Littleton made me angry, gave me anxiety.
Hinkley made me angry, hopeless.
North crushed my heart. Verified No Hope.
I'm done with education.
This is scary as hell, with only 21 years in I can't afford to retire like my parents. I still have to work, but the only guaranteed job is in education subbing. :)
Because I am old.
Sigh.
I don't want to sell my house, and I don't want to learn a new job.
UGH.
In July I started to write a blog called "My Last Year Teaching".
I walked in the door of Hinkley this year and said "I'm leaving at the end of the year."
That was 7 August.
Today, 2 October 2024, I am 19 days away from leaving this building for good.
RelatedUnrelated, I walked out the door of LHS on 4 October, 2019.
The original plan was to make it through the year here as half time theatre half time lang arts and then retire at the end of the year and work online from home for Progressive. From Home. The Dream.
By the second Week it was abundantly clear that I was not going to survive LA 12 with my mental health intact. It's not like LA at Littleton, or an elective. It's on three platforms, daily assignments and graduation capstone requirements. Half the kids on IEP's and several not on track to graduate. Thank God for co-teachers. Yet, relying on her to carry the weight for both of us also took a snicker snack to my mental health. I started mumbling, and checked out of the class in the name of working on Steel Magnolias.
I have a new, kind hearted AP, but his job is to do as he's told, and what he's told makes no sense for performing arts, and takes up two planning periods a week. Another clipper clap to my tottering mind. I began low tirades against using AI in writing. I upped the snack factor for rehearsals. I stared bantering with the AP regarding data collection which is going to tell me what I already know: If you do not rehearse, you do not improve. I dug in harder to teach Theatre of the Oppressed. I actually taught Oedipus to ten kids who speak only Spanish.
North Middle School reached out the first week of August. I replied that I would be interested if they could hurry it up before I started rehearsals, thespians, cabaret, collage... Silly Billy Am I. This district moves at the speed of global warming.
First it was the email "Are you interested?" But no job post, just vague "electives opening". Scrolling through turned in assignments in LA 12 - I paused. I answered "Yes".,
Then it was "It's posted as electives" but was posted in a secret hiding place to which I had to be directed. Grumble mumble snap pop, I am not digging around on another platform. Thank you. Click.
Then it was "just email the principal directly" who sent the link. Tap,snap, upload.
Surfing IC and Naviance and Study Synch to locate turned in LA12 material was making my brain fog worse. But I stopped everything to ferret out the job posting at North. Eyes are bad, need a new prescription. Just take them off and read naked eyed, running my hand through my gray and green hair, three inches from the screen. 3 September. Old Lady Searching For Her Resume: Black on Silver, 4X8.
By the time they called to interview on 11 Sept, I wasn't interested but invested in my kids. I blew off the first interview by shutting down entirely on my way out the door. My brain screaming "Nope nope waste of time you're old with all due respect to your experience stop it, kryssi, just stop". And... they rescheduled for the next week. Ugh. So I went. And two days later I was hired.
So.
I am transferring to our middle school who want a theatre program. I've been asked to build it. They've not had one for six years. I'm wanted. I feel valued.
That can't be right.
My creed has always been “I don't want to belong to any club that would have me as a member”. Groucho Marx meant it as funny, self effacement. I took it as a life mantra for my loser mentality.
Let's take a derailed moment here to appreciate that when I left The Building in May I was scheduled to teach LA 11, which I did not want to do due to SAT prep. The principal switched it to LA 12 without asking me---the same way she struck my theatre classes. When I asked why she switched me from LA 11 to LA 12, she said "You said you were worried about SAT prep." So giving me a graduation requirement class is better? My brain feels like it's getting hit by a 2X4 every day.
Staying here and teaching half and half was not working. Living in a building with no hope sucks. Theatre is dead---you can't teach only freshman and seniors with no middle ground to train people. And you can't recruit for classes that don't exist from a class of seniors trying to graduate. It is a dead end.I live in the center house in the middle of a dead end, one way street. Steven Wright. I don't even write my own material, but at least I site it appropriately. And I'm screaming to empty space in the cul -de -sac like hurricane Harvey sitting on Houston. Nobody's listening, and I'm now irreparably angry and seen as the crazy woman jumping up and down on the stage.
Edward Albee wrote, " It's one of those things a person has to do; sometimes a person has to go a very long distance out of his way to come back a short distance correctly."
My long distance journey began 4 October 2019.
I thought it referred to driving to Aurora from Lakewood.
Then I thought it was teaching theatre online during Covid.
So I doubled down, focusing on "correctly" and built the theatre program back slowly and respectfully, using a trip to NYC, returning kids to Thescon, The Bobby G's and CHSSA. No drama with parents, personal feelings or ego.
Collage. A Christmas Carol with band, choir and fourteen small children from the community.
Uphill. Like Sisyphus. Against bullying admin, apathy, trauma, loss of hope.
I don't know what what "coming back a short distance" looks like. I don't even know where "back" is located. But I feel strongly that I prepared for it correctly. And it is not here in this building.
And to follow up, Mr. Albee's quote is Jerry's from Zoo Story. He's referring to how far he's traveled to reach this spot in Central Park, at this time, so that he can coerce Peter into killing him.
To be continued...
26 July 2024
I have to return to the building on 31 July for meetings. Students arrive 7 August. This will be year 21.
There will not be a year 22.
I have promised myself for my own mental health to set the deadline.
In the words of Salieri "I'm slowly watching myself become extinct".
I did everything right. I brought the theatre back: Thescon, Bobby G, travel to NYC, scholarships, five shows last year---hell, one of my kids won a STATE wide activities award.
But I can't stop the steady decline in building enrollment.
I can't stop the revolving door in choir and band.
I can't stop the change in administration.
I can't stop the evisceration of performing arts at our only feeder school.
I can't stop the fact that when you google our building a shooting comes up.
The principal cut IB theatre.
Then she cut my mid level classes, leaving me with only beginning and advanced.
She cut tech theatre.
And I have to return next week as half time theatre/half time LA12. Leaving me no opportunity to recruit, or bring back IB, or even get a musical mounted.
So.
I am clearly not wanted, so I will go.
I can't put the energy in if I'm half time, and I will not. There's no point, that building does Not Want Me.
So I will chronicle the last year of a 21 year teaching "career".
Assuming I make it to 1 August. It's not looking great.
I'm writing this at 10 am the morning of the closing production. I don't mind naming them, because I have nothing negative to say, and my job is over so they can't fire me. But I am not naming them out of habit or PTSD.
The last five years have been a very specific kind of hell. I am not alone, and I am not complaining; simply stating. Becuase if you're reading this, you live in the same country that I do and have your own hellscape stories. And while I will give lip service to appreciating the shift in lip service to taking care of one's mental health, the words are as empty as any other spoken to us in recent years. One cannot take care of one's mental health without expensive insurance, or expensive out of pocket appointments and meds. The mere fact that an advertising entity suggests mental health support is available to me, a regular person, when they know it is a lie is causing a mental health issue. I expect insurance companies and the government to lie to me. But now they're using "mental health" to peddle their pharmaceutical fallacies.
I do have insurance. I have Kaiser. 'nuff said, eh?
I have used theatre as therapy my entire life. I tend to rework Tom Hanks' words in A League of Their Own. "Yes, theatre is hard. It's the hard that makes it great. If it was easy, everyone would do it." She was always there for me. She got me through high school, college, my twenties, parenting and teaching.
Well, she was getting me through teaching, but that's another blog.
After we reopened in 2021, I took every job I could directing and teaching. I stacked them--I would leave rehearsal early at Hinkley to make it to rehearsal at Mines. I worked like that for a solid 13 months.
And around month four I realized...I didn't feel any better. Worse, my directing was falling away from me, I could feel it running down my arm like shower water, and puddling at my feet where it would evaporate. Gone. Moments, connections, techniques--even mechanics were leaving me. One college show I actually wrote in my notes "I am sucking at this".
There is the self preservation part of me that wants to blame a post Covid world. People have foggy brains, mental health struggles and students are afraid to be seen and separated from their phones. Combined, these elements make directing not just "hard" but frequently impossible. I used to drag shows across the finish line on my own; now I draw boundaries. I am no longer the one stitching and building and teaching and designing. It it fails, it's not on me. I hate it, and I hate that kids will allow it to fail. So that's a hit to one's mental health.
Which is why I took the gig to direct Gilbert and Sullivan with a community theatre this summer. High school theatre has become impossible--there's more to that story but everyone's tired of hearing me bitch about admin--so maybe community theatre would be better.
I did not have to stitch or build. I did do a basic design, and had to teach a bit. From that perspective, it was better. The actors were all adults. They all want to be there. On the surface, this experience should have renewed my faith.
It did not.
This group of people are all heart, positive and dedicated. Yet I was a grumpy dick. I wanted to work at the level I had been used to ten years ago, only to be faced with the fact that that level doesn't exist in community theatre. Instead of doing what I used to--finding a way around it, making connections and building community--I wielded theatre like a scepter and whacked people with it. I hope you are appalled reading this; I am appalled writing it. This approach made my mental health even worse, and now I have guilt mixed in. I was punishing actors with theatre instead of building them up. And I knew it, and came home angry after each rehearsal. Great. I'm fine, it's fine, stop looking at me I'm fine.
This is not who I am.
The mental health hits, three known bouts of Covid and fights with admin have left my brain disconnected as well. I have to take notes and send rehearsal reports via email, I can't give them live, my brain won't form the words. I've tried to return to being the funny/sardonic director in the booth, and the same turrets- esque verbal salad is happening. Maybe it's early onset dementia. Maybe it's stress. Maybe it's Maybelline. Whatever it is, I can't verbally communicate the way I used to, and I'm forgetting what I did or said five days ago. In June I pledged to walk every day, I missed one day and completely forgot about it. I told this cast I'm glitchy due to the motorcycle accident almost ten years ago---which is somewhat accurate, that's when it started---but I don't believe it. The bike wreck rung my bell and disconnected irreparable synapses, but that is not the only issue. I've been told I suck by administrators for so long now that I not only believe it, but I'm living it. I suck at this.
And so...in conclusion, all in all, to sum up, I'm done.
Theatre is hard.
Too hard for me.
Immma buy a llama and live in Delta and talk to no one.
Scene.
17 July 2024
I had no idea that my commute was contributing to the decline in my mental health until this week. It's not the distance -between 28 or 34 miles depending on which direction you travel via my google map. I originally thought that was part of it, and it likely is. I refuse to drive I70 from Lakewood to Aurora due to the increasing number of commuters driving over 90 miles and hour and the decreasing--arguably absent--presence of police. The anxiety this combination creates has arguably caused a cornucopia of mental health issues.
This summer, I have been subbing at what I call The Pony Preschool in Arvada. As suggested, the preschool farm houses five ponies, two goats and a pig. The children are treated to daily pony rides. I signed up for this because my mental health has deteriorated at an alarming rate, and the show I picked up to direct and keep me sane this summer is not working as it should. I hoped to cleanse my palate by engaging outside of the public school system, with an independent business owner who had chosen preschool and seemed like a good person.
The choice was perfect. While the work is exhausting on my 58 year old arthritis ridden frame, my cognitive issues have quieted. I load 18 preschoolers on and off of ponies for thirty minutes of my day and my brain stops screaming. I delight in preschool speak. A very quick sampling:
Me:
Yep, you have to pull your unders all the way up after you go potty, or your shorts get bunched up.
I'm not the boss of your water bottle.
Please stop touching your brother.
Do I look like a trash can?
Is one googley eye and one paper eye OK?
The Kids:
Water is good, it tastes great and is good for us. Not like spiders.
That is my oldest parent. (It was his grandpa)
Which sister are you? ( My sister Karie and I work together, and look way too much alike).
Do you like my drawing?
I have also encountered the true meaning of leadership while at the Pony Preschool. In my building, there is a lot of finger pointing and buck passing because nobody is leading. The director of this preschool, who had at least 10 teachers in the building at the time, walked down to the horse trough to retrieve a dead mouse. I can think of many reasons that is not her job,and only one reason that is is: her school, her responsibility. The move impressed me.
That's all well and good, but it is not the thesis stated in my first paragraph.
My commute during the school year is Lakewood to Aurora. Whether I choose I 70 or not, I pass a lot of homeless folks. A Lot. There are encampments, solos, duets, folks by the hospital sleeping in a wheelchair, or under a shopping cart--which was am impressive demonstration of flexibility as I watched them unfold from under the cart.
My commute the last few weeks has been from Lakewood-Green Mountain, specifically- to Arvada. West Arvada, specifically. Specifically, 74th and Quaker. So the west edge of Arvada. I drive 6th to 93, and turn left on 64th. And I see...trees. Sky. Small businesses. School of Mines. More trees. Quiet neighborhoods. Trees. Tree lined streets. Sunshine. Commuters enjoying their own drive and not exceeding the speed limit.
Know what I do not see? Homeless folks.
It wasn't until this commute that I realized part of my commute misery is what I see along the way. I arrive at work during the school year not just physically tired, but psychologically exhausted by what I've witnessed on my drive in. I drive 50 minutes to arrive feeling like I've already worked all day. By exquisite contrast, I arrive at the Pony School feeling uplifted. Positive. Smiling.
Smiling.
Knowing I have a lovely return commute home keeps me buoyed as I schlep Biddle Bops on and off of ponies, glue colored cupcake holders to tongue depressors and escort the boy line to and from the potty and handwashing five times in three hours.
And that's really all I wanted to share today. Your commute is tied to your mental health. Sorry if you already knew that, I'm frequently late to the party.
Thank you for reading.
I've taken to writing bullet points. Thank you for indulging this lazy writing. It was 102 degrees yesterday, that's a good excuse for lackadaisical journaling. Scattered and out of order, like my brain. It's fine I'm fine stop looking at me.
* As of yesterday, 38 people have quit the building. I am not one of them, unfortunately.
* The Gondoliers opens next Friday. Today is sitzprobe and I am not there. Because I made other plans. Because I have a headache and why do I need to be at sitzprobe, it's an orchestra rehearsal. And I am a pill. Mostly I am a pill. And fat. But that's another bullet point.
*I am picking up sub days at a pony school. It's physically more rough than I'm used to cause it's preschool and there's no where to sit. Hilarity ensues for the fat old woman leaning against the cubby shelves like Tippi Hedrin taking a filming break in her hobble skirt. Except I'm wearing a jumper and arthritis shoes. HA!
* It is not a school for ponies, it is a preschool for human children that has ponies. And two goats and a pig named Piggie Alan Poe. Which these children take for granted to the point that they will pass on their pony ride for the day. They "don't feel like it". Are You Kidding Me? If I was four years old and attended this camp or school, you'd never get me off of the ponies. I don't care how hot it is. Bring it bitches, I'm riding a pony.
* And the reason I chose to pick up sub days at the pony school is that by July, I was on season 6 of DEXTER and it started to suck. May as well work.
* Speaking of sucking, I am doing just that at directing this summer. I'm so stubborn, clearly both education and theatre are done with me, but I refuse to leave. Mostly because theatre and education pay my mortgage. Happy to go if something else falls from the sky. Everything gets solved if an asteroid falls on my head.
*Segue to asteroids. Last year, at some point, the news said there was an asteroid or meteor or space junk that was passing close to earth. It was going to split up and possibly chunks would fall to earth. At 5.30 pm. So I left rehearsal and stood by my car at 5.30 pm, hoping to be beaned by a space rock. My stage manager, who was waiting for his dad to pick him up, asked what I was doing. I told him. "I'm waiting to get smashed by an asteroid." He looked at me with a side eye. I didn't laugh or let him off the hook. I simply stood by my car looking at the sky. He got into his dad's car and they drove away. He watched me through his car window as one does a wounded animal who may or may not make it across the road. When I was not mushed by a meteor, I got into my car and went home. Maybe next time.
* Somatic yoga is a thing. It is supposed to help us plus sizers strengthen our weakened scaffolding, and "release trauma". Many women are shown sobbing on their yoga mat in these advertisements. I did not sob, and I also only did about ten minutes a day. So instead of the full trauma release howl, I'm just experiencing low level depression all day, every day. I don't want to do anything except binge Dexter. I venture outside once a day hoping for an asteroid, so it's a step above my usual malaise, so I know it's working. 10/10 recommend.
*Texas has ammunition in vending machines. In grocery stores. Buena Vista Colorado has one too. That's all. Just thought I'd mention that.
* Sometimes you spend your vacation money on fixing your fence and deck. Sometimes you spend it on groceries. What a great time to be alive!
*A preschooler asked my name. I blanked. I asked their name, hoping for a clue. It was "Bodhi". That did not help me, so I said to call me Bananaface. He told me I was silly and walked away. How do we forget with age how to do that? To just shrug and walk away.
* My cat Houston has been on the dining room chair for two days. She is alive. She is shedding. She is hot and not interested in moving. Good for her, making choices for herself.
* I lost my bifocals, and my old prescription is just off enough to make a true comedy of me both writing rehearsal notes and reading them aloud to actors.
* My WW key is sticking. Must be done.
SCENE
Lock Down: Preferred District
A scene written for radio, but easily adapted.
Seene
it is the first day back with students in a suburban high school. They have been in meetings for three days previous, and are meeting early before students arrive.
Characters
AP LIt, they have been teaching AP lit for twelve years. Before that they taught at the alternative high school in the district. They teach AP like they taught the alternative kids, with a lot of scaffolding and patience. They are the opposite of CW.
SHAKESPEARE they teach classical literature including Shakespeare and the Greeks. Their class numbers are dwindling, as it is considered an elective and kids do not sign up for harder classes voluntarily.
CREATIVE WRITING They teach CW and Expository writing as well as Comp World Lit, Honors. They are used to students who are self driven and high achieving, with little patience for those who struggle.
AP LIT
Shakespeare, You said I could have your Hamlet stuff, will you send it?
SHAKESPEARE
Hold on, I have to find it. Just a minute
AUTOMATED VOICE WITH NON THREATENING TONES " LOCKDOWN, LOCKDOWN, PLEASE PROCEED WITH LOCKDOWN PROTOCOL. REFER TO YOUR LOCKDOWN CHARTS FOR THE RESPONSE TO CODE ORANGE.LOCKDOWN, LOCKDOWN, PLEASE PROCEED..."
CW
Did somebody press the wrong button again?
AP LIT
That was fun, remember how panicked the principal was when they realized it had been triggered?
CW
My window faces the front parking lot, I got to watch them run out to explain to the police cars that lined up.
AP LIT
My window faces the teacher's lot, I missed the show.
SHAKESPEARE
Which one is orange? Is that shut the door and keep teaching or hide and be quiet?
AP Lit
Blinds, lock the door, keep teaching...
AUTOMATED VOICE WITH NON THREATENING TONES " LOCKDOWN, LOCKDOWN, PLEASE PROCEED WITH LOCKDOWN PROTOCOL. REFER TO YOUR LOCKDOWN CHARTS FOR THE RESPONSE TO CODE ORANGE.LOCKDOWN, LOCKDOWN, PLEASE PROCEED..."
CW
AP, it's your room, lock the door.
AP LIT
And miss the view from my window?
SHAKESPEARE
View of what? There's my car! OOOOOH!
CW
At least shut the blinds.
AP LIT
Hold on hold on, I'm finishing my Kahoot. We'll play when I'm done. After Shakespeare sends me their HAMLET stuff.
SHAKESPEARE
What did I call it? Seven soliloquies? It's not called "Hamlet"....
AP LIT
CW, did you see Seven Psychopaths? Your boyfriend is in it.
CW
My boyfriend wrote it, hello, yes I saw it in the theatre fifty years ago when it was released.
AP LIT
Well excuse the single parent for not going to violent movies.
SHAKESPEARE and CW (Steve Martin)
EXCUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSSEEEE MEEEEEEEEE!
AP LIT
Drink bleach
CW
We love you.
AUTOMATED VOICE WITH NON THREATENING TONES " LOCKDOWN, LOCKDOWN, PLEASE PROCEED WITH LOCKDOWN PROTOCOL. REFER TO YOUR LOCKDOWN CHARTS FOR THE RESPONSE TO CODE ORANGE.LOCKDOWN, LOCKDOWN, PLEASE PROCEED.. (the voice is cut off by a human, clearly annoyed.) I realize it is the first day of school and you are busy, but there is a lockdown happening and teachers, you need to lock your door and close your blinds.
SHAKESPEARE
What's the Kahoot?
AP LIT
Of Mice and Men
CW
You're doing that right off?
AP LIT
Hate it, get it out of the way so I can teach stuff I like.
SHAKESPEARE
I had to teach Pride and Prejudice years ago. I never recovered.
THERE IS A CLEAR VOICE, LIVE AND HUMAN, OVER THE INTERCOM: "ROOM 1149, WE ARE ON LOCKDOWN. LANGUAGE ARTS HALL, WE ARE ON LOCKDOWN. PLEASE CLOSE YOUR BLINDS."
AP LIT
(laughing) We're not the only ones! REBEL SCUM!
SHAKESPEARE and CW
May the Force be with you!
AP LIT
I see nothing out my window. I hear nothing in the hallway. This is clearly a drill and they're just lying to us.
CW
Pretty sure the bank across the street got popped again. That's usually what is is. You can't see it from your window....hey. Look! The AP is walking right toward us.
VOICE from behind a window "What is wrong with you people? Shut The Blinds!" there is a banging on the glass "SHUT. THE. BLINDS!"
CW, SHAKESPEARE AND AP LIT burst into laughter
SHAKESPEARE
He has a masters degree you know. They hired him instead of Steve because of that.
CW
I'm going with "Not A Real Lockdown" based on that performance.
AP LIT
You know he's a racist, right?
SHAKESPEARE
And a misogynist. Ugh.
AP LIT
OK, Kahoot set. Let me pull it up and we can play.
CW
I don't wanna play another Kahoot, I think you have a problem. I think we need an intervention.
AP LIT
The kids love it.
CW
There are no kids here. I'm trying to get my syllabus done in the next twenty minutes, then I have to open my room and get it ready.
AP LIT
Meaning you turn on your Zen music and light your fake candles.
CW
The kids love it.
THE SOUND OF A DOOR BURSTING OPEN. The AP enters, mumbling loudly.
AP
You people are worse than the kids, you are the worst. Just shut the damned blinds and lock the door, is that so hard? (Sound of blinds being pulled, footsteps leaving, door closing.)
AP LIT
You send the HAMLET stuff yet?
SHAKESPEARE
I'm still looking, back off, I'm on the trail.
CW
Why don't you use files? Put your google docs in the named files. It's a thing.
SHAKESPEARE
You do files, he Kahoots and I am disorganized. I don't want to use files, I like searching, it's like going through a closet. (pause) AHAHA ! Here! Found it. Sending it.
CW
Can we leave if it's a lockdown? I need to get to my room.
SHAKESPEARE
Do we have to wait for His Highness to return and open the blinds to know it's over?
AP LIT (regarding Hamlet)
Got it. Wait...it's all soliloquies.
SHAKESPEARE
That's the unit, we analyze the soliloquies and align them with each theme addressed.
AP LIT
I'm not doing that, I need the whole play.
SHAKESPEARE
Google Cliff Notes. Stuff it in a file. I teach Hamlet as a work of Shakespeare, not as a one off for an AP score.
VOICE OVER THE INTERCOM "Thank you everyone (clears throat) for following lockdown protocol. We are now off of lockdown...." THE INTERCOM WHINES AND THE AUTOMATED VOICE RETURNS "DO NOT PANIC PLEASE MOVE TO YOUR ASSIGNED EXIT THIS IS NOT A DRILL THERE IS A FIRE IN THE BUILDING PLEASE PROCEED TO YOUR ASSIGNED ROUTE"
CW
That's my cue. Have a good year! (exits)
SHAKESPEARE
Eat glass.
AP LIT
Best wishes, warmest regards.
