60 Years Are Too Many: Twenty Two Graduations

     27 May 2026

        Today is our 37th anniversary.

       He had to work and I had to go to graduation.

       Which is today's story.

       Today was the 22nd graduation I have attended. Yes, I am a 23 year veteran, PERA says  I have 23 years in. Which I do--they count the first year I was a sub. Which is why I've only attended 22 graduations.

        The first years at Littleton, all three schools graduated on our field and it was always the hottest day of the year. I spent Harp's graudation fixated on watching her in the hundred degree heat, hoping she wouldn't pass out. My first year I foolishly dressed up in an actual dress and flats---I do not do heels--and almost expired from the heat. The senior teachers liked to tell stories about the year it snowed on graduation day, but in my 18 years there, that was a fairy tale. It was always blazing hot.

        And no disrespect, but I heard way too many valedictorian speeches praising the popular IB TOK teacher and commenting on the doors opening into the hallways, knocking them in the head as freshmen.  

        Then DU figured out it could make money off of high schools by allowing them to graduate on their campus. Specifically the Ricks Center. Specifically on the hockey ice. Which they cover, of course. But dude. Why do schools blow good money on ridiculous nonsense like this? Littleton, Aurora AND Denver have all fallen for it. Parking costs money for parents and students. It's nothing but a jingle jangle money maker for a private university that does not appear to need the money.

        My final graduation ceremony--which sadly was at DU--with Littleton was the sweetest. One of my theatre kids had also taken my poetry class, and was selected to be The First Graduation Poet. She wrote a lovely poem that included beautifully veiled references to how poorly I'd been treated, and honored me with a reference to my mohawk. I wish I had the poem. 

        Since then I've only missed one graduation. My first year at Hinkley was  2020...and they did a drive by graduation in their parking lot. I did not attend. The following year they returned to the iceat DU.

        I attended Kennedy's last year, even though I'd only been there a few months. I had one senior I felt strongly about representing for. Without her, I never would have believed the program could be rebuilt.

        In all of those years, who knows the math, I've never parked in a lot on the DU campus. I have underground and covered parking anxiety, so I always---literally always ---park at the meters by some field. Maybe lacrosse. Who knows. Anyway. It's cheaper than paying $10 to park in an outer lot or underground. And generally, our graduations have been early enough for me to get a spot. We are given parking passes for the outer lots, but every single year I manage to forget or am unable to locate the human with the pass.

        This year, there was a sign that said I needed a parking pass for the pull in meters. I parked anyway, but had anxiety. Two nights before Jim asked if I was going to graduation. I've always just gone, it's my job, and I bitch about it but I go. But I looked at him and said flatly "I don't wanna go." I figured the anxiety was continuing so I was probably going to get a ticket. Premonition or depression? 

        I grabbed my regalia----let's pause here. My "regalia". I never walked at my college graduation. I just don't do pagentry. So my grad robes are robes I procured from storage at Littleton. People would quit and leave their robes behind. So my work wife and I went shopping one year. That was over 20 years ago, but I still have two black robes, one is a master's robe. I also still have masters cowls I did not earn.

        At Littleton Amy Oaks--I can say her name---had a PhD and we all needed to know about it. She insisted on regalia so she could wear her silly PhD hat. She also liked having rows of masters hoods representing among faculty, because that's who she is. Looks are everything. I had two hoods I was using---one was pink (music) and one was dark blue (philosophy/poly sci/ethics). I have a light blue one, education, that everybody has so I never use it. They were also liberated from the storage closet. I think I had four of them, but somewhere along the line I gave one to another teacher to wear. It's pagentry. Was I unclear?

        It's a costume piece.

        And it is not lost on me that the unearned hood I wear is in ethics.

        I stopped wearing them when it became clear that's what Oaks liked. It became a badge of honor to sit the with the other lowly "Bachelor Degree Onlies". There was a social studies teacher who joined us, refused to wear his masters hood. I had forgotten about that until just now. He would sit next to me and nod in solidarity.

        OK. So I grab my liberated masters robe and master of philosophy/poly sci/ethics hood and feed the meter. It's 6.45 am. Graduation is at eight, seven a.m. arrival.

        I really do not want to be here.

        And I cannot identify why.

          At Littleton kids were not allowed any unapproved regalia. Nothing from your family, we couldn't even give them Thespian cords. Only NHS, IB and their sanctioned stoles. At Kennedy there are stoles worn by kids that were handed down by grandparents, some with grandparents' names. I saw the same at Hinkley and it blew my mind. Native American regalia and sashes they bought elsewhere with flowers and glitter words written in Spanish on their mortar boards. Absolutely glorious. I saw the same when I attended Genoa's college graduation at Ft. Lewis. Such a celebration of cultures and family.

        Amy Oak's head would have exploded.

        So I sat with the lovely art teacher and chatted on the bleachers of Hamilton gym, our staging area. We chatted about how nice it is to see diverse and family regalia, the corruption throughout all school districts and she called all of her previous principals "Little Trumps" and I realized...yes. YES.

        I started to not feel great. Nothing big, just intenstinal. Just enough to be able to signal leaving and not having to stay for graduation.

        Yep.

        I bailed.

        I smiled at my kids, they all saw me. I sat with faculty, admin saw me.

        And then I just walked out instead of walking onto the covered ice.

        That was it.

        Quiet, nobody noticed, nobody cares. Which is perfect. Why should they? It's not about me.

        So graduation #22 was incomplete.

        I did make it home in time to spend my morning near a bathroom.

        And write this.

       Scene.

60 Years Are Too Many. 1984 continued...

         26 May

        I wanted to end on Breakfast Club because it flowed so well, but technically that came out in 1985.

        But Terminator came out in 1984. 

        And unlike the current billionaire oligarch class, I did not see that movie as a "How To" manual. I was concerned. As a human being should be.

        As such, I refuse ANY AI interactions. At All. I barely use google. I need to switch to the search engine that helps rescue dogs.

        But honestly, who among the six of you who read this really noticed or cared that I quoted a movie that was not released until 1985. I mean for realsies. It's "our" movie, we don't argue over the relevancy of its quotes being used in an imagined 1984 re-enactment in Lakewood Colorado by a washed up theatre teacher who struggles with people who encourntered her in high school claiming she hissed at them.

        I never hissed, and you're hurting my feelings.

        Back to computers. Skynet. I had a flip phone for two years longer than anyone else, and when I was forced to give it up I got a slider phone. It wasn't until much, much later---when they stopped making the sliders and flips---that my family bullied me into an iPhone. Bullied. Straight up. UGH. I insist on using it only to text and post on facebook. I will not add any aps...apps...how many "p's"? Who cares. It's ridiculous and I won't do it.

        Except for the one stupid app I need to get paid by the pony school. 

        But That's It.

        You need additional codes to add any apps, and they are tied to Jim's phone and I refuse to learn them so I can't add anything.

        What was my point?

        Skynet.

        Yes. Thank you.

        Their data centers are going to dehydrate all of us, and their robots will put those who survive out of work. Why are they celebrating a robot that can sort packages? It will replace workers. Once workers are replaced, they have no job. No job is no money to buy things that would be put into packages and shipped.

        I cannot possibly be the only person who sees this.

        Which brings us to 60 years old, and 1984. Which we are clearly living through again, because nobody took any of the warnings to heart and believed Superman would save us.

        He is not going to save us. We're screwed.

        I thought I was depressed in 1984.

        Sixty year old me stared blankly at me and said "Hold my beer".

        Remind me to buy a lawn chair for the back of my car.

       Scene.

        

60 Years Are Too Many: 1984

 

    26 May 2026

        As I write on my school laptop and listen to binaural beats on You Tube, I continue to contemplate what it would take to live one day like it was 1984.

        This summer. In 2026. At the age of 60. How hard would it be to function one day like 1984?

        I woke up on Monday with  TWO THOUSAND ZERO ZERO PARTY OVER OOPS OUT OF TIME in my head. Prince released the song in 1982, but nonetheless...when Megan was over on Sunday, she commented on our fake pay phone. It's a prop, it could be plugged into a landline if landlines still existed. She said they are now "universal" lines. I started to obsess over getting this one phone plugged into a landline, so that's probably when the idea was planted.

        Because...how do I live like 1984 without a land line?

        And is land line two words or one? Landline. Land line.

        I do have a record player, but not a cassette player. Or even cassettes.

        Can I talk to my children? They weren't "here" in 1984 but they existed somewhere in my body, right? I failed biology in high school.

        Can I drive my 2021 Subaru? I don't have access to a car that is still running that would have been around in 1984. Does anyone? But I had a car, so can I drive a car? If I did not, I would have to ride the bus. 

        If I drive my Subaru, must I put a lawn chair in the back, as I had back in '84 awaiting the Nuclear Holocaust?

        TV stations are mostly ...not good. I could find a platform to watch a TV show from 1984, but then I'd be using a platform, not ABC, CBS, NBC, PBS or Teletunes. Is MTV still on? Regardless, do I want to watch Whose The Boss? I don't remember watching it then. 

        On Monday--Memorial Day---I sat and read a book. But the book was written in 2018. So if this is a thing I have to figure out the parameters. But I limited my cell use and sat in a chair and read a book and brushed my dog. Made coffee. But dude...no coffee makers, right? I didn't drink coffee in 1984. Was it still a thing on a stove top?

https://www.nytimes.com/1984/12/19/garden/kitchen-equipment-coffee-grinder-brewer.html

        Didn't use AI, used NYT archive. But still. They had bean grinders and electric coffee makers. Nobody in our house drank coffee, so I had no idea. Were there even coffee shops? Like neighborhood? 

         I have a watch, my dad's watch, and analog clocks in my house. But nothing dates back. So...just use the same technology that was available seems reasonable. Or watch the TV shows that were available. So Andy Griffith on a platform is fine?

        I do have a SIMON! I love that thing. I know those were around. Yippeee.

        But no cell phone, no laptop, no social media (clearly). I'll have to listen to the radio in my car for the news, or the record player for music. A Whole Day without Aaron Parnas. It's not like I can go get a morning paper...

        So I can drive my car. I can read a book. It has to be a book written before 1984 or published in 1984. Fair; I have Stephen King. But they've all been reprinted. 

        We will allow platforms for TV shows but I have to watch one of the Big Three for the news or listen to NPR on my car radio. Wait. Yes. They existed. But I'd have to use a computer to pull an archival All Things Considered from 1984.

        What else?

        King Soopers, McDonald's, Wendy's, Burger King all existed but no thank you, I will not be eating fast food that day. I'll go to the Soopers and get Kraft Mac N Cheese.

        I'll have to handwrite in my journals, and that's all good. It's a little slow, my brain moves at the speed of my typing, not my wide loopy cursive.

        Target existed, but not the Mills. Not that I'd go to Target, I'm just naming things at this point. I can play bubbles. Wax Trax. Fashionation.  OH there was coffee, there was Muddy's. I was never cool enough to go. There is an Old Chicago where Marie Callendars used to be. I think there's something where Paris on the Platte used to be. There's a Rite Aid where JB&H was. Until there wasn't, and now it's a car wash. I thought the gas station was where JB&H was, but my brain is damaged.

    I could keep going. The 7-11 or whatever it was is a Mexican Restaurant. I took out one of their gas pumps in 1982 with my grandpa's 1972 LeMans Pontiac. Her name was Gwenevere. The car, not the gas pump. I sped off before introductions could be made.

       Can I Go To There if There no longer is What It Was? So I Go To There ,There Isn't Here But It's A Starbucks instead of McDonald's.  And the McDonald's is where the Chinese buffet was.

       So where are we with this? 

        Living a day like 1984 isn't that complicated as long as you let go of things like AM radio, a stereo system with a radio in your home ---oh OH we still had the massive piece of furniture in ours! The one with AM/FM dial radio, a turn table AND a TV with speakers on the sides. Furniture. Unmovable. Anyway. You can function as long as you leave your cell phone on for an emergency, since No Land Lines Anywhere Ever Again. I can use the microwave. I can make sun tea.

         I can write with my toes. I can also eat, brush my teeth...I can tape all your buns together.

        SCRATCH.. I know Breakfast Club didn't come out until 1985 I know Iknowiknowiknow...it just fit too well.

        So...I'll be back.

        

60 Years Are Too Many: Grammar And Tripe

 

    22 May 2026

        While "60 is too many years" is grammatically correct as sixy is singular... 60 years is one entity, I think?- it's driving me bug shit. So I changed it.

        Because the last thing standing between Us and Them is proper grammar, dammit, and I will stand by it! Even if I can't truly suss out whether 60 is plural or singular in this sentence. I could use AI.

HAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHHAHAHAAAABWAHAHHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. Ha.

        I watched 9 News for a few minutes last night until the propoganda pissed me off. I saw that Harvard has ended its contract with ChatGPT. As everything we're seeing, nothing changes until the People Change It. I stand with Harvard.

        I was "stuck" upstairs last night---can you hear the whiney privilege in my voice?--because Jim was shampooing the carpet downstairs. Generally we sit down there in the cave and binge watch shows until bed time. So I can't watch anything we watch together while I'm upstairs, and MONK was over so I had to watch Just Shoot Me. Note the privilege in "had to" watch on a second TV upstairs. Whiney. Privilege. 

         Also thanks for not judging my evening relaxation choices or the disorganization of my brain.

        Just Shoot Me is not a show I ever recall watching. It has people in it that I recognize but that's about it. 

        The premise is awful. 

        I honestly thought we'd evolved farther by 1997, but clearly no. The old dad has remarried someone his daughter's age, he maniuplates his daughter into working for his sexist magazine by throwing free designer shoes and cappuccinos at her---and she forgets she's a real journalist? 

        What just happened? Someone who was clearly written to be a tough reporter suddenly becomes gooney bird stupid over shoes? 

        'cause at heart she's just a girl, and all girls like shoes.

         UGH. Barf.

        So Many Issues.

        She doesn't think she's pretty, so she makes faces for her ID photos. And Malthasar (the actor who plays the photographer in this show is in Galaxy Quest) rubs her shoulders and makes her close her eyes and imagine she's in a sexy gown and looks pretty and everybody's touching everybody and David Spade is a sexist dick and I threw up and turned it off. I think I made it three or four episodes in. There was a whole thing with David Spade being annoyed at being called a secretary, which is what his job appears to be. Ugh.  

        UGH. Barf.

        Wendy Malick is a better actor than this writing. Laura San Giacomo is a better actor than this tripe. Yet...here they are. Tripe. If you don't know what "tripe" is, look it up or watch Just Shoot Me. It also still felt very 1980's with the fashion magazine and thin storylines but it's supposed to be 1997. UGH. Just UGH.

    I think it was a popular show, but I have no idea. In 1997 I had a one year old and was pregnant, so I was busy. I listened to NPR in the morning and watched Quantum Leap reruns while nursing and pumping. When was Frasier? I remember watching that show and liking it a great deal. Now when I rewatch, I feel the same UGH/Barf issues with Roz's storyline. Why can't women just be strong and not neurotics who "just need a man".

     Watching Just Shoot Me reminded me that I dipped out of the mid to late 90's. I had two kids. I was busy. When we did get time together after the kids went to bed, it was FOX or HBO on Sunday nights. Mulder and Scully or Tony Soprano, for several years there we only watched HBO shows. The writing was so much better. 

      Now with Hulu and Netflix, I can revisit shows I missed and conclude that...I really didn't miss much. In fact, I missed nothing.

        When I dip in to binge watch, I find myself returning to 30 Rock, Brooklyn 99, The Good Place and Schitt's Creek. Jim and I are watching Scrubs and I can taste the bile...but I manage. At least the first three seasons were funny funny. Why can't Eliot just be a doctor and why does JD have to constantly objectify women and Why OH Why (you must say that in Dr. Cox's voice for full effect) are all the women skinny ass blondes except for Carla? And Jordan. But she's married to the guy who created the show, so she doesn't count. He wrote ONE "strong" female role and his wife got it. Hmmm...

        Ok. Lunch is almost over. Last day for my odd period classes. Anyone want to put bets on how many show up for fifth period? I say two.

        I'll let you know.

        

60 Years Are Too Many: 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 fridge. 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 Schitts 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 still have a shirt from him with the same moniker on it in my closet.

        Back to the wall; the next row 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. I get to see his smile every morning.

        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 also 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 concurrent 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 interested 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---hold 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.