60 Is Too Many Years: Corner

 

    21 May 2026

        For no reason known to me, I took a pic of this corner of my desk. I suppose the "reason" was that I won't have access to my office over the summer or next fall due to the renovation, and even though I have plenty of time to pack up and move, I am not doing it. I'm frozen. 

         Every year at the end of the year, since Littleton, I have felt like "I need to pack up, I'm not coming back." I never even really moved into Hinkley, I knew it was transient. Temporary. Not My Final Resting Place.

        The ficus far left is from the props closet here. I'm a slut for fake plants, and I have two in here. Because I want every space I work in to look like a dentist office in 1983.

          Based on this corner, it looks like I've moved in here. But there are two boxes at home that came out of Littleton that remain unopened.

        The yellow flowers...I think those are from "Your Silence Our Voices" (Hink) only because there's a note from the AP with them. Did she give us permanent fake roses? That'd be cool. But maybe not, maybe they've traveled from elsewhere. That show was the nail in my coffin with the incoming principal at Hinkley. I am who I am.The banged up metal pitcher they live in came out of Littleton. The dried red rose is the first given to me here.

        Above it, the sign is from a person called "Duck". She was a sub at Hinkley and went by Duck--it combined her first and middle names, former students had christened her with it. We went through the shooting together. If I recall, her car had to stay at the school after they released the rest of us, it may have had a bullet hole in it. She was around as the "band" sub after the third band teacher quit and I would make sure I had extra food for her in the choir office microwave. That was when Rosie was there. I liked those days. So when she left, Duck gave me the sign and put a duck sticker over the "s" at "ducks", and wrote a note on the back, "Thank you for feeding me".

        Below that is the cast photo from Littleton's A Company of Wayward Saints". I loved that show and those kids. They made their own masks and chose the fabrics for their costumes. A Very Talented student painted the proskenes as Harlequin and Columbina. My work wife and her husband build a pagent wagon. There was so much support and promise and talent at that moment.

        The artwork under the yellow roses was sketched by Kaylen Higgins from Littleton. It's a great portrait of a strong woman with a mohawk. It bares no resemblence to me, which is great because the 'hawk is a symbol. I like to imagine the portrait is how Kaylen saw me.

        The scene board is a gift from the male Odd Couple at Littleton. Signed by the cast. The "God-o-Tech" signature at the top is Felker's. If you know, you know. The board reappeard in a random box last fall as I was digging stuff out. I'd already decided to do The Odd Couple (Female)at Kennedy. It was a sign. I get a lot of those, so many I rarely mention them. But that one was worth mentioning.

        Tucked behind that is my EDTA Thespian card for 645, which I reinstated here at Kennedy. And a funny sign students gave me at Littleton "Kids Are Our Future. Not Your Kids, Better Ones."

        I had to pause, the band and choir teacher are organizing platforms to be borrowed later today. I'm not involved, but when I hear their voices I join them. I'm not part of their team, really, but we work together well. And if someone is in the theatre and I'm around, I feel like I should be near by and visible.

        Next to the "kids" sign is a Schittts Creek mug from a Hinkley kid, and on top is a button that says "I kmart" made by a Littleton kid who had the same name as an olympic swimmer.  I have a shirt from him with the same moniker on it.

        Back to the wall; the next rown down starting at the top is the photo from Littleton's Little Shop of Horrors", a handmade card from a kid here at Kennedy who was moving to Arvada, my Bobby G nomination from the Paleolithic era, and a photo of Mr. Albee with one of his fabulous quotes "Art is nowhere near as dangerous as it should be". I loved him. 

        On the desk in front of him: two photos from a show I directed in college Danny and the Deep Blue Sea gifted to me by the actors. A wooden dog and cat, gifted by a Hink Kid.

        Then white water barrel with "kmart", green water bottle with "Martin" and the Kennedy anchor (teacher appreciaton), empty Starbucks cup and lid for prop purposes, lotion with a broken pump and the green lid tops an empty drum of some sort of sweet crunch snack donated by a kid during the musical that I just kept and clearly finished off. I keep empty jugs. I have one in my desk that contained peanut butter pretzels. I am a hoarder. It's a good joke: are you a hoarder or a theatre teacher?

        And my district computer.

        Why did I take this photo?

        Why did I need to identify everything in the photo?

        Did I move in?

        Also noted: no photos of my children, my husband or myself. Not just in this corner---in the entire office. I have my helmet (saved my life) and poster of Leia "REBEL". I had photos of the kids and Jim in my Littleton office, on my desk. At Hinkley my desk was in the classroom and I learned quickly not to put anything I cared about on the surface. My first day at Hinkley a kid broke a ceramic piece gifted to me by a Littleton kid. Just because he couldn't control his body and was trying to get away from a friend. I was also told to fuck off twice that first week, just by asking kids to go to class. I almost quit before Covid shut us down...that job was never meant for me to stay. It was an escape route from Littleton, a bridge over Covid. Which is great, but now I'm old and nobody wants me.

        See? You knew I'd get there. Thank you for believing in me.

        60.

        One could argue that I'm trapped in the corner, or my corner traps my past. Not even  Who I Was, as I wasn't anyone of note. The corner is education. But at my age, there aren't any new avenues. Particularly in a dumpster fire country burning itself to the ground. I can't quit because I need insurance, and insurance is tied to the job. Because they set it up that way. God Bless Obama, he tried, but the rollout was poisoned and then Trump trampled it, so...guess I'll be teaching another year. Or five. Or until I die.

        I don't have any current photos to put anywhere, and my office has been encroached upon and my personal speaker stolen. So it's not really safe, or my "office". I carved it out of what was tech storage because I need a place near the stage to function. I think the previous teacher "lived" on the first floor platform by the light cage. There is a table and chairs and refrigerator up there. It makes sense if you don't mind climbing up and down the metal death stairs that are too narrow; it's a great perch. You can see the stage but nobody knows you're there. Like a hawk...but I don't see that. I see a raven. A black bird. 

        This isn't my stage. I'm just rebooting. Hink wasn't mine, either, I was rebooting there too. Not that it mattered.

        60.

        60 years are too many years. 23 years in education are too many. You just watch history repeat itself and you are helpless to get off the merry go round or change anything. You just have to watch it repeat.

        And sit at your desk staring at the corner of your trapped past, which traps you now.

        Or something.

        Scene.

60 Years Are Too Many: Part Six

 

    20 May 2026

        This morning I found out the AP that hired me--the one that is essentially holding this building together---is not coming back next year.

        Her support is what kept me here this year, and made me think I could come back. I knew she was looking elsewhere, all admin are. With the threat of DPS throwing us into "innovation" admin is getting out early. They're the first to go if the building doesn't get out of the rut they are in. If we do get out, it will be because of the work Alissa put in. And now she' s leaving.

        Let's be fair, she's amazing and is leaving to be a principal. She should have been principal of this school, but something stinky kept her from getting an interview. So. Good For Her.

        And Scott has not texted me since last night, I have no idea where he or my car are.

        And Harp is melting down in the parking lot at work because her coworker is a dick.

        And Genoa's plane was supposed to get in late last night but I've not heard from them either.

         So ANXIETY is driving the bus.

        I talked with the other AP just now---Jen who worked at Hinkley with me and called to ask me to come here and rebuild this---she swears she's not going anywhere, but I think the principal is. The district has their boot on this building's throat and is determined to choke the life out of it for an agenda we don't have access to. That was a clunky, poorly structured sentence. 

        Anxiety doesn't write well.

        But it's still better than AI.

        Fuck AI.

    I swore in May of 2024 I was done applying for jobs. I "applied" at North and here because I was asked. I didn't spam applications like I had been starting in about 2017.   

        Yet two weeks ago I applied to a desk job at Red Rocks Community College. AI sorts their applications, so I must not have had the right buzzwords-I was not contacted.

        They need a light designer and teacher, which is not 100% my bag. I can manage at the high school level, but teaching at the college level...those kids are going to come in knowing more than I do. 

        However, don't apply if you don't want it. Or can't do it.

        I wanted a desk job. I wanted to work with the high school students who were registered for college classes while in high school. I have 23 years of teaching experience, but none specifically with comurrent enrollment...so.

        UGH.

        I'm fixated on RRCC because it's close to home and I don't want to drive to Metro. I'm also not intereted in trying to teach college level theatre any more. Or even English. It's not college, it's high school because they are all AI brain damaged and belligerent. Proud to be stupid. Refusing to grow or get better. It's awesome. They've been groomed perfectly for what's coming: they won't fight.

        Civil Disobedience is not a phrase they know or care about. And our own government is preparing to put down any anti war protests. They didn't care about the Anti Trump protests, but we're not leaving Iran and they are hell bent on our destruction.

        So who cares if I have a job next year or not? 

        Depressed like it's 1984 again.

        KK 'byeeee.  

60 Years Are Too Many: Part Five

        19 May

        Years is plural, so it should be "are". Did I do that in the other posts?

        I did not in the first one. Fixed it.

        Anxiety is not new, and I've been loving my life without it. It was nasty during Covid/Menopause and barring a Truly Hilarious Airport Story, I was not amused.

        But today it flared. May be the rain. May be that I loaned my car to Harp's partner so he can drive to Utah to fetch his stranded brother, since his tags are expired. 

        I don't know who needs to hear this: Do Not Cross State Lines With Expired Tags. Especially if you're from Colorado. Dude. They pull us over for anything and everything.

        It's likely fine and I'm a nice guy. His story is not mine to tell, but it ends with "kryssi is a nice guy." And so is he which is why I am being kind in return.

        I was doing great with a blended Tai Chi Walking and Chair Yoga and Free Weights until yesterday. What happened is this: it was working. I felt better and was losing weight. So naturally I stopped doing it.

        I am who I am.

        Out of guilt, after writing that I did a few weight lifts. I found this wild weight ball---the size of a grapefruit---after Mamma Mia--that just appeared after strike. We have smaller, light weight balls that travel around here. I assume the fans push them, or the mice, or the ghosts. This was bigger, but I assumed it was the same thing. One day I just walked over to see what it was and picked it up and it's a weight. 

        So now I have a ball weight in my drawer that I can use while sitting at my desk. Which is ideal as I am lazy AF. Like...lazy laaaaaaahaaaaay---zeee. Say it outloud like Jim Carrey. I am one of the laziest people you will ever know. I will kill myself to get upstairs with all of the groceries in one trip. I will not return home if I forget my coffee, it's too exhausting to think about turning around, opening the garage, getting out, opening the door, walking upstairs...ugh. I'll just not have coffee.

     Dog walking at our house is Utter Hell, because they cannot all three walk at once. So I have to take the fat muppet and the bug eyed one together, while the husky wails in the house, then return to take just the husky. It's A Whole Thing. So I don't do it unless I'm pressured, because we have a backyard and it's easier to just let them outside. It's a sliding door: great for lazy people. I wish we had a dog door but we have way too many wild animals in our neighborhood for that to work out. Besides, when we first moved in, a pack of raccoons---old while I look up what they are---oooooh, a 'gaze'. That tracks based on how they stare at you. So anyway, a gaze of raccoons broke in through the window and tried to colonize my home via the kitchen. I learned they won't leave the way they entered, so I had to open a door with a broom handle at 3 am. 

        Where was I?

        Lazy. Got it.

        Today's theme is very loose, let's say it's End Of Year Postcards At 60. A smorgasbord. I was thirty when I learned how to spell that.  I thought is was "borg", SMORGESBORG. A buffet. A selection of random thoughts.

        3rd period my MI/S kids missed the first part of class 'cause we had a fire drill. Explain to me two things:

            Why are the MI/S kids---for those who are not in the know, these are kids with severe special needs. Two are in wheelchairs. So first--why are they on the second floor?

            And second, why are they stashed in the stairwell corridors "holding area" during fire drills? Way to drive home their "Otherness".

        My 5th period has four girls who show up these days. They're playing "Celebrity Uber" to discover a baseline for their final original scene. I love them. I really love them. They are the last five to soldier through the year. They actually participate, and like being here, and help each other. Three freshmen and a junior.

        My 7th will suck. Only two will show up, and one is the kid who should have been in theatre 2. I may make the two of them at least play Celebrity Uber. The Not Advanced kid is an ELL who is addicted to her phone, so improv is always rough with her. Improv relies on common ground: movies, TV, celebrities. So there are obstacles there. We usually go to stereotypes or animals when we play identity guessing games. 

        At lunch my boys showed up. I love them too. They are techies and newly christened thespians who just sit in my office and mumble to each other. Sometimes I talk with them. Mostly they just hang out and that's fabulous. I asked about summer plans and we had a nice exchange. I love that they don't care that I'm old and believe I have more to teach them. 

        I'm trying to figure out What Is Expected Of Me before I leave the building and they come in to renovate. I haven't talked to anyone from the ren for a few weeks, last time it was the guy doing the house seats. I need to know if I can put stuff on the US wall behind the cyc, and was told "I'll need that gone". OK. Whose moving all this shit? Not me. And not the six kids I have. We're just organizing it and putting signs that say BROKEN and that's it. It's on you to load in and out buddy.

        There are three different guys I've talked to regarding this renovation, and I don't think they communicate with each other. I have a feeling they think I'm unloading the shop before I leave next week. BWWWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

        Men are funny.

        What else are you gonna do? I've had my own theatre tech mansplained to me by non- theatre XY chromosomes more times that I can count.

        To be fair, I don't fully understand sound or eletricity, which scares the heck outta me. But it should be assumed that I'm the professional in the room based on my degree and job description. 

        It is not.

        Ah. 6th period finished their reflections and started moving things around for the renovation. Meaning I'm putting flats behind the cyc and they can bite me. They have to move it out anyway, may as well move it from there.

        7th....only N showed up. While Important Teachers are setting up for senior awards tonight, she and I are chilling in my office. She's doing her english homework and I'm talking to y'all.

        So after tap dancing, three kids showed up to do the radio play work and then everyone but the two stopped attending.

        Hold please.

        The radio has informed me that kids are looking for the theatre class. Because the house is dark and the stage is taken up by tables of awards, two of the kids who decided to show up today were confused.

        So now I have three in my office doing their homework. And one stayed in the choir room to chew off the ear of the choir teacher.

        All good. Who Cares. Next year I'll remember to just move upstairs for the last two weeks of school.

        OK. Four in my office now. Everyone came to class today? Today. Of all days. OK.

        I have to stay for the awards, at least they start at 5.

        Scene.

        

        

        

       

60 Years Are Too Many: Students

 

        I have a radio in my office. I have a radio because I do not have an intercom in the theatre. So if we go into lockdown--I don't know. It's awesome. I had the same issue at Hinkley, I once let kids go at the bell only to have admin herd them back into the theatre yelling at me because I had no idea we were on lockdown. Is that safe? Is that necessary? Is that kind?

     Also, I've been through a lock down at Hinkley- a real live shooting- and I just happened to be in the hallway when it went off and a counselor came screaming at us "It's real, get in lock the door! It's real!" Otherwise, I honestly don't know that I would have known. Until they started using the theatre house as triage and space to throw rando kids-I suppose I would have figured it out then. Maybe. Who knows.

        So I have a radio here at Kennedy.

        Which means that I eavesdrop.

        And by "eavesdrop" I mean the radio is on my desk and I turn it on and I can hear it.

        This morning, at the beginning of first period while I was writing in my office, there were three calls for "support" for students inside of ten minutes:

        * Refusing to check in at the main office. She just stormed in and headed to the stairway. Kids have to run their ID through a checkpoint to get into the building after the bell. There is a single human at the scanner who is behind a desk and reliant on student compliance to the rules. She has no back up near her,and is not a large person. So if a kid just goes "Nope" and pushes past, there's little she can do but call for backup on the radio.

        * Refusing to behave in class, leaving the classroom, chased to the next floor by Culture Team, boxed into a different classroom and the call was for additional "support" in getting the kid out of the classroom and into ISS.  The Dean said "Should I call his mom?" and the answer was "She's on her way". So that's how that's going. Sounded like they were trying to corner a wildebeast. 

    * Kids in the stairwell, herded down to the next floor and trying to get on the elevator,  then running back up the stairs to another floor. It's like Chutes and Ladders around here.

    This is ridiculous. 

    Teach your kids better, parents. This is not an US problem, this is a YOU problem that you've pushed onto us. We need a full staff just to wrangle these people who clearly do not want to be here. If the family cannot manage to control the kid or instill the importance of an education in them, then let them roam free in the wild. Make them get a job at 15. Stop dropping them off here when you know we're just gonna call for you to pick them back up again.   

    Let's say you're a kid with healthy respect and an interest in learning. And on your way to class these are the kids you encounter. And then while in class, these are the kids pulling all the focus from the teacher, making it impossible for you to learn. So you switch schools.  

      How is this beneficial to anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

      Other fun issues include kids drinking alcohol/drunk on the stairwell, running from teachers and Culture Team and flushing their vapes down the toilets, causing bathroom closures and major plumbing problems.

        To be fair, at Hink the girls were using the toilets to chill their mini vodka bottles. So this is not a "This School Specifically Sucks" issue. At Littleton they got stoned down at the creek and attended class high, and filled their water bottles with vodka. Every School Is Like This. I promise you don't know because they're sweeping it under the rug.

        The perks of spending time in three buildings across three districts.

        I've seen kids hurl the N-word at people who tell them to go to class. I've been told to fuck off for suggesting a kid go to class. Two different buildings. One of them entitled, one a Title One.

        Teachers know this. This is not news to them. If we're able to get ahold of a parent, they will flip it back on teachers. We're not engaging. Their kid hates us/hates our class. They're bored. How dare we teach a content required to graduate at a pace expected of all high school students. How can we not believe their precious angel who never lies. Or conversely---why can't we control their monster that they openly fear and refuse to parent?

        A parent once lamented that their kid was in a gang. What should they do? The question sent back to them was "What consequences have they had growing up for disruptive or disrespectful behavior?" The answer was: none. They're "afraid" of the kid. So implementing a consequence at home at this point seemed useless. I suggested taking away their phone-at minimum, that was a start, right? Since the phone is also an issue in my classroom and I've been threatened when I required its surrender to enter class. No, she can't do that. He needs his phone.

        But I'm a failure as their teacher?

        Parents don't answer when we call because their kid is drunk/ditching/rude/failing. They don't attend conferences. Or, more heartbreaking, they are in an attendance meeting with admin and a court representative, and it's clear they have no control over their kid who has completely shut down, but nobody will take the step to remove their student from the building and get them more help than the school social worker can provide.

        It's volume. Court dates for truancy are not as frequent because there are so many. The sheer volume of under parented, trauma raised, dysregulated kids has overrun the system meant to keep them in school.

        These are facts. There is no room for your opinion or your own personal story of how you overcame trauma and poverty. You are not the majority. You are not the rule, you are the exception. Congratulations.

        You also do not get to shame Title One Schools, because I am not talking about just one school, or one district, or Title Ones. There are kids everywhere who want to learn, and there are kids everywhere interfering with learning. This applies to public, private and charters. 

        Meanwhile, I'm over here in reality unable to teach my content because your kid is     disrespectful and won't participate, or stop talking, or return from the restroom. 

         I'll stop there. You get it.

            Scene.

60 Years Are Too Many: No Internet Weekend -This One Is Longer

 

        18 May 2026

        Off topic, I think I will finish setting up a substack. That seems to be a trendy thing.

        I only have six of you who read this, and one of you kindly called me on Sunday. I am fine, this is therapy and due to No Internet all weekend, you called me within an hour of getting it restored and I was still dysregulated. I am sorry I wasn't chattier. I love you.

        Cabaret Senior cabaret was Friday. I still call it that even though I have no seniors. Technically, we inducted two seniors into Thespians, but one couldn't attend and the other had senior sunset and couldn't stay. Senior Sunset sounds like a dementia diagnosis. Isis was inducted but then left early to meet her ride. She is a great kid and I was happy to induct her, and Lanora works with my peer to peer kids and earned her spot, but had her brother's birthday party.

        I  made the theatre 2 kids write original mononologues based in a general theme. I pulled the themes from known work, like "The fragility of the American Dream" (Albee), "The Horrors of War" ( Hemingway) and "Does love have to kill you" (unsure where I got that) and "The importance of companionship" from Steinbeck. Seven kids wrote monologues, but one was absent the day we traded. So the six traded monologues and worked on performing someone else's monologue so the writer could hear their words and edit outside of a vacuum. 

        Two of them performed at the choir fundraiser two weeks ago, it was really impressive.

        The writing itself is solid. J wrote a beautiful piece about loneliness after the death of a loved one. "Loneliness isn't about being alone, it's about not sharing your day with someone".

        Then I made them stitch together the two monologues to create some kind of scene. L has an IEP and reads/writes at a sixth grade level, so her piece was a narrative "Once upon a time" love story. She paired it with K whose monologue started "I know I killed my husband, but I loved him. Don't judge me." J paired his with P who wrote a monologue with a twist about his true love, who dumped him to date someone else so he killed the someone else. Turns out they take "kill" seriously in this class. And D and E's pieces---separately about the horrors of war and the American Dream, more about its facade than its fragility---worked together. Theirs came out the best.  It was a stellar unit lesson plan I made up ten minutes before class started. 

        Which is a central issue for me. I'm a 23 year veteran who does not value written, detailed lesson plans. You go to all of that trouble and ten minutes in, it's not working and you have to pivot. So why bother?

        Different topic.

        The kids were great. A bass solo, solos and duets and two established monologues--one Hamlet (the kid who was absent didn't get to do his own, so...) one Glass Menagerie and their "stitched scenes". We're setting the bar here in a way that I want. I don't want Thez Cabs to turn into mini choir concerts, which was happening at Littleton. I structured it this way at Hinkley as well.

        I have PTSD with cabarets at Kennedy now, as my dad died while we were performing our first cabaret here on 28 Feb 2025. He died at home. He was not in the audience. 

        Just thought I'd clear that up.

        Also, P asked if he could borrow my dress shoes. I assumed he meant from my office, so I said "Sure, if they fit" and he answered "I've already tried them on." What he meant was he wanted to borrow character heels from the tap shoe/character bin. But he couldn't find the match---because when he wore them last he didn't attach them to one another---so he ended up borrowing my dress shoes from my office. Which were a little big, but he loved. So I let him keep them. They're not my most comfortable shoe, they were in the office for performance night back up. Happy someone will wear them.

         AT&T When I got home from cab google fiber was having an outage, so we had no internet. Jim had been on the phone and was told it was a general outage. I'll address that in my next paragraph. 

        We were getting ready to leave to get lunch on Saturday when Harp decided to water board her phone. It recovered-ish--but we figured it had been heating up, and at two years old it was time. The phone is paid off, so we went to the Apple Store to get a new one. Only to discover AT&T thought we still owed $900.

        At this point, I should catch you up. Harp wanted a new phone a year ago. We went to the AT&T store in Golden during a hail storm. That doesn't matter other than it was annyoing. She couldn't find the phone she wanted and let the sales person talk her into one she did not want. After getting home, she decided to return it. Which we did, but the sales person said she couldn't take it back, we had to mail it directly to the warehouse. She gave me a tracking number and (we assumed) removed the charge from the phone number.

        Now you're caught up. 

        Guess what the Golden salesperson didn't do?

        Without throwing judgement on the man who is paying our AT&T bill for not noticing he was paying for a phone we do not have, the fact remains that we were paying on a phone we do not have. Yes, we keep the kids on our plan. You do you, we'll do us.

        So we found an AT&T store in Highlands Ranch to untangle the situation. I'll give you bullet points on our three hours at the store:

    * Not all AT&T locations are corporate. Some are "third party". The Golden store fits the second category.

    * Matt at the HR AT&T corporate store is The Bomb.

    * Corporate HQ could track that the phone had been returned but the charges were not stopped AND they sold the phone to someone else. If you're following, that means they were recieving two payments from two different people on the same phone. They could track it once it was pointed out by Matt, but "were not aware" otherwise.

        We went in panicked that we were going to have to pay off a phone we do not have, prove we returned the phone and a host of other Panic Button Issues. When Matt let us know we were in the clear AND it was all erased in the moment AND the money paid over the last year for the phone we do not have is now a credit---so we won't have a phone bill for a few months--we quietly reset and Harp said "This is such a win. I needed this. This sets the tone for the week." I appreciated that perspective.

        I was prepared, before Matt returned after his first call to corporate, to go Full Karen if necessary. H and I were both calm af upon entry, that would have made it more dramatic when I Lost My Shit. Alas, I was not called upon to perform. 

        It was a quiet win. A reasonable untangling of a situation that one person in Golden caused and another in Highlands Ranch resolved. It was four hours of my Saturday, including the Apple store, which I did not love. But hey, wins require sacrifice.

        Also I hate technology, and I hate corporations. So it was A Lot for me.

        No Internet On Friday night, Jim said he called google fiber and the AI bot told him there was a google fiber outage. They just forced an "upgrade" and increased our bill (still less than Xfinity who are The Evil Empire) and it crashed. As expected. So Saturday I spent dealing with AT&T and getting H a new phone but by Sunday I decided I was done. Even though I hadn't been home, I was annoyed feeling cut off. No Scrubs reruns, which is how I manage my mental health issues. No Facebook which is how I receive mental health issues.

        You see the issue.

        I had no choice but to read a book.

        But Sunday late afternoon, after schlepping to Starbucks to use their WiFi to get online and find a phone number to call the AI assistant bot at google fiber to find out there was still an outage I was done. I called the number. I told the AI assistant to go to hell and get me a human. The call dropped. Google Fiber texted me a survey asking how they did. I complied. The survey balked that it couldn't understand what I was saying. So I said it again. Then I got a text...from a human at google fiber. I could tell by her conversastion, trouble shooting and patience that she was she, not IT. After an hour texting back and forth, it turns out the outage actually flipped the jack off on the wall...I'm going with this, because the switch is difficult to reach at the bottom of the jack, which is covered by a plastic plate I had to unsnap to remove. There is no way the dog accidentally bumped it. So it's the outage that caused the physical switch to flip behind a plastic cover inside my house or I have a ghost.

        So the outage tripped the switch. 

        Now we have internet.

        Dead snake At some point on Sunday, while working in the yard, Jim noted a very large bullsnake dead on the sidewalk in front of the neighbor's house. He was at least four feet long. Parents, kids and dogs had been pausing all day, but nobody removed it ---including the homeowner. By five or six o'clock, the thing had begun to smell horribly. It died tragically, someone had cut off both its head and tail. Bullsnakes are good guys, but if you don't read and your parents never taught you consequences or kindness then this is what you do.

        People Suck.

        So when my friend from Canada called, Jim was out removing the snake from our neighbor's sidewalk. We decided to put it in an empty trash bin and leave it at the end of the street for pickup Tuesday. At least the smell would not permeate the neighborhood, and at least the poor snake was not displayed for all of Green Mountain to see.

            Happy Monday.

            Scene

60 Is Too Many Years Part Four

 

    15 May 2026

        I think Trump went to China to try and sell the US.

       We are no longer united, so we're easier to auction off. Why else would he go there with CEO's instead of actual diplomats?

       And I think China said no...not yet. 

       So that's cool. Guess I'll start learning Chinese.

        I haven't had a nightmare in a minute, being awake is enough of a terror. But last night I had a version of my famous Airport Nightmares. Usually I'm trying to catch a flight and can't find anyone--like my children. Or I run up endless ramps. Airports are very tall in my dreams, like skyscrapers. Or those stacked Carvana things that look like a matchbox car container. I rarely make my flight, and when I do it's a massive cargo plane thing and it's wonderful.

        Last night was very different. I was apparently with students, both sped and gen ed, but once at the airport, I had to go to two separate locations to collect the sped kids who were going to a different destination with me. I guess I just had to get the gen ed kids in the building. As I was walking behind the sped kids on the last ramp toward security, I realized I didn't have my bag. Any bag. Or ID. In my mind's eye I had both a red purse and a white purse that I had somehow left at home.

       White is a new beginning,higher consciousness. Red is passion.

       Cool. 

       As I've pointed out in my title, I am sixty. There are no new beginnings for me, I'm done.I left all hope and passion at home.

       Which is what the dream is telling me. You can't get on the plane and leave because your passion and higher consciousness are at home. So you're stuck. Because you're sixty, and you really shouldn't be here any more, as in here here on earth and the US, but here you are. Useless. Taking up resources. Failed at being even a baseline ATM for your struggling children.

    Dream analysis says being stuck in an airport is anxiety about a missed opportunity or fear of change. No Change Is Happening unless you count Country On Fire. Being stuck at the airport is listed on Dream Scapes as stagnation, procrastination or external obstacles. Umm...age. Being 60 and done is the obstacle. I am too old for a revolution. Luckily nobody is asking me to lead one. So the anxiety is horrible because there is nothing I CAN do and even if I was asked, I am OLD and cannot. This. Sucks.

    In addition to the subtle re-emergence of the airport anxiety nightmare, I have a friend who is a bit of a psychic who felt the need to tell me that I would be leaving educational theatre in 2027 (or 2028?) for "Something that hasn't been built yet".  Well, if it's on ME to build it, that's not happening friends.

    Sixty.

    60.

    Six. Zero.

    6.0.

    Six decades.

    Wasted. Accomplished nothing. No change, no impact.  Did not stop Reagan. Did not stop Trump. Did not make enough money to stay above water.

    Wait- what are the numbers in that song from HAIR? Not 6.0. 3.5.0. Three Five Zero. What does that mean? It's a rough song "Prisoners in N------town it's a dirty little war, three five zero zeroooo! Hold your weapons up and begin to kill, watch that long ..." I'm just singing it. I should look it up. Wikipedia:

       Mocking Casualty Statistics: The number represents 3,500, a false figure that was rumored to be the estimated number of Viet Cong troops killed per month by the U.S. military. The song mocks the military's attempts to use heroic propaganda and fabricated "body counts" to justify the horrors of the Vietnam War.

    OK. That's wild. I literally just heard the song in my head as I was writing. 

    And I'm living in repeated history and lies.

    Electronic data processing, black uniforms, barefeet carbines, mail order rifles shoot the muscle.

    I first heard this song in the eighth grade. I can still sing every lyric from HAIR.

    At 60.

    Did I mention I'm 60?

    UPDATE turns out Trump DID sell us to China. Or at least some of our farmland.

    Scene.

    

60 is Too Many Years Part Three

 

        14 May 2026

    I have too much time on my hands.

    Watching Suzuki videos for next year, I watched a compelling moment as a maurader stabs a woman in the leg while she is holding a child, and then tries to wrench the child from her.

    And it all clicked.

    That's how they control us. We will do anything for our children.

    Literally that was all I came here to write. But as long as I'm here, let's catch up:

    I have too much time on my hands.

    Due to field trips, I had two classes yesterday. In seventh period, two kids showed up. eleven are enrolled. Five show up on the reg.

    What the hell is the point?

    It's the end of the year, I've pulled every trick I can. If they even remotely want to work, they're doing The Things, even if they hate theatre. 

    Until now.

    Now they just stopped showing up and that hurts my feelings.

    And when my feelings get hurt, I can't handle it so I go Hulk and attack.

    I had 40 kids over two Theatre 1 classes in August. I now have 21, ten of which have shown up regularly since January.

    I do not take it personally.

    I used to. Not any more.

    Which sounds like a lie, because it still pisses me off and I go Hulk. But not because I got my personal feelings butt hurt.

    Because I've been lied to twice now, across two buildings: We Want A Theatre Program.

    You might, but your kids do not.

    They do not wish to be seen, or heard, or show up on time. 

    They do not wish to learn about theatre.

    Just give them the answers to the test so they can take the test and get back to their social media.

    Scene.