby last week.
Babies always make me smile.  They can be like a reset button for me.
Something about them makes me realize life can be good.
The world is not all evil.
Life does not always feel like it is taking the breathe away.
And as I held this precious sleeping baby, I started to cry again.
Stress?  Maybe wanting my own?  Knowing I will never have a piece of Roger like that?
I am not sure.
But now the tears will not really stop.
I just have to get through May.
Two more months.

Graduation

Thankfully at the end of this semester I will be graduating.
I am very excited.
I am very glad.
But... sigh... it is slightly tinged with grief and sadness and other emotions.

First, I am slightly sad.
Even more than slightly.
Roger will not be able to see this.
My huge accomplishment.
Yeah, yeah heaven blah blah blah.
The fact is Roger is not physically at the ceremony to watch me.
Yes, I will have people there who I care about and love but not Roger.
Not. Roger.

Second, this is all because he is dead.
It is because he died and I have the chance to go to school full time.
Yes, I was in school prior to his death but not full time.
Not for a degree I wanted, just to have a degree.
Any degree.
But because he died, I got an opportunity.
To change careers.
To follow a dream.
To chase my passion.
To not return to my awful job.
Because two weeks beforehand we got life insurance.

Third, I just feel a lot of emotion about finally finishing.
It feels like so long.  I graduated high school in 1998.  I followed a lot of different paths.
It has been my goal for so long and I felt so subpar compared to my friends.
Compared to myself with all that potential that I had while graduating high school.
I was in the top 6% of my class.  I was 24th.  People expected me to go to college.
Most of my friends all have degrees and even though I had a career making great money, I did not have my piece of paper.
And finally, finally I will have my piece of paper.
I will be worth something on paper to other people.

I know it will be an emotional, maybe even grief, day for me.
And maybe it is just hitting me now because it is February.
Because Roger is more on my mind right now than he has been.
It is my wedding anniversary month.
My third one alone.

Sigh...

Star, The New Version

Hopefully this post will not sound cheesy as it could be.
Hopefully...

This morning I took my (hopefully) last state exam to become the teacher I want to be.
Last week, I got the last required one and this week's test was an added certification to teach middle school science.  [I passed both of them.]
On the ride over to the testing center, I heard the famous country song "Broken Road" by Rascal Flatts.
It is played a lot on country stations and at weddings.
When I met Roger, I thought about how it applied to us.
But that is not what this is about.
Not at all.  A bit more abstract actually.

My new year's resolution is to love me.
To love my body. To love what I am. To love my life.
As this song played I thought about the broken road of my life that has brought me this far.
I listened closely to the lyrics and thought about not how they applied to a relationship with another person, but instead, how they apply to the new me that is here now.
How I lost myself a few times in my life by giving up who I am to the latest boyfriend or trend or friends.
How all the things, bad and good, brought me to this place right now.
How becoming a teacher should have been so obvious but I had to go through all sorts of things and broken hearts and broken dreams to figure it all out.
But I figured out who I am.
I figured out what makes me happy and discovered more of my talents like photography.
Now I just need to love me.
The real me.
The me I have found and love her with everything I am.

Unplanned Flashback

Two blogs post in one day...
This hasn't happened for a while.

"Something has happened" were not the words I expected to hear this morning during the first period of my student teaching day.
My supervising teacher and I were not sure what to think.
What could be happening.
Then eventually the news came.
One of the popular, sweet, smart students had died.
A student I had just watched that morning on the [prerecorded] announcements.

Then I saw.
Their pain.
The teachers' sadness.
I wanted to help.
I wanted to relate.
But how much is too much?
Where is my place in all of this?

The news spread.
I watched as students broke down.
My heart breaking for them..
Remembering my own heart break.
My questions.
My fear.

I want to stop it but I cannot.
I want to protect them but it is too late.

It is not fair.
It is not fair for kids to know this at their age.
For God's sake, they are only fourteen at the most.
It is too early for them.

Then I think of the parents.
The siblings.
Thinking of them as they lay down tonight.
As they go throw the roller coaster of grief.
So unnatural.
So unfair.

I blocked the tears most of the day.
Most.

Passions

When I was in high school and I was asked to pick a major, I had such a hard time.
I liked a lot of things.
I was good at quite a few things.
How could I just pick one thing.

I ended up picking biology.
Not sure why.
Not sure what I thought I would do with it.
But I picked something.
[Interesting enough my major is now Biology education.]

I got accepted as biology major at Virginia Tech.
But then my guidance counselor told me about a particular scholarship.
A national math scholarship.
My major would have to be changed to math though and I would have to take a test.
So I did.
And a little known fact, I was in the top ten in the U.S. that year but only the #1 person won the scholarship so I got a certificate and went to Virginia Tech as a math major.

And then life progressed.
In 2003, I applied to Pace University in NYC.
As an education major.
I was accepted.
Went to orientation but figured out that I could not afford to pay for school on my own, even with loans.
So I withdrew.

Life progressed some more.
My good manager at my last job (imagine Glenda the good witch) convinced me to go back to school.
I chose Healthcare Administration.
I could do almost the entire program online part time.
But I was not happy with my job.
Then I was transferred to the wicked witch of the west manager.
I cried at work a lot.
I had insomnia on Sunday nights dreading the week ahead.
Completely unhappy. This is not what I wanted to be when I grew up.
This is not what the girl way back in high school wanted to be when she grew up.

I cried to Roger.
"Why did I make us move into a bigger more expensive house?"
Roger was not sure how to make things better.
I could not find a job I thought would make things better.
So I cried even more.

Roger died.

In November 2008, I finally decided I did not want to be unhappy anymore.
And I certainly did not want to work for the wicked witch.
When I thought back to all the things I liked about my job, it was the teaching parts.
The times I was mentoring or getting the physicians to finally understand.
That's when I smiled.

The first time I helped out in a classroom in January 2009, I felt that feeling again.
I think helped me start to heal a bit.

Each time I enter a classroom, the passion burns warmer and warmer.
Yesterday, a teacher told me she saw me as a good teacher.
I could do this job well.
I wanted to hug her.
I am nervous about teaching but I cannot describe the feeling I get when I am helping students.
Passionate is the only word that comes to mind.

On my way to my reflection class last night, I started to cry.
Roger wanted so badly to take away my pain.
To make me happy.
To help me find my passion.
And he did it.
I am finally there.
It feels so good to know what I want to be and to be on the track to achieve it.
But he had to die to make it so.
So I cry.

Reflecting

Last weekend as Mr. X and I paved (aka hired people) the patio in the back, he told me about his hate of the question "Where do you see yourself in five or ten years?".
He was saying how when he was eighteen or so he was asked this question quite a bit.
He was graduating from high school and all.
And it always annoyed him.
At eighteen he had no idea.
So many things were up in the air.
So many variables could change.

But he did not think he saw himself here.
He could never imagine ten years ago that he would be completing a home improvement project with his girlfriend on a house.
That he would be in school completing a degree in a program he never even thought about at eighteen.
That he would be in love with me.

And of course that conversation made me do my own reflecting.
As I sat in my class on Monday morning, I could not believe I was there.
As the class discussed various science curriculums, I was sitting in awe.
I was a full time student.
To become a teacher!
Not working (in a traditional sense).
I am not spending my Monday morning in cube land.
How incredibly weird!

I was asked Mr. X's least favorite question not too long ago.
Actually almost exactly five years go to the month.
During an interview with my previous company.
Being an education student was not my answer.
It was not even on my radar.
My answer was some mundane answer about moving up the corporate ladder world.
And maybe I did want that at some point but not now at all.

It amazes me about how much I have changed.
Perhaps through normal maturing.
Perhaps through the widowdom.
But the reflection in the mirror quite different than five years ago.
And especially ten years ago.

My Heart Stopped

I was sitting in the bookstore at school.
Mr. X was across the table.
He was finishing some homework.
I was finishing a sandwich.
We were chatting about oxidation states and the periodic table.

I grabbed a humor book to flip through.
We continued to chit chat.
I saw movement toward the front of the bookstore.
I quickly looked up.

My heart stopped.

I would have sworn it was him.
Sworn on anything if it was two years ago.

Same hair. Same color.
Same body build.
Same height.
Same walk.
He was not looking toward me.
He was looking for a book.
He disappeared around a shelf.

I had to gasp for my breath.

I waited for my heart to start beating again.

Just two years ago...

Unfair

I know every person who has ever lost anyone says: "This is unfair" or "Life is unfair" or some similar sentiment.
And this post is not directly related to my grief but it reinforces that feeling.
I feel like I am angrier because of grief.
Because life has been unfair to me.

Back in 2005, when I decided I had to quit my traveling consultant job, I tried to find a new job in New York City where I was living at the time.
I looked at Monster, Career Builder, and some other sources.
Every job I found that would work for me wanted a bachelors plus experience.
I had the experience.
But not the bachelors.
"Oh, you do not have a bachelors you cannot even apply."

It made me feel like I was subpar.
Like something was wrong with me.
Like I was not smart enough.
Like I was not good enough.
Like my experience, my core values, my work ethic, my entire being was not good enough.
I knew that given the chance I could have done any of those jobs amazingly.
But they would not give me the chance.

In November 2008, after Roger died and I decided I would return to school full time, I enrolled at University of Central Florida.
I thought, "I will finally have my bachelors.  I will finally be with the other 'good' people of the world."
And I erroneously thought, "People who are in college have similar core values and work ethic as me."

Unfairness strikes again.
People in college are not good people.
At least the sixty percent of them I come in contact with.
They cheat on exams.
They cheat for money.
They cheat for bonus points.
They cheat for their friends.
They cheat and cheat and cheat believing as long as it is helping themselves or a good friend it is okay.

People in college are lazy.
I have been involved with so many group projects with four people where two of us did all the work.
Despite complaints to the professor, they get away with it.
They get a good grade too.
And sometimes a similar grade as me.

So being a good person in life or in college does not pay off.
They will get their piece of paper.
They will have a bachelors.
They will be deemed "good" by potential employers.

Life is unfair.
The good guy does not always win.
The hare wins.
The hare wins despite what they tell you.

Thirty

This year I will be thirty.
I do not care about the actual age.
I do not feel old in most ways.
I do not feel like thirty is the end like some people may.

But there is this weird feeling down deep.
A bit of sadness.
Not for losing my youth.
For losing the life I thought I would had by now.
For losing the plans I had set into action.
For doing things the right way but yet still feeling like I failed.
So a bit of sadness mixed with a bit of personal failure.

I used to say I did not want to be thirty and divorced.
I accomplished that I suppose.
I guess I should have said I did not want to be thirty, divorced and/or widowed.
I would have been fine to have been single till thirty.
Not this.
Not this at all.

I feel like I did not meet my own goals.
I am still in school.
I do not have a bachelors, only an associates.
I am in the middle of a major career change.
I am (mostly) single, at least in the IRS definition.
I have not been out of the country in so long.
(The islands of the Bahamas do not count when I live ninety miles away).
The website Roger was helping me with two years ago is still sitting on the old computer.
My photography is still very amateur.

The last few days I have been in a bit of a funk.
With a slight depression coming on.
I feel like I am being left behind in the life train.
Yesterday I was speaking to a good friend who is also a widow when she commanded me to be kind to myself.
She told me to look at all the things I have accomplished.
It is just so hard right now.
It is so hard to look beyond the big gaping hole.

My Tuesday Afternoons

In my school program, I have to complete so many observation hours.

Usually it is fifteen hours per class.

This semester I have two classes that require them.

So a total of thirty hours for the semester.

It may not sound like much but of course most of them do not start right away due to red tape like fingerprinting and background checks.

Most must be completed by early April.

And the school teachers are hard to get set up with unless there is a connection already.

Do not even get me started on the lack of communication between me and the school teachers.

One of my professors gave the class a deal at the beginning of the semester.

We could volunteer with her friend's son instead of in a school.

We would be going to the child's home and working with him for an hour each week.

In exchange, we would not have to do the normal observation hours and we would not have to complete the weekly homework assignments.

Perfect, right?

Except this sixteen year old child is not normal.

He has a severe case of cerebral palsy.

I signed up.

Supposedly he is at age level developmentally but he is unable to communicate except for some grunting and some head movements.

He has a computer to communicate with his family but he does not use it during our sessions.

This boy can be lifted easily by one person he is so small.

His muscles have atrophied severely.

He is wheelchair bound.

He spastically moves his head, eyes, arms, and legs.

A group of four of us help him do some physical therapy exercises in order to help him belly crawl at the end of the hour.

Belly crawling may sound easy but we have to first warm up his hands.

Then deep pressure points on his upper extremities.

Then warm up his arms.

Helping him flip-over multiple times.

Then we use infrared on his legs.

Unlock his lower extremities.

Then in the last ten minutes or so, we help him crawl.

Maybe twice if he does well.

And sometimes maybe half.

Most days it takes the entire ten minutes to crawl about three feet.

It is an hour a week.

It is exhausting for me.

Mentally.

Physically.

And emotionally.

Yesterday, I realized something.

Roger would have never even been half as functional as this kid.

Roger would have been exhausting.

And it would not be an hour a week.

It would have been 168 hours a week.

I look at this child's mother.

She is tired.

She is stressed.

She is aging way faster than she should.

Her entire life is her son.

She tries to be positive and gives so much to him.

But he requires constant care.

That could have been me...

Except as a wife, not a mother.

And as crazy and dark and horrible as this sounds, I am grateful.

Grateful that this is my life.

Yes, I would love Roger to still be alive and well.

But I do not know if I could have been that strong.

This mother strong.

I do not know if I could have dedicated my entire being to the lifestyle of a caregiver.

When Roger was dying, I wanted him to survive.

But he didn't.

And despite the worst week of my life, I lead a mostly normal life.

Thank you...

I Hate Jerks

I really hate when bad people win.

I guess who does love when bad people win.

Other bad people maybe.

On Monday, my ecology class went on a field trip to a cemetery.

Not my idea of a fun or enjoyable field trip but I am just in pretend everything-is-normal mode.

Pretending that a cemetery is just another random place.

Pretending that I do not know Roger's ashes are lying under six feet of soil somewhere.

It was hard to bite my tongue as people talked about their experiences.

I just could not imagine sharing my story with these people.

They barely even know that I go by my middle name.

We took university buses over to the cemetery about thirty minutes from campus.

I sat near the front and took my motion-sickness meds.

No need to make this day any worse by throwing up.

Then there is this kid.

Sitting behind me.

He is probably twenty-two or so.

A know it all.

On the way over, he talked and talked and talked.

It was 8:30 in the morning.

And he would not shut up.

On the way back, a different kid sat next to him.

Obviously, the first guy was sick of all his chattering.

He starts to brag how he never pays tolls on the Orlando toll roads.

"Fools pay those things. The road is paid for. Why should I pay my money?"

He gave this guy about ten tricks to get away with not paying the tolls.

When I warned him about how they could suspend his license for that kind of thing, he gawked. "Only if I get caught."

His next topic: "How to get around the UCF financial system".

Now, I understand I am "lucky" and I do not have to worry too much about paying for my school and making ends meet.

But this kid was taking it to an extreme.

He talked about how he lied on the FAFSA.

How he just added a year to his birth date along with a few other things.

He started bragging about all the money the school gives him.

How he has not paid for a course ever and he actually gets paid to attend school - $3000 per semester.

He talked about how he milks the fact he was in the military for anything he can.

I kept biting my tongue.

I kept my hands to myself.

But it was hard.

I wanted to punch him.

I wanted to slap him.

I wanted to yell at him.

I hate when bad guys win.

And I know people say they will get what they deserve but I am not sure.

What if they don't?

What if good guys (people) really do finish last?

Days Like This

Days like this make me want to pretend I do not exist.

To go home.

Take off all my clothes.

Crawl into my bed.

Pull the covers over my head.

And sleep until it is all "better".

It is not one major thing.

It is a million tiny things.

Nothing that most people cannot handle.

Things that will resolve themselves but in the mean time really drain all the energy from my being.

Things that must be taken care of as soon as possible.

Things like these that remind me of how fragile I still am.

One of my cats is a little sick.

I am sure she is fine.

Or will be fine.

But the thought of her not being fine rocks me at my core.

I cannot lose either of my cats.

I heard a few weeks ago that cats are great because they keep us in a routine.

Stable.

And when that stability this morning was rocked just a little it has a pendulum like effect on me.

A little rattle at the top has a huge impact on the swinging mass.

I cannot take this rocking.

So I cancelled my long overdue massage and made a vet appointment.

Then there is the rain.

It is dreary and gloomy.

I was caught out in it.

No umbrella which is not unusual for me but annoying nonetheless.

It was not just a sprinkle.

It was a downpour.

And I was almost late to class.

In true Florida fashion, it turned to a slight sprinkle about sixty seconds before I got into the classroom building.

After soaking me.

Upon leaving the class, same thing. Reverse order.

Starting sprinkling and then started to downpour.

Fuck.

Ninety minutes later, I am still wet with no reprieve in sight.

And on top of all this, it is exam week.

Third week of class and I have two "lovely" exams to prepare for and take.

So add another wonderful stresser on top of the growing list of normal stuff.

Then, three weeks to my anniversary I realized this morning.

I can already feel it creeping into me.

It is only halfway through this day.

And two days into this month.

And I cannot disappear.

I must continue to pretend to be okay.

To put on the mask and smile.

Make small talk with my peers.

Do my various chores and jobs.

Ugh...

Some Good News

So I realized that I do not post a lot of good news on here.

And there are good things in my life.

Many good things.

So in order to remind myself and to show others here are some good things from the last month or so.

1. I finished my fall semester with straight As. I am very proud of myself.

At my orientation back last summer, the staff said to be warned of how my grades would slip when I came to the big university. Boy, were they wrong. I did well even in the hardest class of my life.

2. I passed my state teaching exam in biology. So after I graduate (and pass the professional educators test), I will be able to teach biology for middle or high school. This test was harder than I thought it was going to be. I had to know even the affects of DDT on pelican eggs before it was banned in 1971. FYI, it was theorized that it prevented their eggs from having a hard shell and they ended up with a weird mess in their nests. This also occurred in other birds such as eagles.

3. I got a job. I will be a teaching assistant for one of my professor's from last semester. It is only ten hours each week but it is better than no job I suppose. I am excited as I will probably gain some skills in teaching. Most of the students are college freshman and sophomores so maybe I will also gain some insight into high schoolers.

4. Things with Mr. X are going well. He is so patient with me and so kind. He seems to love to take care of me which feels really nice. We had a nice time at Christmas and I am still very much enjoying his company.

So things are not all bad here in my life. Some things are good. Some things are very good.

Little "Roger"

For the last few of weeks and for the next coming weeks, I am teaching a 7th grade class about self awareness, staying in school, self budgeting, etc.

It is going well for the most part.

But there is one little boy.

He has shaggy blond hair.

Glasses.

Light eyes.

Skinny.

Baggy clothes.

Sweet kid.

And every time I look at him.

I see Roger.

And every time I interact with him, he reminds me of Roger.

Last week he told me how he wanted to be an architect.

How he loves looking at blue prints.

How his mom got him this new cool thing.

Roger was into drafting in high school.

I still have some of his supplies.

Then today as I was helping the class play a game in groups.

He was asking me a question about a particular "go back to the beginning" rule in the game.

His group was right.

He was wrong.

And he says to me: "Well, you can't blame a guy for trying."

I could not help but laugh instantly.

But I wanted to also cry.

This was Roger's philosophy most of the time in life.

He applied for all sorts of jobs, even if he was not exactly qualified.

He told me stories of how he flirted with every girl in a bar, even if he knew he might not get them.

Because "you can't blame a guy for trying."

I wonder if this will happen in the future when I meet other children.

Or people in general I guess.

I know Mr. X is a lot more like Roger than I initially thought.

And that scares me some times.

But I wonder if other children I teach will be little "Rogers".

I cannot help but feel a connection to this child.

Plus he actually participates in class.

Listens to me.

And tries.