I Am The Problem

  

        Sometimes you have to admit that it's you.

        If twelve people say a thirteenth person is an asshole, there is a reasonable chance that the selected number thirteen is the problem, not the core twelve.

        So my posit is this: if a teacher educates in two different buildings in two greatly differentiated districts, and the administrators in both buildings are built of a similar plastic...

    Well, 'similar', needs explanation. The similarities lie in the pursuit of an agenda. Physically they are different. But they both seem  to have an agenda that is not rooted in the needs of the students, and instead focused on running out teachers and/or destroying a building and/or pursuing their own career path. Which today, 12 October 2023, seems to me to be an insane agenda considering our current educator crisis. 

    My point is I left a similar party in a different district in January of 2020 and it seems the problem followed me. Thereby presenting my posit: I am the problem, not the administrators.

   I am the problem for drawing boundaries in personal relationships with administrators. 

   I am the problem for stating in public that additional busy work like meetings and data tracking are not making me a better teacher, or supporting my students.

   I am the problem for  asking "How is this choice best for our students?" at every opportunity.*

   I am the problem for believing we cannot shelter high school students from theatrical texts that are emotionally charged and challenging.

  I am the problem for pushing theatre students out of their comfort zone so they can stretch and grow and discover the power of their own talent.

  I am the problem for believing drag queens are performers and should be treated as such,  without any trigger warnings or hoopla.

  I am the problem because I understand the game and I refuse to play it. Even for a minute.

  I am the problem because I have Resting Bitch Face, and when I smile I look like a shark.

  I am the problem because I am older than all the administrators and they see no value in my experience. 

   I am the problem.

   I am the problem for insisting that my kids learn and perform Shakespeare.

   Fun update: as of 6 November, it seems I have officially killed this theatre program. We opened a show...and nobody attended. So my posit is correct: I Am The Problem.

    Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

 * The answer has yet to contain the word "student" in it, let alone "best for our students". It generally has to do with district policy, parents, administration, turn around or testing.

Square State Ruminations 27 October

 

    I overheard a student tell their friend that if they touched a Tarot card, God would kill them for trying to do his job and predict the future. I did not know God was in the business of fortunetelling. This changes everything.

    If you complain, and nobody does anything, complain some more. When still nothing changes, rethink your approach and hit something. Not anything that would cause you to break bones- like a car or a light pole- or anything that is alive like a cat or iguana. And don't hurt yourself. I like boxing gloves and punching bags. Buy those. Or knit. I hear that works too. You could knit the guy's face you want to hit and punch it all day.

    When bill collectors call, don't answer. That's why you have caller ID.

     I see quotes that extoll travel as the greatest way to learn and grow. All of the quotes are from rich white guys who could afford to travel. I can't afford to go to the grocery store. 

     The further we journey down the road of Late Stage Capitalism, the more I understand why the Irish got a reputation for drinking and yelling and fighting in pubs. 

      I think theatre is like life, except that nobody knows the script and some idiot put grandpa in charge of the light board, so we never know when the lights are going to come on, or for how long, and when we yell at grandpa he just laughs and says "Be quiet or I'll turn on Pat Boone at full volume".

    I think if teachers just behaved the way their students do, they would lose their jobs and we'd have to close the schools. That'd show them.

    As I take my weekend drive through Evergreen, I note the majestic elk as they meander across the road as if they own it. As I take my daily drive to work on Colfax, I note the same behavior from the sex workers on Spruce Street.

Square State Ruminations (renamed)19 October

     Deep Thoughts...A Third Attempt At Humoring The Purge by kryssi

     When you look back on your life and have nothing but regret, find a mad scientist who has built a time machine. They are not great for hopping around in time, and they are expensive,  but if you can find the one moment that you can alter that would fix everything, go there. Fix it. Then you won't feel so much regret all of the time. Unless you fix the wrong moment. Then you just have to live with your life choices and possibly the New Thing you messed up. Unless you're rich. Then you can do it again and mess up more things.

    I think we should apply the Ferris Bueller approach to learning anything about other countries or history. "Who cares if they're socialists? They could be fascist anarchists, it still wouldn't change the fact that I don't own a car." I think we could all use a little more selfishness, don't you?

   They should stop making sequels and prequals to all movies. They just get muddled after a while, and I don't enjoy the original anymore. Eventually they go too far and negate the original, so what's the point in watching?

   Fall is the best season. It should be extended and we should get rid of summer. It's too hot. It's only there so kids get a break from school. In my plan, we would have school year round, but only four days a week, with three weeks off at Christmas. And a two week spring break. Give the kids and teachers their breaks, they're in school year round.

    If you're going to kill a snake by running over it with your car, don't just roll over it once. They are round and will roll along with the tires. The best approach is to hit the brakes as you roll over, then reverse your car and do it again. Keep doing it until the viper is deceased. You will know because it will be squished and smeared on the asphalt. Unless it is your pet snake, then you should stop and gently carry it back home into its tank before some jerk wad tries to drive over it.

    One time, I went to a Steep Canyon Rangers concert, featuring Steve Martin on banjo. I wore white in case he wanted to marry me. I walked down the aisle to the stage, there were no bodyguards or security. He was playing the banjo. I stood right below him looking up. I waited. He kept playing. So I walked back up the aisle to my husband. My husband's name is Jim Martin. I feel like that was close enough.

    Drag queens are performers. They wear costumes and play a role. Scene.

    Sometimes pizza rolls are the Best Idea Ever for a snack. And sometimes they explode in the air fryer.

Deep Thoughts by k.w.martin 14 October 2023

 

   As a fan of SNL and "Jack Handey", I've always felt like Facebook wall posts and tweets have taken Deep Thoughts' place. I'm working on Finding My Humor again through this model. If you've never heard of him, here is an example:

"Sometimes when I reflect back on all the beer I drink I feel ashamed. Then I look into the glass and think about the workers in the brewery and all of their hopes and dreams. If I didn’t drink this beer, they might be out of work and their dreams would be shattered. Then I say to myself, It is better that I drink this beer and let their dreams come true than to be selfish and worry about my liver.” 

Here are mine this week. Still working on "the funny"::

 The medical insurance industrial complex is going to kill us. This realization seems contrary to the Hippocratic Oath "First do no harm". I think we should remind the insurance companies and medical receptionists who are the gatekeepers for our doctors that the medical professionals cannot do their jobs if we cannot see them. Of course by the time I'm admitted, after slaying the gatekeepers, I will probably just scream.

  The public education system isn't failing. It is collapsing under the weight of raising too many children. It was designed to educate, not raise, feed, clothe, counsel, discipline...essentially parent. Stop blaming teachers. And also go outside once in a while. 

  Hubie Halloween is a great movie. You should watch it.

 Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be a dog? A dog who has owners and whose owners dress them up and make tiktoks with their boopie noses and soft eyes, not one who is stray or in the shelter, that's just sad. And now I'm sad. Never mind.

  Most movies shoot their "night scenes" during the day with a blue filter. Why can't we do that in the real world so we can see each other and cast shadows at night? We'd be bathed in a gorgeous blue light instead of squinting in the inky blackness. It would make changing a flat tire at night much easier.

   When you are young, remember someday you will be old. Eat your vegetables. So you can poop.

   Do something every day that your future self will thank you for. Like avoiding high crime neighborhoods and adhering to traffic signals.

   Depression is real. Get help.

   Call your mom on your birthday. Tell her you hope you interrupted something important. You'll have a good laugh together.

   "Die you gravy sucking pigs" is the best retort every written. Thank you Steve Martin.

   Sometimes finding free events when you are broke brings more joy than shelling out Big Bucks for Big Events. Something is going to make you mad at the expensive thing, anyway, so you may as well do free stuff.

    If you're good at something, work to be great at it. If you suck,keep working at it until you're good. Unless it's murder, then you should stop.

    "If you build it, they will come" only works for sports. Don't try it with theatre.

This Is Not Sustainable

 

        Like corn fuel and the housing market at any time, the approach to public education is not sustainable.

        For years we have been asked to "do more with less". At first, that meant supplies. bought kleenex, highlighters, notebooks. Science teachers bought beakers, math bough calculators, language arts  had to have kid buy their own books, That one we couldn't afford and had to pass on to the kids. 

 Then it was "do more with less" meaning students coming to us without parental support. So we stocked classroom food pantries on our own dime, became counselors because ours  were busy with administrative and testing tasks--doing more with less  meant loading more duties on counseling- mitigated arguments between friends and gave grace when Covid arrested their emotional development by two years.

 Now it is "Do more with less" meaning they heap more responsibilities on the suckers who  have stayed to cover for those who leave. I don't have enough to do teaching theatre full time. I have PLT meetings during one of my planning periods twice a week. We are short subs, so I sub one of my planning periods daily. Both of these inflictions put my own planning behind, and frankly I have it better than my colleagues. There is a teacher in a department with two open positions right now. When the long term sub quit, my colleague started writing lesson plans for five classes that he does not teach. And so far, he's doing it without financial compensation.   

This is not even the tip of the iceberg, friends. It's quite literally a fly over. A brief swoop to inform and enlighten those who may not understand why this is not sustainable.

Deep Thoughts...Not By Jack Handey

1. If you are the principal of a low income, troubled school--possibly in turnaround--it is in poor taste to drive your Mercedes to work every day.

 2.Teenagers are terrible drivers.

3.Schools are not failing, parents are.  Teachers stopped giving homework because it was not getting done at home. Parents failed, not the schools.

4. It  does not matter what content a child reads, we should support the act of reading, not attack the subject matter they are reading. 

5. Addendum to #4, we should also appreciate anyone willing to give up their own time to read to our children, not attack them  because we do not like that they are wearing the clothing assigned to the opposite sex.

6.Dolly Pardon should be put in charge.

7.If you cannot put together a coherent sentence, you should not be in a position of authority.

8. Hey kids, when you do not have any lunch,  it's OK to ask a teacher for theirs. 

9. If you have  never experienced or researched or taught or worked yourself, you should probably stop citing the research, experience, work and teaching of others as your own.

10. If you are right and everyone else is wrong  and they insist on pointing out your incorrect statements, stop listening. Lock yourself in your tower and issue directives from there. People will do what you say when you behave like a monarch.

June 2023 in pieces: Act 1 Scene 2

 The Bugs

    Colorado has had a wild May and June. There has been more rain than we've seen in years, and two days ago a tornado touched down in Highlands Ranch. Dude. What? And the hail...ever since the storms of 2017 we've been on edge. This week's deluge was not a disappointment.

    The side effect of all of this is the bug infestation. Usually it is too dry for the bastards. But when it's rainy, bugs bugs bugs and more bugs. Some that we've never seen before. In 2017 our house was invaded by millipedes. Really? Where'd they come from? Sometimes the bugs are just bigger---giant prehistoric mosquitos and dragonflies, very Land of the Lost. Sometimes it's the numbers: hoards of beetles or ants. Sometimes they're in the wrong state. For example, cockroaches are not a Colorado thing, but we found a tiny one last week.  Also fleas. We are not a big flea state.

    The morning after George ran out the door, to the neighbor's and into to open space, H woke up covered in bug bites. George had not been in her room, but her main coon cat sleeps with her, and those floofy things are an easy landing spot for fleas. Based on the look of the bite, we determined fleas. Because that made sense in the moment, even though there was no physical evidence or scratching among  the animals.

    * We made Lisa buy flea bath for her dogs.

    *We bought flea baths, flea killer meds and flea brushes for our animals

    * We called our exterminator to move up our quarterly appointment and added a flea bomb 

    * We bought a flea bomb at ACE hardware, figuring we'd bomb the bedroom. We've only had a flea issue once, years ago, when Sundown brought them home from the groomer. It was a Pain In the Ass. But because it was years ago, I could not remember how we did the bomb, or where we took the animals for two hours, or how we even managed. The packaging says to turn off the gas and the pilot light, so I did, but then panicked because even though I have turned the pilot light back on before, in my current state I was sure I would blow up the house.

    So. The day of the terminator visit, which I wrote down as between 1 and 2 pm, my cousin had to schedule herself for the afternoon off -she works from home-and I had to borrow additional cat carriers from a neighbor. I went to Target that morning to buy a fan and an umbrella for the deck, since that was the only place myself, five cats and five dogs could safely remain for two hours.

    The terminator arrived at 12.30. We were unprepared, he was thirty minutes early- I thought. I had written it down wrong. I had to scramble to get cats in carriers. H took hers to her sibling's apartment for a visit, so I only had Diana and Houston to wrangle into the carriers. I still have the scratches on my arms. Sock is an indoor/outdoor old lady, so she was allowed to free range. Sock is our elderly cat. Did I not mention her name? You're smart, you understand context and I'm sure figured out it was not a cotton sport sock. For reference our  cats are Sock, Houston, Diana and H's are Boo and Pickles.

    My cousin left her  dogs with me because I said it wasn't a big deal  (foreshadowing)  that I could handle five dogs in the back yard in 77 degrees with little shade. She had to take the afternoon off because she works from home,  and left to have lunch with her grandson. The terminator returned at 1 pm and I was I set up on the deck, phone fully charged to follow the Titan search, two dog bowls of water and two water bottles, two cats in carriers, leashes, a new chair to sit in and fans. I had thought of everything.

    By 2pm nothing was OK at the Martin house.

    Even though the temperature was only 77, it felt like 100  on the deck under the umbrella.  Both cats were panting, even with the fan on them. Sock was under the deck until George figured out where she was and then he ran her out, Paco running excitedly behind him to join the fun. I decided to move us all to the garage, where at least it was shady and out of direct sunlight. During the move, I discovered that Paco did not have a collar on which to attach a leash ---with so much fur, I had no idea---and my cat carrier containing Houston broke. I reassembled it the best that I could, schlepped  the cats through the gate, down the sideyard, across the front steps, around the mailbox, up the driveway to the garage. A trek to which I am unaccustomed. It does not look that far from inside the front window. I placed the cats facing one another in the garage while I retrieved the dogs. I had to carry Paco.

    What happened next will be neighborhood lore forever. Let me just snapshot it here:

    *Sock decided she need to go inside right the hell now so started screaming at the front door. A neighbor came over to see if everything was OK. The gentleman repairing the fence three houses down looked up to see who was torturing a cat.

    * George escaped from the pack, dragging his leash as he tore down the street, past the nice Fence Man. I called his name, and he continued to run. I continued to stand on the sidewalk, tangled up in three leashes, holding a Pomeranian.

    * I closed the garage door hoping to  find a way to collar and leash Paco, only to almost suffocate all of us in the heat.

    *Houston broke out of her broken carrier and disappeared.

    * I hobbled to the garage trying to manage the melee and shut the door. George was still running down the street. Within minutes the garage was stifling and I realized I did not have a collar small enough for Paco.

    So.

     I opened the garage as my neighbor was ringing the bell. She asked about Sock, who she called a "Poor Sweetie" and who was howling at the front door. I told Sock repeatedly that she cannot go in, the house is poison, but Jim says she doesn't speak English, so she did not understand. I was holding a Pomeranian and had three dogs on leashes, winding around my legs. I told her my cat has escaped, my cousin's dog has gone rogue, my house was being bombed for Unidentified Bugs---we assumed fleas,  but none of the animals were actually scratching, Paco doesn't have a collar and have you heard any updates about the Titan submersible?

       She blinked. "Why do you have so many dogs?"

    "They are my cousin's, she's staying with us. I had to kick her out to bomb the house, she works from home." I tried to stuff as much exposition as possible into a few simple words, hoping my vocal inflection and  state---dogs and leashes binding me to the spot---would convey my perturbation. 

    She looked me over. I was in a tank top, oversized pants  and had not showered. I could not move due to the leash restraint wound around my legs. Togo thought I was a sled, and was trying to pull me.  Paco was in the crook of my arm, hanging by his head, only, as I only had one arm-the other hand was holding the leashes. I smiled at my nice neighbor who was standing barefoot with her mail in her hand, looking quite concerned. 

    She blinked again, I assume to clear either her head or to refocus the shit show in front of her. "Where is your cousin?"

    I replied at full volume, yelling over the sound of  three dogs snarking at each other as they simultaneously would around my legs, and shifting Paco in the crook of my arm,  "She went to lunch because I said I could handle this." 

    She paused. "How can I help?"

    She put on her shoes and tracked down George as I put everyone in the back yard, then began calling for Houston. She brought George back to the yard and I thanked her profusely, asking if I could buy her a car. She smiled, but that concerned look never left her eyes. 

    I clearly was not capable of handling this.

            Scene.

      

       

    

June 2023--in pieces. Act 1 Scene 1

 

  25 June. My cousin and her dogs have left to go back home.

 This is the story of June, 2023 using my cousin's arrival at my house on 15 June, and the discovery of the Titan Pieces on 23 June as the parameters. While mathematically that does not appear to be the entire month, believe me, it is.

  I began to emerge from the Not Covid Bronchial Virus the last week of May, after missing the final week of school and my anniversary with a cough that I thought would kill me. I was coughing so hard one night,  I was actually choking. I could not get my breath. As I sat in the bathroom unable to take in any air, watching the spit and drool on the floor  I thought "Well this is a crappy way to  die." I was astounded my extreme crisis did not wake my husband. But that's another story for some other day.

   By the 15th we were all slowly recovering from the nasty cough that I had so generously brought home to share with my husband and adult child staying with us. I had successfully interviewed for and not received a teaching job in Jeffco, and it felt like summer had finally arrived for me-meaning I was no longer sick, I was giving up on job applications and my house was clean and calm.  

    My aunt passed the last week of school, so my cousin had been down here since then (she lives in the Gunnison/Montrose area) to care for her step father, whose health is failing, and who is emotionally wrought after the loss of my aunt. On the 15th of June, I received a panicked call from my cousin asking if she could stay with me for a bit. Those who know, know; if you're dealing with a second marriage, children from both parties and a Will, things are never smooth. So. She came to stay with me. Her and her two dogs.

    This would be an excellent time in the narrative to mention that we had five cats and three dogs of our own in the house at the moment. But I didn't flinch. She's family.

The Dogs

    Her dogs are a  Scottie, which I kept calling "George" even though his name is Charlie  (more on how irrelevant that is later)  and Paco, an elderly and mostly deaf Pomeranian mix. Both are cute. Nether one has been raised around cats.

    So the first shift in my finally clean and calm household, was the cats realizing they were going to be chased. Relentlessly. George is either not smart enough to understand a cat shredding his nose, or a true generational Cat Hater from back in the days when cats and dogs fought over the same territory, and many Scotties lost their lives, and George must avenge their deaths at  all costs. In my head he sounds like Mel Gibson yelling "Freedom!" as he chases the cats into the full length mirror, which is not anchored, and manages to not knock it to the ground.

    Togo, Indie, Marty and I had gotten into a summer morning routine. They get to go on walks, but due to Togo's bossiness, they must go separately. Togo, as she is a sled dog, thinks Indie and Marty are on her team, and she must pull and bark them into submission on every walk. We tried that once, my knee shifted like the tectonic plates, and we never went together again. Togo goes first, and I leave the boys behind to cry and dance and wail, because they forgot that yesterday, I came back and took them for their walk, and the day before, etc etc ad nauseum. Then I come home, release Togo into the house (she is 46% Husky and therefore not permitted in the backyard without an escort: she will escape), leash up the boys and do it again. On the boys' walk, Togo is the one wailing and barking in the house. This makes for a stressful morning for my neighbors, who think I am abusing the animals, but is the only way to insure all the canines are calm for the rest of the day.

    Enter Charlie and Paco; A Scottie dog I renamed "George", and a deaf elderly Pomeranian. 

    Togo has no playmates. Indie is old and grumpy, pees in the house and has the general demeanor of a speed bump. Togo will jump over him repeatedly, then get down on her haunches to entice him to play, to no avail. Marty-whose full Christian name is Marty Feldman due to his bulging eyes-is too nervous to play. He'll throw in to chase the cats, and we do have him to thank that nary a Door Dasher or Amazon delivery person has ever entered the house due to his alarm barking.

    Turns out, George likes to play. A Lot. So much he will jump on Togo, chase her, let her chase him, etc etc. So I have had two weeks of not needing to walk the dogs, because they are playing. A Lot. So that was nice, wasn't that a nice story?

    George, however, will escape out the front door. He runs like a rocket. I think he collapses his skeleton, I swear he got through a door that was open two inches. They have a doggie door at home, but here we have to let them in and out. Which George did not like, and so he bolted out the front door the first chance he had. He tore up the street and hooked a right through the neighbor's driveway and into their backyard without looking back.

    He was long gone before I could even get my cousin's attention. She shrugged and said "He's a jerk, he does that. He'll come back."

    I hated to be That Cousin, but I asked how will he come back, he has no idea where he lives. He's been here three days. He also defiantly ignores anyone calling for him and/or does not actually know his name. To be clear, when calling for him I did not call him "George".

    It  took the entire family thirty minutes of calling before we determined that George does not know his name. To be clear, we were not calling him "George", we were using his given name. My cousin walked up the street with me to try and call for him, to no avail. She said again "He'll come back when he's hungry" and I had no choice but to firmly remind here that we live near open space, George has run toward open space, it is going to be dusk in an hour and we have coyotes, fox, raccoons, rattle snakes and bob cats. I am unsure if it was the list of wildlife or the wild tone of my voice that prompted her to get in her car and drive up the street to look for him. When she got to the gate at open space, he simply emerged and jumped into the car.

    He's a cute dog. He just has no idea what his name is. He does the same thing in the backyard, when it's time to come in, you can call all afternoon. He will toddle over when he feels like it. I posit that his little brother, Paco the Deaf Pom, is to blame for this behavior. He sees Paco ignoring his name, so why shouldn't he?

Porter: A Drama

Characters

Isaiah -22,clearly holding it together with everything he has, he looks stressed.

Jamie-22 she primarily looks tired.

Marie(new arrival  in a wheelchair)- 20

Mike-30's lost his wife a year ago. Has a semi permanent bed here. The most reasonable sounding and looking of the bunch.

Stacy- 28 permanent resident. If she were in the world instead of inside, she would seem stoned. Slow reaction time, vaguelysmiling.

Megan-45 BPD, wound up like a top, coiled like a snake, always ready to attack.

Steve- the nurse, any age or gender, nearby, kind and patient, watching until the end.

The TIk Tok they refer to is one in which two people are on opposite sides of a hospital room with the curtains drawn. The one with their phone  says “Do you know the muffin man?” and a voice from the other side of the screen screams in a high pitch “the Muffin Man?” and the recorder repeats in a higher, more hysterical voice "THE MUFFIN MAN! The Tik Tok appears to be a  recovery room, and most psych wards will not allow phones. The idea that it was Jamie and Isaiah in the psych ward is pure fiction, and  not likely based on hospital rules. It’s just fun to imagine.

setting 

The common room of Porter Hospital's Behavioral Health wing. There is a desk nearby with a nurse on duty, Steve. SL are three phones with small chairs, and the general room where the actors are seated has three  round tables.

Isaiah and Jamie are seated at the center  table, clearly in conversation for a time. Stacy  walks a pattern, occasionally sitting down and listening. She has a pleasant look on her face and a slight smile. When she speaks, it is quietly and  with kindness. She is clearly so medicated she is  barely able to function.

            ISAIAH

         Did you see our Tik Tok? It’s viral.

                 JAMIE

I don’t think anybody knows it was in a mental hospital. They wouldn’t think it was so funny if they did.

            ISAIAH

But we know, ‘cause it was us. In a high pitched voice THe MUFFIN MAN!

            JAMIE

        The  Muffin Man?

            ISAIAH

        THE MUFFIN MAN!!!!

                                    They both laugh.

             JAMIE

    Did you end up back there again?

                 ISAIAH

    No, no are you crazy? That place was a prison. I told my psych I’ll come here or Denver, but not Aurora. Not Going Back There.

                MIKE

            We don’t say “crazy”. You know that.

                JAMIE

    Will your insurance cover one of those other places out south? They look like resorts.

                ISAIAH

Nope. My insurance is still stupid. I still have it from Minnesota. Has to be a regular hospital like this. Can’t be a rehab or a private one. But I’m with you, those places look sweet. Like a rehab instead of a psych ward.

                JAMIE

         I like it here. Everybody’s nice. And I get my meds.

A young woman in a wheelchair rolls up to the table next to them. They watch her adjust for a moment, and then get up and move to her.

                ISAIAH

Hey. I saw you come in. You didn’t have the wheelchair.

                MARIE

            Ya. I pass out.

                JAMIE

You passed out? When you got here?

                MARIE

Yes, and I pass out, it’s a thing. I passed out when I got here, and they found out that I pass out, so I can’t be out of the chair. 

                                                MIKE

            You "pass out" and you "passed out"? You're a passer-outer?

                ISAIAH

They made us leave in the chairs from Aurora, I have no idea what that was about. We didn’t pass out. Here I just walk out. Whenever I’m ready. I’m Isaiah.

                    MARIE

                            Marie.

                     JAMIE

                    Jamie.

                                                    MIKE

                                                   Ludwig.

                    ISAIAH

             I am on my second grippy sock vacation so far this year.

                    JAMIE

                    No, third.

                    ISAIAH

Second. The first time was not voluntary, so it wasn’t a vacation. He stops abruptly, Jamie watches him control his face.

                    MARIE

I came out here for group. Is this group?

                    MIKE

We do say group. “Group” is not offensive. Hi, I’m Mike. Not Ludwig.

                    ISAIAH

In ten minutes. It’s group, then art therapy, then quiet time which is also visiting hours. Then dinner. So If you have a visitor, they’ll meet you out here. It's a very comforting schedule.

                     MIKE

Group is that room over there, behind the nurses' station.

Megan enters.  Mike, Isaiah and Jamie watch her and all talking ceases. She sits down at the next table, across from Marie. Mike is  behind her, so he can see Marie’s face and Megan cannot see him.

                                                    MIKE

                        (continuing as he watches Megan)

I’m Mike. They keep a bed  here for me when I need  to adjust. My wife was killed in a car accident a year ago.

               ISAIAH

             Mike and I go way back…

                MIKE

Pre Covid. I was here before my wife died, too. I’m schizophrenic. Reaches out to shake Maria's hand. I’m not crazy or insane, just schizophrenic. Doing a decent Billy Crystal impression from Princess Bride. Which  is mostly insane. It’s still a little bit sane. If I was all the way insane, there’d only be one thing left to do…

                ISAIAH

Go through his pockets and look for loose drugs.

         Mike and Isaiah do a rim shot.

                STACY

I get it. I get it every time you say it. You say it a lot.

                ISAIAH

Thanks Stacy. I moved to Wyoming during Covid----He cuts off.

                JAMIE

Because there are no psych wards  in Wyoming…

                ISAIAH

Yes, there are. He goes silent, doesn’t want to elaborate. 

                                                 MEGAN

To Marie. They brought me in in a wheelchair too. I collapsed  when I got here.  My ex husband beat me. Mike shakes his head “no” at  Marie and puts his finger to his lips to suggest she stay quiet. To Marie. I’m bipolar. What’s your deal? Marie is quiet, torn between Mike's “shhhh” and Megan’s relentless stare. You look like my sister. She’s the reason I’m here. She called the cops on me just because I came to her house.If you have a sister I bet she’s not like mine. You look nice.  Megan  gets up and wanders off.

                 MIKE

Sorry, she’s been here two weeks. Her psych won’t release her. 

                 JAMIE

Because she’s BDP and won’t go to  therapy.

                 MARIE

Isn’t BPD bipolar? Can’t she be on meds?

                 STACY

Passing through again. Borderline Personality Disorder. It’s a  Behavior. Behaviors can’t be medicated. Shouldn't be medicated. Lucky. Wanders off.

                ISAIAH

That’s Stacy, she never leaves for long. Poor thing, they keep messing with her meds. Last  time they let her out and she got a job at a dog grooming place. She fell asleep on the table with a dog. 

                MIKE

DBT Therapy is intense. And you have to go.

                MEGAN

Stop talking about me, I went to therapy. I went. To Marie. I didn’t go one time and they called the police on me.

                ISAIAH

Because that’s the agreement, you know that Megan. They take therapy  seriously. He pauses. Not like some states, it's really good here.

                   MIKE

My wife was bipolar. I had a friend with BDP, he was  30.  I thought it was a teenage girl’s disorder, but it turns out…it’s not. They’re very different. I think everybody has BPD, honestly. I see a lot of it in here. Everyone’s  selfish.

                JAMIE

     In here?  I see it a lot out there.

                     MEGAN

I am not selfish. Do you people just sit around and talk about me all day?

                JAMIE

BPD is not just selfish, it’s not about being selfish.

                MIKE

        Ya, it is. At its core. It’s like O.D.D.

                                                MEGAN

            I'm not the selfish one. Talk to my alcoholic sister. She's selfish.

                JAMIE

No, it’s not. O.D.D. is completely different.

                MIKE

I beg to differ, O.D.D. is BPD on steroids with a bipolar chaser.

                ISAIAH

We never agree on this, why do you argue, Mike?

                MIKE

Because behaviors are  different than mental health and it annoys me that nobody cares.

                                                ISAIAH

        I get it. At least you live in a state that cares. Wyoming was not----he cuts himself off. He has never talked about what happened, even with Jamie. At least here there is a conversation about both, an acknowledgment that they are real and exist.

                JAMIE

We do agree that Trump has at  least BPD, possibly ODD.

                MARIE

                 Sorry… O.D.D.—

                JAMIE

        Oppositional Defiance Disorder.

                MARIE

No, I know. I know that one.  My sister has it. She’s 13. 

                ISAIAH

I wonder if it shows up in older people, like BPD. Like  if you’re 30 and have ODD…

                MIKE

    You’re in jail I assume. Right? If you never got over it? he stops to clarify his thoughts. If you have O.D.D. and you are thirty, and you've robbed a liquor store and been homeless because you refuse to obey any of society's rules...you're in jail.

                MARIE

That’s terrible. It can be treated. My sister is in therapy. I want her to  get better.

                MEGAN

Returning, plops down in the same chair. I voted  for  Trump. Then he broke into my house and raped me. Gets up, walks off.

                MARIE

So, my parents are coming during visiting hours. Her statement to Isaiah is subtextually addressing Megan, and the look on her face is asking if Megan will be in the common room when her parents arrive. They’re bringing me clothes. 

                     ISAIAH

   You’re so lucky to have parents that care. He smiles at her. She's in and out, usually out when there are visitors.

                 JAMIE

            Your mom visits every time.

                 ISAIAH

It’s  true, her mom and my mom are friends now. to Jamie I meant Megan. to Marie Our moms met when we were in Aurora together.

             ISAIAH and JAMIE

DO You know the MUFFIN MAN?They collapse laughing

                 JAMIE

To Marie. If you can manage to, stay outta there.

                 ISAIAH

If it’s a hold from an ER, they send you to where there’s a bed. So the first time a lot of  people end up there. But then you know. And when you know…you know.

                 JAMIE

My roommate there tried to strangle me.

                 ISAIAH

It’s like a prison. I had to go on a grippy sock vacation after being in that alleged "psych ward" just to deal with the trauma of the place. It’s horrible.

                     JAMIE

    This place is great. This is what they all should be  like.

                MIKE

        No Nurse Ratchet’s here.

                                                JAMIE    

                            Nobody's tried to strangle me.

                     ISAIAH

        We get  Nurse Steve.

                ISAIAH,MIKE,JAMIE

              STEEEEEEEEEVE.

                MIKE

                He’s the best.

                       MEGAN

When is group? I came out of my room for group. I have things to say.

                    MIKE

                 Five minutes, Megan.

                           STACY

                  Thank you five.

                    ISAIAH

Stacy was in theatre in high school. She does that every time, even if she’s not in the common room. She’ll do it from her room. Kinda funny. Steve video taped it once for TIk Tok.  Against  the rules, but we didn’t tell.  We love Steve.

                    JAMIE

You didn’t tell me how you ended up back inside.

                    ISAIAH

I can’t ever sleep. Jamie nods. I'm schitzophrenic. They can't get my meds right. Pick a reason.

                        MARIE

So, you guys are not like, crazy crazy. Just mentally ill?

                        JAMIE

I’m crazy as a rat. I have bipolar, anxiety  and depression, as well as BPD.  I got the BPD under control, but I can’t hold a  job, I get overwhelmed. 

                        ISAIAH

Don’t be so  hard on yourself. You were doing  great. To Marie. She was working in a high school.

                         JAMIE

                         Until the shooting. 

                         MARIE

Oh my God, me too. I mean, not working, but my school had a shooting. My anxiety spiked. I started passing out again, too.

                         JAMIE

In my professional opinion, anyone still working in a high school after a  shooting is crazy.

                        MIKE

                         Don’t say “crazy”...

                        JAMIE

In this instance I am correct. Doing the same  thing over and over again and expecting different results: crazy.

                                                        ISAIAH

        Suggesting that everyone just "return to normal" after a shooting without any real mental health support: crazy.

                                                        MIKE

    Post Covid-"Go back to your lives, return to normal": Crazy. There is no normal any more. It's all crazy.

Megan finds her way to what would be the center of the group. ISAIAH, MIKE and JAMIE all move to give her room. This is her usual pre-group monologue.

                             MEGAN

My sister is a lying alcoholic. She is a raging, lying alcoholic. She is the reason I am here. If she were not a lush, I’d be home. But she cannot stand that my boyfriend is better than her ex husband, so she called the police on me. I didn’t do anything except go to  her house. Our parents are dead, she is all I have and she hates me. I called the police on her when she was drunk and got her help, she has never thanked me. I am not the crazy one. I went to her house is all. I went Friday and again on Saturday because she wouldn’t open the door. If you aren’t going open the door then  you give me no choice but to break a window. Normal  people answer  their phone when their sister calls. Normal people open the front door  when their sister knocks. She hides like it’s a zombie apocalypse. I just want to explain why there is no police  report on my ex husband. He broke in and beat me and I told her and she went to the police station to look for a report. But she says there isn’t one, so she’s calling me a liar and a manipulator  and I just want to talk to her. So I called her ex husband and told him she was drinking again because she won’t answer my calls. Or the door. And I’ve always hated that stupid gnome statue, anyway, and he went right through the front window like a rocket. Flying gnome!  It was awesome!  Gnome and glass everyone. I guess it hit her dog on the head, but he’s fine, he didn’t die or anything, that’s not my  fault, it’s not my fault the dog was under the window.  It’s not my fault she won’t believe me even if there isn’t a police report about my ex husband attacking me, that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. She’s losing it and STEVE has appeared behind her. Isaiah and Jamie are watching him instead of Megan. The dog is fine, he has a bump on the head there was  no reason to call the police on me. No reason. Maybe she should have replaced that window with non breakable glass after the last time, maybe that’s on her,  not me. I mean c’mon, use your head. I broke the window last time with a different gnome, any reasonable person would have removed the remaining gnomes and replaced the window with non breakable glass. It's so simple, why is everyone an idiot---

                    STEVE

    Hey, Megan, it’s time  for group. I’ll walk you over.

                    MEGAN

    Hi Steve. Is it time? I really don’t have anything to say, do I have to go?

                    STEVE

    Yes, you do Megan. You know  you do. You can  just sit there. It’s  fine. He holds out his arm, and she takes it not unlike Blanche DuBois. They exit. Steve waves the others to follow with his free hand. C’mon friends, let’s go to group. Slowly they all exit. Mike pushes Marie’s wheel chair, Jamie and Isaiah walk side by side, Stacy takes up the rear alone.

                    STACY

Thank you Steve. Places! She begins to "check" her non existent pockets, like Peter Falk at the end of The Princess Bride. Okay. Allright. Okay. OK. Oooookay...she follows them off.

                    END PLAY