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.

60 Is Too Many Years: Part Two

 

        13 May 2026

        Sitting in my office while both the Spanish band and the Shredder band rehearse for the concert tonight. It's a beautiful metaphor.

        Where was I?

        Hold please.

        Right.

        My country hates me.

        That was about it. 

        Scene.

        I just took a Nyquil, and I hope to sleep through the band concert. No Disrespect. But I'm old. Have I mentioned that?

        I'm 60.

        My colleages in performing arts are collectively my age.

        Their relationships with the kids are weird to me. We were all on the stage after setting up for something last fall, and the instrumental teacher's phone rang. Weirdly, he's 30 and answers his phone. Didn't text.

        His side of the coversation consisted of ordering two different meals from two different fast food places, with specific drink requests, depending on which one the kid on the other line was going to for lunch.

        The choir teacher was laughing encouragingly, as she's had the same experience, and I was dead quiet.

        I never give kids my phone number.

        Unless you are my stage manager or we're going to New York on a tour, I never give kids my number.

        I'm now the old teacher. I'm now JK-the guy who was the theatre teacher when I started at Littleton. 

        Oh my god....

        I passed out. Hold on.

        Wait. I have to lie down.

        Gray hair. Bad knees. Jokes nobody gets. More experience and education about theatre than these kids could possibly ever absorb.

        Old OLD old old oldoldoldoldoldoldoldoldoldoldoldold and irrelevent.

        Not as bad as the reanimated corpses in Washington. Still young by that standard.

        But most teachers have retired by my age. I only have 23 years in, and the country is burning and gas is $5 a gallon so I'm not retiring. Ever.

        I wish to have a choice. I can die here; I've rebuilt this department and I can keep going and die at the light board or quietly choke on a DayQuil in my office. Or I can cut loose, sell the house, move to the western slope and die working at Luv's truck stop.

        None of this was planned. Because I thought I was going to die in a fiery nuclear apocolypse at 20. Since the Federal Center was obviously a first strike target, I figured I'd take a lawn chair down at the 30 minute warning and catch the last rays.

        That did not happen.

        Clearly, as I'm whining at you right now.

        My colleagues are perfectly nice, but they don't get me. I'm the same age as their  parents. And I do not fit in, which was fine when I was younger and pretty, "quirky" was acceptable. Now I'm just an old crone with a colored headband around my neck, which is the Gen X version of a scrunci on my wrist. You never know when it's going up in my hair, or around my turkey neck. And it isn't cute. Because they know I'm hiding my neck. I used scarves at Littleton, very "Theatre Teacher Chic", but now those scarves are too bulky and hot and itchy because I Am The Fuck Sixty.

        I've only once had a real team mate. At Litteton my work wife was the person who had my job before I was hired, but took a full time lang arts position. She did my tech. It was great. She made us badges with "Carl" and "Lenny" from the Simpsons.

        It is the only time in my life I felt like I had a colleague. I felt like I belonged.

        The choir and band guys had bonded---they were the long term teachers who had come in together and fought the same battles, and I was the small dog that followed them around hoping they would pet me and say "And I will love him and keep him and call him George". My eventual flame out seventeen years later caused them undue stress, and while one still stays in touch via facebook, the other does not. We were colleagues. Work colleagues. That was all.

        The two kids here... I need a nick name for them...The Twins (they both have dark hair and are 30)...are stupid close. Laugh. Inside jokes. Help with set up and strike. Share kids. 

        Do they know how rare that is? Do they know how lucky they are?

        Does it matter?

        Nothing matters. Nothing happens. Nobody comes.

        We sit posting angry emojis on social media while our country burns around us.

        That was out there. Must be time to go.

        

60 is too many years

 

        My buddy Will died at 52.

       In that span of time, he wrote 154 sonnets and 39 plays. Yes, 39, I believe Pericles, Two Noble Kinsmen and Edward III should be included.

        Mr. Albee died at 88. He wrote his first play for his 30th birthday. He had three Pulitzers, a Kennedy Center Lifetime Achievement and two Tonys for playwriting plus one lifetime achievement. He also deeply impacted my psyche, and he is the one I blame for becoming a teacher. Not a playwright, a teacher.

        Tina Fey was head writer at SNL at 29.

        And that's all I'm listing because she was young and I'm depressed.

        I am 60.

        I do not have the talent of those I admire, nor do I have the drive to "achieve my dreams".

        I never had any dreams. Dreams mean expectations, and those only leave you full of anxiety in a snow storm when your dad runs out of gas because he never planned ahead.

        I remember thinking vaguely that I could go to New York and Do The Things when I was younger. Then I realized Do The Things meant spending all of my money on dance and voice classes, an agent, time off my paying job to go to auditions and living with six other people in a one bedroom in Astoria.

        Teaching was something to do because I had failed at running a theatre and I could get insurance. I had failed as a playwright. I had failed as an actor.

        Teachers teach because they failed at The Thing they are teaching. I fit that horrible stereotype.

        I hear Saleri in my head daily now, "I'm slowing watching myself become extinct."

        I decided to teach because I could do it while I took a class and was mentored while I was teaching, which was the only way it was going to work. When I called around, even with my BA they were gonna make me teach for free (student teaching) before getting my license. So I found a way around the side door, through MSU. All you have to do is get hired by a school willing to let you teach while you learn. Which I did. And it was the hardest thing I had ever done up to that point in my 37 years.

        I did it, and just four years later Jim lost his entire career, and the bottom fell out of the economy. The Recession. My job couldn't keep us afloat--we had to borrow money from his dad so we didn't lose the house. That plus cashing in all of his retirement. For which we are punished every year by paying too much in taxes and not getting a refund. Because How Dare You take your retirment money out early to save your ass in the moment. You will be punished for a recession that you did not cause. Those who did cause it got bailouts.

        It'll happen again. Gas prices and grocery prices have us stretched to the max, as we also help out the kids who have real, full time careers and still cannot pay rent and make their car payments because Fuck You Americans, the billionaires need more tax cuts.

        But I digress. Shocking, I know.

        60.

        I had no intention of living this long and it sucks.

        I'm tired of living through the same fucking history because only geeks like me paid attenion in class and learned.

        I'm tired of "teaching" people who have techno brain damage. That's real, not slander. Kids can't concentrate, think around problems or remember anything.

        I'm tired of colleagues half my age who believe they are entitled to a work/life balance.

        I'm tired of amin half my age who believe they have new ideas.

        I'm tired of parents who shuffle off their feral children to school and then refuse to answer the phone when we call because their kid flipped a table/started a fight/refused to attend class.

        We are not supposed to live past 50.

        Our bodies used to tell us that, before medical breakthroughs enabled the reanimated corpse brigade currently hogging political office.

        Mamdani is just a guy with a moral compass and a uniquely well adjusted world view. We don't like that here, we're 'merican and we don't do empathy. Or have a moral compass. Or consider views outside of our own. So cearly he must be....A Communist!

        Because we didn't pay attention in government class and missed out on the real definition of communism and the historic examples of Why It Has Never Worked. We also ditched lang arts when we did close readings, and missed the many printed interviews where Mamdani openly identifies as a Democratic Socialist.

        But you go ahead and waste your time and energy on hate. It's what you do best.

        I still have one friend who fires on the right--not correct, I mean "constrictive"side of the spectrum, god bless him. He posted a meme blaming Biden for the Spirit airline bankruptcy. Because the Biden admin denied a merger with Jet Blue. Two years ago. Ummm...kay. I'll be over here in reality with Aaron Parnas, you enjoy your looney snack time. Would you like to blame Biden for the rising cost of gas and lack of fertilizer for planting as well?

        Y'all don't get to continue to point out "Sleepy Joe", who had cancer, and ignore or blow off The Orange Buffoon napping during every single cabinet meeting. Biden was shoved into the job simply to block Trump, as the democrats were shitting their pants instead of backing a viable candidate. They don't have anyone like Trump and this is a GOOD thing. Except Bernie, who I would have voted for, but they also decided to Fuck Bernie.

        I'm 60 and annoyed that nobody seems to have learned anything in the last...60 years. I can't imagine being 80 and watching this shit show. Knowing you fought for civil rights. Your friends were beaten and killed defending other people's right to vote and use a public restroom and attend school with white folks. Your mom fought for the right to vote---also beaten and jailed. You may have been a woman who got married because that's the only option you had, only to be trapped financially, unable to earn your own money, open your own bank account or get a credit card. 

        Why are women the target? Why are black folks the target? Why does our government hate us?

        More soon...