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This is the most anonymous blog I’ve ever had and I’ve written hundreds of thousands of pages on half a dozen blogs, for absolutely no reason.

This is my favorite one, yet, because it will be the most honest blog of all times.

Today I didn’t feel like teaching ideally I would’ve been able to hermit as a verb but I had to go to school

I rolled up in my white banger, only slightly late moderately pissed off at the world and printed out a bunch of shit “to do” today then when the kids arrived, within a half hour I called it a movie day. It was so fucking crazy upon arrival. Sounded like a recording from Bedlam Asylum. Looked worse. I gathered my orphans into our tiny actual asylum, our classroom. Who’s going to be an asshole today, who will it be It was Martinez. Yesterday he was sweet, won “student of the day” This morning they told me during the handoff— he’ll probably need to be in the safe area (padded gym) all day. But he’s smart enough to know what you want him to do, and he’s determined to do the opposite, just to have a conflict-interaction. He wants the showdown. He targeted Mary, spit at her. called people N words, wandered the room repeated threats against my teammate Mary And I feel bad for her! She has PTSD, she’s an abuse survivor, and she’s 100% triggered by Martinez targeting and trying to bully her. She tries to punch back with sarcasm and passive aggressive comments and it just gets worse. He knows he’s hurting her feelings, and it’s his glory What a dick. Fuck Martinez. That’s why I shut him out the room for the last hour and a half, shut the door in his face, and told him, I’m all done talking about that I’m ignoring you because I’m all done talking about THAT and everything else. When I lose patience I say YOU NEED TO GET UP OUT OF HERE WITH ALL THAT YOU’RE DOING WAY TO MUCH AND I’M READY FOR YOU TO GO then if they don’t go my teammates physically escort them out

They might try to bang on our door, cry, or forget about us out there the only thing I can control (even mildly) is “in here.”

I may have said, yesterday to Beret, “You need to get the fuck up out on of here.” but he didn’t, he crawled under my desk, and they pulled him out that’s what I like about this job (one thing) when we say a students needs to leave they make him leave they don’t blame us or roll their eyes. Like if I was a better teacher this kid wouldn’t have stabbed me in the hand with his pencil Team mentality matters here. We co-parent. If you undermine a teammate, that could be a broken arm, or chunk of hair pulled out, or a bite out of somebody’s shoulder like a red apple that looks delicious. You can’t undermine each other. You have to walk a precarious line.

I try to show kinds (nowadays) how to compromise. I’ve gotten better at it. I’m less defensive. I trust my teammates more, now. Not with everything not all the time, but I think I shit out that inner supervisor that was sitting in my bowels, giving me gas and indigestion. I’m not supervising anyone. I’m modeling shit for them (how to stay focused on the mission) or I’m not modeling it. They’re showing me. It’s give and take. Sometimes we are shitty parents. Sometimes we do everything right. If nothing else, we show up (almost) every day for “Yeah, I’ll still fuck with you, kid no matter every shady thing you’ve done, and that you’d probably slit my throat if I was asleep and you wanted something lodged in my thorax. I know you’re a serial killer minus the ability to I know you saw shit You saw blood You were born in blood I expect not much here and now and then they show up

They show out, they start to bloom, You never know Blooms don’t last anyway Seasons are the real kings and queens The real hereditary power Spring will come, and the sun will help us recover Until it grows hotter, and tries to kill us again

Pros and cons of me (as a teacher) in 2026 I used to be ambitious and want to please professors.

Now, I wouldn’t stand on my hands for anything on the syllabus. Schools and colleges will blow your whole donation on one firework during the fireworks on alumni weekend in May. But now I’m a teacher. They didn’t completely stop me and I just kept stepping forward every once and awhile.

Why I rock as a teacher now—I do “fun” science experiments that make a mess. We made paper mache planets, we tested whether ice melted faster in salt or sugar (they melted the same), we did a “float or sink” test with stuff in the room in a big bucket of water, and we did the egg drop challenge today. Off of a ladder in the room. We broke at least 4 eggs. Some kids were overwhelmed bc they realized too late that there weren’t going to be “instructions” other than “build something with this stuff,” and they were too ambitious to make decisions leading to an imperfect outcomes, so we made stuff for them. The coolest one I thought was where we put an egg in a balloon and then blew it up, and tied it to other balloons. It didn’t crack when dropped. In the past I’ve helped kids make slime, make paint/snow sludge in the garbage can (more something I let them do than that I planned), leading me to a strength and weakness: I don’t plan If I plan, I never follow my plans It seems like it goes against my nature. I quit my last job as a teacher when I realized they needed me to follow my lesson plans because I just can’t. It’s like trying to shit when you aren’t ready to go. It feels wrong. It’s like eating food separately, when it could be enjoyed as one giant salad (the way it should be). I gotta do me, you know? I just don’t want to follow plans. I hate making plans. I hate thinking about something difficult that I could just assign to my subconscious and have faith that that person inside me will have or make a plan. She always does. Honestly, she’s never let me down, not on even one impromtu lesson.

I definitely had supervisors for whom this wasn’t good enough and as soon as they said so, I said, that’s fine, but I’m moving on just looking for a good fit, where I can be me.

I don’t read scripts. I don’t memorize scripts. I just initiate various school type activities and provide materials. I model the thing we’re doing, if needed, and then directly assist. We don’t need lesson plans.

Graduate school was so hard and so unnecessary teaching would never be as hard as graduate school for teachers especially at Hunter. I ended up not liking them, and it was mutual.

If I’m going to teach special education, I gotta do it in a special way because I’m just as trifling as anyone else. And I’m slow. And I can’t make decisions until they have to be made based on what’s happening.

I’m just doing the least work possible. I’m not a superhero. I’m not training for an academic marathon anymore. I’m just teaching kids basic shit during times of war. I’m spending every day with them, reading, writing, arguing, picking movies, eating together, while the united states blows up our own body, our mother’s body, our baby’s body.

Why I’m a bad teacher: I already said.

To be honest, if I had 1 or 2 more days to myself not with the students, I would plan. When I do plan, I feel way less anxious, overwhelmed, and confused because sometimes I’m still high when I arrive and all the piles of papers get mixed up, and I forgot what class is next and skip something because I teach all the subjects and always have.

Lesson plans are like gumballs in my gumball machine brain.

I have a million ideas and I just put in a quarter when it’s time to teach.

Deep down I want to make every day a movie day and just meet physical needs. But the day would get too long and boring. However I make my class sit and wait patiently for the next thing and I think it’s good for them. In life, you don’t get to be entertained every fucking second and a lot of times, it’s just you and your thoughts, so you might as well get comfortable with mastering your thoughts and your breathing and your mood, now. “What am I supposed to do?!” This child demands attention and engagement 100% of the time. You can draw or read a book. What am I supposed to draw??? Boy, Draw anything. This is your life. Enjoy this five minutes because when the timer’s up, I’m handing out the next assignment for the next activity.

Nothing pleases him. So spoiled! He’s doing good with us, actually. But he crashed at the end of the day, and we had to kick him out. And we swore. I swore. My teammate swore. All day we kept swearing. I lacked patience today. I had a flat affect (that part is fine). I had no idea what we’d be doing when I arrived late to work, which means I had to figure that out, and print papers, while interacting with kids, and a million things are going on, which is just harder. With another day or two, and a basic plan, even if I don’t follow it, I wouldn’t have the stress of “okay what are we doing next” and knowing my team is like “this teacher is a hot mess.”

They help me though. I couldn’t do it without them. They compliment me. I used to be a passive aggressive snitch. Now I either say something or just accept it. My position is, the less I snitch on people, the less they snitch on me. It’s an instant karma thing. Based on multiple blind trials, it’s a scientific fact. Snitches get stitches. on the street

but snitches burn bridges at work. Talk to the person yourself. If you can’t? Then forget about it. Suck it up. You’re not perfect either. No one is.

Very Smelly Monday

This morning when I got to work, one of my team was already there.
She’d worked the night shift. We get along easy now, so I concerned myself with fixing the wrong feeling inside my sock, of which, both socks and feet felt hot, but it also felt like there was lint in my toes. So I took my whole sock off and shook it out. I’ve been fired for less than this before, it occurs to me now, but the issue is what are people sensitive about? If it’s feet, then fire me. So as I brushed off what I thought was lint, way too much came off the sock and off my foot, and from the smell, I knew it was dead flesh. Eww, oh my god. So I used a paper towel to brush as much of my dead foot off as I could onto the floor, then used cleaning wipes to wipe it up. Then I swept. Then I went to the bathroom and washed my feet in the sink one by one, with handsoap and dried them with paper towels that held up rather well not shredding like my actual foot. Each sock was soaked in sweat Why? I don’t know!? My feet are insane? They’re working out when I’m not? I wanted new cotton socks so badly, but here come my students and I stuff my feet back into these leather tennishoes that should be fine but aren’t (no shoes are fine), and try to ignore the wetness and idea of dead flesh needing to be removed.

Everytime I bathe I shave the callouses and dead stuff off my feet. I really enjoy it, even though after doing each foot twice, and filling the garbage can with a covering of dead skin flakes there’s always more to cut. I use a surgical steel blade, disposable. I feel like I’ll never get down to the real foot, or feet. I had a lederhosen growth on my left foot as a child that somewhat ruined my life, to be honest. I’ve never gotten to enjoy walking. I stopped being able to run, stopped exercising, started smoking.

So after talking to so many surgeons about this in the 2000’s and 10’s and getting a couple surgeries, stitches, physical therapy all that I watched some podiatry videos on youtube and realized I could do it myself- handle the problem. First, I slowly cut a wart off. Of course I used the creams and stuff on it, but I also cut it off. I used a kitchen knife at first, super gross, and never told my roomate then I ordered the disposable surgical blades, and since then, happier feet There was like .5 centimeter of dead flesh I had to walk on, some of it would bleed when I first started cutting it away, but the blood was superficial. Once I cut off the wart I started going at the other parts whatever was white after I got out of the bath, I cut it off.

So the night before, I did the whole pedicure thing, cutting, slicing then rinsing and applying cbd ointment.

This led to the gangrene of this morning. But here is an awful coincidence. A child came in who had even worse smelling feet than me.

He wears foot and leg braces, and they are turning fetid. No one made him change his socks all weekend. So all day long, our classroom smelled like Cheese balls and body odor

The body odor was me- for some reason my chemicals were off the hook today- and I wasn’t the only one. The boys are teenagers. They stink. I stink. They stunk more. Then Julius passed gas while using the computer at my desk and I said it smells like vegetables after they’ve been in your belly 2 weeks and can’t digest.

Basic Teaching Strategy

if you have a kid gone into a tyrannical rogue state of emotional, physical, and spiritual disregulation you don’t talk to him anymore about rulse you don’t prompt him, lecture him, remind him (he’s openly at war with the world and not logical)

this is not a hard one, actually all along you have had stuff/something they want if you didn’t, they wouldn’t talk to you at all maybe it’s attention maybe it’s candy maybe it’s a prize they could earn if you have nothing, then fuck you you’re an idiot you should’ve seen this coming

if you didn’t see this coming then you have to consider taking things from them which is wayyyy harder than simply witholding something they already want i’m an expert at ignoring annoying behavior and will starve that kid to death of it until he talks to me safetly not screaming and shit if you have stuff people want, you can give it out for behaviors that create a prosocial environment. afterall you’re the teacher.

so you withold the thing the asshole wants and prepare to withstand the temper tantrum, get support get a bunch of adults in the room just watching calmy then tell him, get it the fuck together or we’re escorting you out to scream by yourself where it doesn’t bother other people who are just trying to color, do worksheets, and watch kids shit on the tube so that’s that. and your muscle does it’s job. safely escorts them out, DON’T NEED TO BREAK PEOPLE’S ARMS shouldn’t be no injuries this isn’t that hard either

they can come back when they play nice and operate in good faith. or they can yell threats for hours in the calming area, an open gym space with mats. banging on walls and shit. that’s fine. we move on with our scheduled program.

Socializing at Young Brothers the bar

I’m going. I took a nap after work, to shake off the day with mini-dreams.

Today was difficult. I overslept, first. Got to my class late, and my team had to do my jobs of getting “morning work” ready because our education system is modelled on creating consumers and workers even though there’s not much work anymore, and my students will never work.

They won’t. They’ll have the life I fantasize about living in a group home (communism) with a cafeteria and helpers who tie their shoes and zip their coats and force them to shower and brush their teeth and administer medicine and run activity groups if they’re lucky, if not, just watch tv. Just play their preferred game on an ipad. That will be their best life. They also might be in prison or nastier hospital situations. With less freedom, less care, and more control (and less clean).

Today, Martinez (10th grade, IQ approx 50) targeted Ms. Mary, my teammate, whose role is to assist another student with all his work and tasks). Martinez has slowly cultivated a trigger-type hatred of her, and is getting bolder and ruder about it every day. For “no reason” he does things like give her the middle finger as well as posture and stalk her with proximity, whispering “I just don’t like Ms. Mary,” or “I hate her.” or “I’m going to kill Ms. Mary,” or “I just want her to leave,” or “Get her out of here!” or “I don’t like Ms. Mary.” It was all day, meanwhile, she’s taking every word personally, and she’s triggered because she shouldn’t even be there to begin with, she’s not healthy anough. She wants to talk about her illnesses all the time, even when there’s kids’ needs to manage, and the kids’ have their own illnesses and attention starved PTSD but Ms. Mary is my friend, and I remember being new to special education. This doesn’t mean she can’t do this job. It does mean she is experiencing the natural consequence of doing much “bad cop” type feedback to kids. She doesn’t have to “discipline” kids, and I used to tell her that. Once I said she also needs to change her face because it looks miserable. She really cares about the kids. She’s also deeply traumatized by abuse and today was talking about how her ex-husband would be hateful and say similar things (that Martines is saying) and then buy her a gift to make up for it. And yeah, after lunch, Martinez started worrying about if he would get his “reward” for having a good day (fuck no) and started trying to make up for it by apologizing to Ms. Mary and scribbling her a heart picture with her name spelled wrong. Martines really dominated our day, and I hate when one kid is able to do that. I also don’t know how to solve the problem. Ms. Mary might just quit. But she might not.

I said to her, at lunch at the staff table, think about Calvin: he’s black and he was ruthlessly targeted by psychopath student (say, Adam) for days that became weeks and months. Until he changed rooms, now the kids is out there calling anyone names and assaulting people That kid called Calvin the N word at least 50,000 times, along with other sexualized terms, spoke of raping his kids. Mary. Think about that.

Calvin somehow tolerated it. To me, he said he told himself how he needs the job and can’t afford to “lose his clearances.” This phrase helps us keep it together for times like this. If you show aggression or violence in response to the baiting, you’ll definitely not be allowed to work with kids anymore.

I had an older, white lady supervisor back in the day who was going to retire soon, (not my direct boss, the boss of the social workers), who crashed out in front of tons of people, pointing her finger at an elementary school kid, and saying with a rageful quivering voice, “If I saw you in an alley… (she made the gun motion), I would shoot you.” bang bang, buddy.

So, she had to “retire early,” like the next day. They announced it on the intercom. As if they could make up for employing her for 20 years.
They prob let her keep some benefits.
. Because it’s not about you (the adult being targeted by a child at a residential treatment center), it's about what they’ve seen adults at home do and say, and now, in juvenile setting, what they’ve seen their peers do and say, but THEY DON’T KNOW YOU.

Ms. Mary looked sick. I couldn’t really help her. My goal is to protect her from Martinez, but it might be too late. He’s got the idea that she’s a bad person, and he’s not going to let it go. She’s not a bad person, but she used the wrong tone, too much. She showed her fear, and her inner child, and did weird things with low boundaries. I could be her friend, but working together can be impossible. It all depends on the chemistry of the group. If it’s just us, she’s different. I feel like she might die soon anyway. But she’s very passive aggressive, which also reminds me of some former parenting I experienced. Teaching is parenting.

Hope I can detach from all that, and connect with MY peers in an appropriate way. Not be too weird. Not talk about my job. The main thing I’m looking forward to getting a beer on draft. Beer on draft is sometimes good. I will try to stay for a full hour. Should I clean up? Look in the mirror? Nah. My pretty days is gone.

Tuesday 7:45 a.m. Wolf Spider of Pennsylvania, Washington County School Basement, March 2026

This morning, when I got to my classroom at the hospital, a large “wolf-spider” was crouching calmly alongside the 3 bean bags left on the floor (that I didn’t clean up Monday, after school)

and as I scanned the room, prioritizing my next steps to prepare for the day, my eyes landed on Mr. Wolf the Spider. I immediately got weird about it, talking to him softly. No one else arrived yet, so I started pretending the spider was there on purpose, for me, to talk to me, to give me a sign, and also that I’m the queen of the wolf spiders Then I had to tell him, you needs to go hide before others come and want to kill you for no reason.

Last week, I even carried a small cockroach to safety outside of our classroom. In previous classrooms like with boys who primarily liked bullying, I’d have to hide this from them. I placed Cousin Cockroach higher up on the gym wall/pole.
Reflecting, I can’t guarantee to him he’ll be better off there That on our floor, and he also doesn’t need it my supposed help.
He’s a cockroach. I’m the one with no shell or ability to survive poison, extreme temperatures, dehydration, fire, nuclear warfare.
I’m the one that’s not safe. Cockroaches and those tiny water walruses— it’s the tiny, hardy things that will inherit the earth corporations destroyed for profit. [insert present tense] And my students, hell we could get trapped in here- the basement- and burn or drown or asphyxiate any day of the week.
It’s an old building with janky, shitty locks, bad ventilation, questionable structure, janky keys, broken door handles, and the unbreakable glass that they break once per week.

Anyway, the wolf spider was just fucking around. I said, for real, bro, you need to go on somewhere else. All the people are about to get here and one of them will step on you on accident, if nothing else. I don’t want someone else to see you and be screaming shit about a spider.

Plus, I have to put these black bean bags away, or the kids will think we get to start the day with movies, rather than how we have to earn them by doing a million difficult things (it will be the easiest thing, i swear, they make it the hardest) It’s hard for us too (the staff) getting up early, driving here, Making people do things yell and refuse?

You think I want to get up and talk to you all day? No, I wanna sit on my fattening butt and check my phone And I want everyone to fuck off too, but guess what we’re poor So I have to work, and you have to go to school here. So, I make them do shit like read and think about math (as much as I can) without them crashing out.

So, I got up to put the bean bags away (don’t call them black again!) I shook them off gently, trying to let Wolfie down easy, but dammit he had already jumped off, and I had already stepped on part of him. I got down on the floor and started trying to assess the damage.

Everything we do is filmed in seemingly technicolor detail, so i did hope nobody was watching me on cameras at the moment Two legs were fucked up. Listen, I told him, I really, really really really fucking sorry. Not as sorry as I was when I broke a young buck’s back leg with my stupid Chevy Cruise, on a rainy Wednesday 4pm, on a slippery road, right where I usually start to speed up and gun for home. So that- I’ll never forget. I begged for that lil guy’s forgiveness, but I don’t deserve it. None of us do. But the spider— don’t their legs grow back?

So I said to him, look I need to take you somewhere. You keep trying to stay in the most obvious, trample-able places, and I started trying to scoop him up with a paper But he was quicker, and kept jumping off He didn’t even land right, so finally I said suit yourself. He was against the side of the blue gym mat where Martinez likes to pass out after his meds kick in And it was really the safest spot he could have chosen besides the closet, which was my goal Even in there he might scare one of my teammates and they smash his guts

I don’t know if Wolfie made it or not, through the day. A couple minutes later, students arrived from their units. Martinez strode up to me and proudly pointed to his arm, “Look! Look! I’m getting a new roommate!” He was smiling, but also agitated. On his arm was an cresent red slash with bleeding puncture wounds on either side. You’re hurt! You’re hurt! I paged it, Can we have a nurse in 3? They got on the pager, We already know, they said, we’ll come soon I gave Martinez a napkin.
Is that a bite? I asked. Yes, he said, nodding emphatically. Who did it? He told me his roommate. So, a vampire bat then. A new roommate is certainly in order. I love Martinez. When I think of his laughter, and bright joyous face I laugh, myself. If I had nothing else to do, I would adopt that kid. But he’s willing to really hurt people who say no to him about food. And you just gotta say no, sometimes. He’s one of my favorites though. Another one of my favorites is obsessed with the Marvel Universe, and most of all, Spiderman.

One of my silly thoughts this morning was, maybe the spider is here for the kid. When we watched Spider Verse They asked, can a spider really do that? They have no idea what can really happen. and what can’t.

Is It Springtime

How long till I die and become a famous poet Do I have to go to prison and be a martyr for that or is this all leading to a world like my aunt created in her mind with an imaginary relationship and everything, am I delusional, so what’s the feeling then is it mania is it drugs is it the book, Dune is it all the books with narratives incorporating prophesies that are manifest, and people with specific parts to play and it culminates in the sequel which ends in a disappointing way

the people choose their poets

the poets choose the people

Worries:

are either of my checking accounts going to earn an overdraft fee today or will things clear in time

is anyone mad at me do they talk about me behind my face what do they think should be obvious to me that isn’t

what bridges have i burned that earned grudges against me

how will i survive prison without my dog

and my cat

without my stuff

when will i go to prison

how will i die, when, and such will my dog already have passed? i hope so

why do i have to get chunky. it’s not appropriate. yet i did nothing wrong but enjoy fries and bread, fuck you, fat belly

Nooo be nice to the belly Belly holds emotions Worried about ageing, how to age, How to let the young be righteous

Old Worry: Is there any way to feel better or not

Coincidence or no?

Back in 2014, I was in my 7th year of working for a Zionist, capitalist, high-political-donation business, #ESO #EllisSafdeye #Originals. They sold plastic shoes made in China to places in the U.S. like #Target #Walmart and #Payless and they acquired the license to brands like #Rampage #Thomasthetrain #Oilily, etc.

So, I worked in the corporate office in #NYC midtown as a #receptionist and #logistics #assistant processing #BOLs bills of lading. I answered the phone, (4 lines) I paged people, I announced #Minyan I received visitors I also read literature, wrote in my blog, and stalked someone online with unrequited interest.

Sometime around 2010, they fired the shipping manager (one of them) for selling overflow shoes at a table in Harlem, rather than throwing them into the dumpster. My first year there, I let all the plants behind the front desk die for no reason. I kept forgetting to water them and they all died.

I enjoyed living in #Brooklyn and working in #NYC but I was A green ear of corn and always poor. Even though I went to #gradschool at #Huntercollege on the Eastside, I didn’t know about world #politics or #currentevents (besides 9/11). I was just trying to be a #poet and #singer, and I mostly thought about #greatness #sadness and #infatuation But I read literature I know I hated Bush and was a committed democrat who felt real #hope about Obama (the weakest link).

I used to post random stuff on craigslist. Once I said I wanted Bush to die and the FBI contacted me saying, dontcha make no more jokes like that, little lady.

At work, I would receive the #orthodox men (we don’t shake hands with women) who came to ask for #alms for #Israel. My bosses treated them like peasants. They looked pretty dirty and full of head dandruff on the shoulders. I would get mad when they asked to charge their phone because I had that job a long time and stopped acting professional all the time. Charge your cellphone somewhere else. Go across the street to your electronics store. They’d ask to make copies with my personal copier. (it felt like mine after 5 years). More trouble out of my day. Like, I’m trying to drink this starbucks macha, eat my bagel, and read the NY Post.

My bosses, Alan, Joey, Morris, or Sonny (usually Sonny- the eldest family member still coming in to work in person) would make them wait for an hour, meanwhile they’re asking me to check on it, then come out with an attitude. Usually Sonny come out, finally, take the dusty begger in the little meeting room, and write the poor man a check for 15.00. Rude, or no? but it still seemed like Safdeyes viewed is as more than enough. That also made me not trust them (the people asking for alms). Maybe it was a ritual I didn’t understand, a performance.

They (ESO) would send out the oldest member of their company still coming to work, his name was Sonny, and I filed Sonny’s mail. I liked being in his velvet red, church like office with windows overlooking The Hudson river, the train yards, the shore, and New Jersey. I liked them, all of them, when hired in 2004, still had a Minnesota accent at times.

I just made copies, scanned documents, and entered sales and shoe information into #AS400 #database I type fast, I can read literature while receiving visitors, I liked that job. I think that’s why I still dream about it so much, in such vivid detail. That’s how I stayed there 7 (or 8?) years, although I quit in 2013 to try teaching, immediately got scared of teaching, got hired back that summer, and then I got fired soonthereafter.

When they fired me we were in the middle of moving offices on the west side. I had felt that my boss hated me in a novel way, and didn’t trust me. He had accused me of lying about getting stuck during travel the last day of vacation and not coming to do all his data entry, filing, and answer his phone. The new office was nice as hell. Fancy. Clean They definitely were taking a step up. They had survived 2012 by only axing about 30% more of us (cut 20% in 2009) (the rest settled for a slight pay cut). Downtown Manhattan, the #occupy movement was doing it’s thing. They didn’t remove them yet, and I still thought about going.

Last night I dreamed I was getting fired again, Someone was accusing me of writing the wrong year on invoices Which were the grounds they used to fire me. In reality, I had just finished getting a teaching degree, and had only gone back to work there because I was broke, scared, and not sure about the future (if anyone would hire me as a teacher). Like in real life, they were disgusted with my errors. And I was defiant inside, knowing I wasn’t that high or fucked up. I can type fast and accurately. I don’t make mistakes like that.

Only recently (the past year), after learning more about Palestine Zionism, based on media breaking through to Americans on social media I thought about the timeline. Not too long before I got fired I had walked past one of the older, bigwig’s offices (Alan), and I liked him but I was mad at him. I scowled at him. He was asking us to re-do or do something that seemed obviously stupid, with data or data entry. I made mistakes as a corporate slave, but I always thought this was the biggest one. Because I used drugs, and I was probably in withdrawal and in a very bad mood, and I’ve seen my angry face in the mirror It’s worth firing someone over So I thought it was that, the evil eye that got me clipped I’ve always tried to keep it in check since then, with variable results.

But around the time I got fired, I was also moving out of the apartment Five of us had rented in Bedford Stuyvesant, Brooklyn. We were a random group of youngish adults (I was the oldest), and our original rental agreement was about 500 each, given the rooms were tiny and makeover oviously cheap and shiny, your quick fix it up traphouse project. Indeed while living there I talked to black neighbors (it was their neighborhood, we were outsiders), and found out the apartment’s history. It definitely WAS a traphouse (drug trade-make and distribute from), and my neighbor said right before the Hasids (orthodox Jewish men) bought it, “they killed a girl in there- the trans- there was so much blood.” I mean the gang killed the girl, not the landlords. The house was cleaned and sold to gentrification.

We lived there a year, and this was the time that I married Jason and we moved back and forth between apartments, escaping rent He was subletting his apartment out (illegally, also from orthodox Jewish men- his rental) to a mother and her daughter who were visiting and maybe moving to Brooklyn. But he got caught and evicted. I was pissed, overall, and also severely underweight, drinking and smoking,

When the landlords told us they planned to double our rent (they found European/Asian visitors willing to pay that), we immediately decided to leave and go our separate ways. They were sick of me anyway.

But I wrote an email to the landlords (ours) and I said
something like that your people keep doing this (gentrification crimes)— because they doubled our rent! and that’s why no one likes you.

Yes, that’s exactly what I wrote, I remember. That’s why no one likes you. I bet they looked up my employer, ESO, and reported it to them. Then I got fired. Why it take me so long to figure this out? Mostly always fearing I’m not a good enough worker, and deserve to get fired because I’ve internalized the “productive, loyal worker mind” so it feels a part of me. I punish myself for not performing perfectly like AI (which didn’t exist then).

What will I learn next? While our leaders learn nothing.

Sadly my instance (Todon) just spank me on the wrist for being openly for violence against U.S. and Is and anyone else representing elite, aggressive interests in other people’s property, life blood, and resources.

I thought all sensible people agreed a group that wants to survive, much less beat them back, would have to be violent I hoped, cleverly so, like bandits, like guerillas, like the kid on Home Alone Like a Hollywood movie. All the animals fight together to beat the wolf off the farm. Unity overcomes an obstacle and the group saves the vulnerable baby, saves the pot of gold, saves the river from pollution Saves their grandparents, saves “democracy,” saves the “progress we’ve made over last 2,500 years— oops, I mean the devastation Latin cultures of Europe have wreaked on the world by colonizing it. Men across languages cooperated to destroy the strong women, and then the aristocracy destroyed the men.

Last night I was walking my dog for her pottytime before bed and I heard one of my neighbors' screaming voices, and pounding on the door of the house on the corner, which is a strong black house I mean a strong black mother runs it, and I’ve seen her come out with all her kids and make opposition high tail it out of there DON’T YOU EVER DON’T YOU EEEVVVERRR….do something but this was a teenage girl yelling hysterically. She was yelling so loudly she’d already lost her voice but kept up her verbal assault with a raspy hysteria. “He tried to kill me! My father tried to kil lme!” These things I heard from up the block.

By the time I got toward my house on the corner house, the drama unfolded. We (dog and I) sat on the front steps and watched, listened. Most of the neighbors were doing the same.

It was so dramatic and so boring. The girl wailed on and on, saying her father had thrown her on the ground and pulled out her hair extension FOR NO REASON, then she threatened the man inside with calling the police, and then she did, and they came. She also called an Op, after yelling WATCH WATCH WATCH WATCH THIS WATCH Saying, you need to come here and fuck my dad up, he hit me! And, he hurt the baby! He tried to shake my baby! The baby was about 7. Poor lil thing trapped between hell and hard place. Family yelled back for awhile from inside the house, but once the complainant called the ops and the police, it got silent in there.

One of my white neighbors came out to try to help the girl, who’s story changed quickly and considerably, and her main rages were about the hair coming out WHEN I JUST GOT IT DONE and FOR NO REASON The lady tried to help her calm down And encouraged not to talk to cops. The cops were green, young.

The gal soon changed from yelling threats and accusations to fake crying Also, her daughter started fake crying. Like mother like daughter, I guess. The gal wailed, NO THEY’RE HELPING ME, when the white lady kept trying to get her to stop saying MY DAD TRIED TO KILL ME to 3 cops and all their cars and lights.

I hate hearing cops on the street. To abolish cops, we need to stop thinking of them as helpers. They have nothing to offer. I went it before it even resolved. Gal was yelling ON NO YOU’RE NOT GOING TO ARREST HIM? YOU HAVE TO ARREEEEEHST HIM! More fake crying.

Good night. Even my dog wasn’t worried about this row and she hates the sound of fighting.