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This morning I worried Since I said I want Iran to get some hits in Since I said I’m glad China is still getting through the pass Since I said I want us to lose

I thought, (imagination providing unnecessary anxiety) What if they come to pick me up? Like, I wake up and there’s a man or woman (more convincing) in my house, in the penumbra and they say, You can come with us now, it’s the revolution to fight You’ve been talking about, and we need you. For some specific reason, we noticed you and we are recruiting you to the armed forces of proletariat, or something “Will you everything and come with us?”

What about my dog and cat? They can’t come. Then I can’t come.

You’ve got the wrong person. I just want to post online while other people risk their lives. I want too see flames without throwing the cocktail. I can’t bare leaving my pets.

Then the recruiter laughs bitterly, YOUR PETS! Ah, little American brat, pets are nothing. I lost my pets as par for the course Wait till you see the children you love, and your parents blown up by the enemy. Pets are nothing. We have dead pets everywhere where I come from Pets are lucky if they survive but most won’t Come with us, now.

I can’t come with you! I have pets! I can’t disappear from my students or my family, they won’t understand. They won’t believe it. And they shouldn’t. You’ll have to kidnap me to take me, and I don’t want it. I’ll stop posting shit online. I’ll stop rooting for Iran, China, and the other “enemies” of the West. Because I’m not a sleeper cell, I’m a shitty American at heart, no guts, no brains, just a straw man. Goes up in flames from one arrogant cigarette improperly disposed.

It wasn’t easy to face our class yesterday, when I came back after the weekend plus a personal day on Monday. Tom was still very mad about how I’d been mean and called him bratty. I said I wish I could do the whole day over. I’d do it totally differently. I’m sorry I was mean and said you were being bratty. So, I’m sorry, you know.

Yeah, said Tom, with smug relief, You’d better be, he said, and his eyes lit up, met mine a little bit, grateful, hopeful, then flitting away, rocking in his seat, drawing something incredible.
You’ll have to, ah, give me another chance to try to work on not yelling when I’m feeling sick or not up to everything. He had some idea it had to do wtih my parents, or something I didn’t understand, but he said clearly, but you still can’t do that, even if “something” or my parents are sick. I didn’t realy understand but it was in front of the whole class and my job was to listen and model apologizing, not seek a logical narrative. Everybody let us move on, so I’m grateful for that. Speaks to the trust we’ve built already as a group. First thing in the morning, I let him glare at me a little bit. I was in a totally different space than last Friday, when I “lost my temper” being scary teacher. After seeming like I was a nice teacher (that was one of Tom’s complaints last friday, I thought you were NICE!). When my teammates said, and he said, you were mean, I agreed right away. I am mean. I can be mean. I was being out of control when I started yelling back at them (because I was sick) NOT an excuse, Tom! I agree. Let’s both agree on that being fair. It’s not an excuse to be mean (yell at) people when you’re sick, or break the computer or window, but it’s much more likely to happen. That’s a timeline of scientific facts, ma’am or sir.

Carolyn Williams, somewhere out there

I remember Carolyn Williams. She was the first person I ever told about Jesus Christ. I told her at the corner of 43rd and Columbus ave., while we waited for the school bus to pick us up for Erickson Elementary. I got Mrs. Santa Bear that year, at Christmas. I met Carolyn at the bus stop, and told her about how Jesus will forgive our sins if we love the baby Jesus, and prayed there, in the snow.

Carolyn lived on the next block up, so we were besties for a while, even after my family moved from 42nd and Columbus Ave. to 38th and 10th Ave. Even after her family left Minneapolis for White Plains, to get away from the city. I visited her out there. Her mom was some type of native american, and she smoked cigarettes and she was a Buddhist based on the art and furniture. Carolyn’s dad, well. I have a couple memories of him. He was nice. I remember we went to bother him in his bed, and he got out, and set up water balloons or something with the other kids against him. Maybe we sprayed the water hose at him through the window screens of the house, and he laughed in there. One time also he gave us turns riding on the back of his motorcycle around the block. We wore a helmet and everything. But I don’t think I ran home and asked me parents, first. I remember pretty scary! Not that into it, even though he went slowly, and the street is wide, quiet, great-tree-lined residential streets.

I have a lot of memories from when I visited her in the middle of no where, white plains? Maybe I got the name of the town wrong. I loved being out there. The sand, dirt, and plants for as far as I could see. The northern lights, in the summer. Carolyn, making dinner for all the kids around 8PM, beautiful sunset out there. I was so anxious because it was very different from my family in my home in the city. Cicada sound, Carolyn sweeping the dirt under the table and laughing in my direction (actually that was back in Minneapolis). By that time, she sweeped for real. I don’t remember seeing their mom during that trip, but I think there was still Buddha ash trays.

I slept on an upper bunk in Carolyn’s room and tried hard to go to sleep at night, even when they said to stay up for better Northern Lights. The wall of Carolyn’s room didn’t go all the way to the ceiling, so you could hear a lot, even if you elected to go lay down (which I did, same as I would now). I have sensory overload, and I don’t want any more input for this 12 out of 24.

That was in .. hmm. we sent each other regular paper letters (pen pals) for a few years (do I still have these letters? I hope so, not that they would help me find her now). Then I went to visit her, and when I got home my parents said did anything weird happen there, and I said no.
What constitute weird or inappropriate? I did still have a crush on Ramond her older brother (probably in 9th or 10th grade at the time?). He got accused of things later out there, a neighber, which would line up. He was giving out sexual energy while too young, and us younger, and I was aware of things like that.

Their dad definitely wasn’t there when I visited her up north. Her mom was probably working during daylight hours. I wonder if her mom is still out there in Minnesota. I wonder what kind of clan she belonged to, if it was one like Dakota Lakota, those I remember. This year must have been … summer of 1989? And I almost remember you, and almost miss you, Carolyn! I hope you’re doing great.

I saw Carolyn because I looked her up and we met up in the winter of 1998, like the first or second break in my “freshman year” at college. I visited home and we met up by the lake, in our cars, we drove there, and chatted. She said she’d been living in Minneapolis for awhile, with their dad, in a place near Lake St. and Chicago Ave. I thought, that’s a rough patch, a “criminal” hot spot, as far as we knew or heard what or where that was happening, (largely where we lived, so that wasn’t a huge deal).

Then I lost track of her. I don’t think she ever got on Meta stuff. She was a tough little lady with a hardy laugh. And good at cooking late night dinners for four or five people with what we find in the fridge.
I had to be flexible to stay with them for one or two nights, and that’s still a lot for me. It’s cool that my parents let me go. A lot of parents wouldn’t, especially these days.

I’m planning to go camping with folks this summer and not sure if I should instead book motel on Visa. but I bought a tent at Aldi, and should at least try to set it up. Anything where my dog can come is great for me, and she’s coming camping, yay. Should ask vet about extra vaccines or something.

I hope I could find Carolyn Williams again, someday. I wondered if we’d still really like each and be besties, and visit each others houses, and play or work outside. No water fights or motorcycles, though. We wanna chill and cook and walk in the sand when the sun goes down.

In the country that weekend I visited one evening, on an evening walk she told me one of her sibs had tried to kill himself and that’s why they had to move up there, Or maybe he told me himself, while we walked in the sand

And she told me that her other, older sibling got accused by a neighbor of being highly inappropriate in some way out there, in the suburbs, or rural wild west. I forgot exactly what exactly she said by now.

Actually it was Jeffrey, not Raymond, who had pinched my booty cheek once, while going in their house at the old neighborhood, so something was wrong in the family, or not, but nothing bad happened. Except the minor assault on me which may have been the first. It must have been summer after 2nd grade for me, so Jeffrey was in like 5th or 6th grade.

I wonder if someday we’ll just be walking down some random street and I’ll see her playing the flute on the side with a hat set out for donations and she’ll be like, Can I tell you about Jesus who loves, forgives, and saves you? Hopefully not, honestly. But I hope she’s happy and relatively healthy. And I hope to meet her again in some way, and laugh together with our crazy weird teeth that were always destined to chew the fat and spit it out if there’s a gristle or something, like a tiny rock you bite down on in a greasy link of breakfast sausage, straight off the hot plate. And drink some Juicy Juice.

Personal Day, yeah!

I think we should give ourselves credit, fellow Americans, for having so deeply internalized the correct value assigned to wage-slaving as hard as one possibly can for the empire. The proof is in the emails and text messages of employees who call out, or call off, however you call it, on Monday morning, or at the last minute, making supervisors sweat for that 10k more they make than we make.

Am I a good girl, daddy? Do you approve of me as a worker? Does mom glow with pride, or does she beat me mercilessly? Do I win or lose, fail or succeed in their eyes.

When I call out sick, using 1/10 sick days alloted per year, I worry. Worry, worry, worry, is anyone mad at me, am I in trouble, Will I get fired, will people say sarcastic shit about me, are they talking about me, and again, will I get fired, will I get disciplined I’m better than this, I’m a good girl! I’m a good employee, I wage-slave for you and you only, boss, count me a team player, I need a raise.

The level of bad that I feel for missing work is like, religious. Will I go to hell for calling out sick. Am I worthy to exist. Now I can’t enjoy it, can’t even nap. Oh, yes I can. Tell myself, being an imperfect employee is low-key rebellious. Putting my mental health before their convenience at any point, is a mini-strike. Putting the good of the students, who gain nothing from me crashing out to yell at them, other than a glimpse into their teacher’s fragile psychological state, before the peace of mind supervisors and bosses never get, because THEIR bosses blame our humanity on them. They pass down shame, here ya go, take this, pass it on That aint no puff, puff, pass That’s handcuffs Here, let me arrest myself As a dissident I don’t want to work today, and I cannot.

Every Day Sexual Harassment

When I was pre-16, I felt like the only power we girls had against boys was the facial slap. We could or should slap them, if they spoke or acted “too fresh.” I slapped a few, Brian, that boy on the bus, Robert, and James. In retrospect, I wish it wasn’t like that. I wish we weren’t being set up for such rigid roles and behavior. If I could’ve said, “The shit you’re saying, calling me bad name, and teasing me, feels really bad. stop or I’ll do it back to you.” Because why just the slap? It’s so scripted. Gentlemen can be slapped by ladies. So I slapped you, friend, after you said those things to me that neither one of us understood yet. You heard adults saying all that stuff. You tried it on me. I never heard that stuff before. So I slapped tf outta you. The other thing we’re advised to do is kick a boy in the balls, if it comes to that. That’s sound advice.

Well, words are always better, if possible. Violence doesn’t do what you want it to do. It does what it wants to do. It marks the severing of communication flow. If only they’d listen to words, though.
Back then, they might’ve. but maybe not.

James Schroeder Last night, my dreams took me to such a sweet place. All the way back to the 90s and falling in love with James

It was just like back then. It was so vivid. The dream started out as this stream usually does where I’m in the downstairs of James old house, except it’s a little different of course. This is the dream version. I’ve went back there before and always found myself in the way.

But this time I was going back for James 100% and everyone knew it. So he came downstairs. And the kiss was like a slow motion movie kiss like a passionate close mouth half open mouth kiss.

We were 14 when this happened.

I wish I could remember more. Even in this dream, my mom saw us together and just nodded, nobody was mad.

I wondered briefly, can I really trust what’s inside his mind since he’s so quiet can I trust that? I really love him?

I let myself love him so beautiful. Mixed race, boy in adolescence, still playful, still skinny, a tall flat top of tight curly hair. The eyes.

I was contributing food to the household, which I didn’t pass dreams but this time I went all out and people were grateful.

There are always kids coming and going. The door is always open to the neighborhood kids.

I was a neighborhood kid.

At the end of the dream I was looking for a class I’m taking in the dream with gospel singing, which is something I did a lot in the 90s. James dropped me off at the class while I figured out if it’s the right one and then on second thought, I looked back and invited him. He already wasn’t him anymore. But I thought to myself, I shouldn’t be embarrassed, singing is fun for everyone. Maybe they never got the chance to do it. They declined.

In real life one time James came to my church. It was park ave in Minneapolis. It’s very famous. And I was in the gospel choir singing. And he was in the balcony watching us, but he was so tired. He fell over and asleep. I was pissed off that he thought so little of my treasured activity so on a high horse, I went up there and slapped his cheek to wake him up. I was really angry, so that was a really bad thing to do.

I thought we broke up soon after that because I didn’t believe he loved me anymore. It took a couple years to get over it. He got over it right away and started having kids.

And he’s still with that same woman. He wanted to start making a family with me when I was 14 but I definitely wasn’t ready, but I did love him.

the Noble Enterprise of Educating the Young and Destitute

TAKI OPEN BAG HOSTILITY

I had the “ex-girlfriend”-theme dream again, with both ka and tal In my dream I thought that we could even have a 3 some. I reasoned dreamily, tal likes soft butches, I know they do.
In the dream, I watched ka walk in front of me, so fit and stylish. We were all out. I was dressed up. They liked me. It was like a dream of how you feel on cocaine.

The house-theme dream was also decidedly happy. People were showing me this college living space, or apartment, and indeed the rooms were huge. Everyone was happy, and I couldn’t wait to hang up all my jackets in my walk-in closets.

In real life, in real time, I made it through another day of teaching in late April, crawling on hands and knees toward spring break, with tons of reports due, meetings to plan, and feeling sick and also in despair for the Earth. I didn’t crash out till the very end of the day.

I'd been bribing our 7 students all week to be good and quiet (so that I could work on reports) with movies (the boy being the most quiet, calm, and engaged gets to pick), freetime with crafting, only 2 lil worksheets to complete.

At 1:30 PM on Friday afternoon, it’s also “Fun Friday” on my dime.
I bring (Aldi) soda pop, candy, hot fries, Takis. I’d even brought in a couple old devices, a kindle and my old iphone) like Tom asked me to, all week long, to try hooking them up to the classroom TV to play some Amazon Prime games (I keep it for them), or like, download Minecraft.

Martinez had been eating both healthy and unhealthy snacks ALL DAY, as per usual. He’s a food addict, aggressive about it, and our inconsistency makes it worse. He’s the same way at home, that’s why mom can’t deal with it.

He ate a full lunch, then takis, candy, and hot fries for fun Friday, but at 2:15pm, almost time to leave, time to call this week a wrap, he started demanding MORE TAKIS.

Ms. Mary said afterward that it’s because I left the bags out rather than hide them, (like leaving cocaine around an addict, she said, knowing I’d get that, fuck her, lol jk), and I should’ve listened to her and hid the snacks. In the moment, I thought X might wake up from a nap on the bean bag (probably has RSV) and want some, and I didn’t wanna have to unlock anything to retrieve the stupid fucking takis.

I would do the entire scene over, if I could.

I said to Martinez, FINE, ONE MORE (just don’t crash out), and it almost worked, Everybody was watching. I got him one, and he smiled, but then he said, Please let me get it out. I nodded and prayed for him to only take one, like we agreed, showing the proper respect, but OF COURSE he took a full handful instead! And so I impulsively grabbed his fist of Takis, and he let go, but started yelling, and pounding tables and walls, and cussing at me. He yelled, I’M HUNGRY! (with a gutteral sound) But I yelled back, No you're NOT! You’re something else!

Then I turned into Evil Mom/Scary Teacher. Thinking like, after all I did for you today, you ungrateful wretches! How dare you not respect me when I gave you everything you asked for! I let you play! You owe me love, little orphans! I didn’t say any of that, but I probably emanated it (perhaps, worse).

Oh well, nobody’s perfect. I don’t hold up as Perfect Teacher when my immune system is suffering.

Everyone who’s generous (almost all women toward men and children) can turn into evil mom or scary teacher.

So, I showed them that. At least my teammate Mary knows me well enough to not really mind and not be triggered by me yelling and showing anger/frustration. I’ve had teammates react badly to it. But every parent yells sometimes, and teachers, too. Whoops. But guess what the kids do every day? Yell, and a lot more. I think they’ll survive.

I should’ve known they would be extra shitty about it. When you give extra things to needy kids, they don’t act grateful, they just try to get more and if they can’t, they attack you or cry. It’s not fun afterall. The last time I got this mad at a couple kids it was Martinez and Earl at the earn-it-Halloween-pizza-party. Those two didn’t earn it. But they sure got the pizza, and Mary and I were pissed. We should get to say, no pizza, to a kid that’s being disrespectful. But not if your supervisor is fake and soft. Mine isn’t completely, but she was that day. The kids who ruined the day for everyone else got to have the pizza, happy Halloween.

As I should’ve expected but didn’t (disabled with fatigue), Tom wasn’t grateful for the Kindle game access via using my old device. He just wanted more time than 12 minutes (which was generous) and then he said, I want to print a picture, too.

Ms. Mary said no, and I said, I don’t know, getting confused because he WAS student of the day. Then he started yelling at me, demanding the picture, and so I said no, too. Then Martinez got in my face, pointed his finger at me (covered in hot fries red spice) and yelled, You’re a fucking nigger! That’s when I crashed out and yelled back, YOU’RE a nigger! And the boys in special education/residential use the n word so much, so badly, No matter what they look like, that we all hear it 100 times per day, and I was so out of control, that I just yelled it back at him. Neither of us are black. Martiniez looks latino but claims he’s white. I bet his mom is racist, or dad, one of them.

Then I started yelling at Tom how I’m never bringing in a device, ever again, because he was “acting so bratty about it.” Ms. Mary added, Yeah, and you had the whole day off.

Tom yelled at me, YOU DON’T CALL ME A BRAT! I’M TELLING MY PARENTS! I yelled back, TELL THEM, TELL THEM EVERYTHING!

I probably yelled more stuff that I already blocked from my conscience because it was like another me, Scary Teacher. Then Tom ran and grabbed my old iphone with the shattered screen, the soft-chartreuse-yellow-case, iphone6 that I’d brought in for him to try as a console, like he asked me all fucking week, and he held it “hostage,” (which I didn’t actually gaf about because it’s just my spare), and he refused to leave the classroom until a whole gang of staff showed up up and made them leave with their physical presence and saying, Go Go.

Earl didn’t say a peep all day. He just sat there in his dirty Nirvana t-shirt and khaki shorts, incessantly rubbing and scratching his crotch to itch it because he hasn’t showered in a month, because he refuses to, and he scribbled nonsense on his worksheets, which I didn’t see till later, so I’m glad he didn’t get his daily reward, amidst the yelling parties, he was silent and indifferent. They said not to worry about him acting like a zombie. New to antipsychotic drugs. Will take a minute to speed back up to real time. I’m so curious about how it feels. Also still think he’s being oddly theatrical about it. Not sure, but will never trust that Jack Nicholson face. “Redrum Redrum.”

X slept all day. I think he’s sick. Being sick and breaking computers overlap on the timeline of data that only exists in my head. The last things I yelled at my students was just, GET OUT GET UP OUT OF MY CLASSROOM! Tom said, OH YOU’RE ACTING LIKE YOU’RE THE BOSS OR SOMETHING!

I yelled BACK, I AM THE BOSS! Get out of here! My teammate Mary started tugging on my sleeve, trying to help me stop, but sometimes a crashout just has to burn til the match is out.

So, the kids were shepharded away from their insane teacher, back to their units FOR MORE BULLSHIT.

Me and Ms. Mary left immediately. I didn’t even sweep. I couldn’t stay a second longer. I even forgot my charger in the rush to flee the scene of discontent. And I didn’t tell my boss that I was leaving. I don’t think I should have to considering that they always, definitively get the better end of the labor per hour deal.

I’m so glad X was asleep when I crashed out because it would have seriously set him off. He starts believing he’s staff, and trying to discipline us, including real staff, and he won’t stop, and makes everything horrible.

For the next 3 weeks it’s a marathon of writing IEPs and RRs, IEP meetings, progress reports, and grades. I’ll work through spring break to get it all done, from home. That stinks, but then I get most of June off and half of August. I teach for summer school. Today Martinez arrived happy to school. For no known reason, he was happy most of the day. He did his happy behaviors, asking for compliments, bragging, mentioning his pet subject interests, asking his favorite questions, laughing hysterically for again, no discernible reason, and he didn’t crash till the end of recess at the end of the day. And it wasn’t that bad. He didn’t tell me and Ms. Lisa to go kill ourselves 100 times. So… he won student of the day! Hooray, Martinez. He got an extra prize, and lots of praise. He was happy as a duck in water. But the worst part of the day for me and what ruined it right away was that X broke the new computer monitor just like he did our last one, yesterday, and I was so upset I screamed NO GODDAMNIT bc this time I was in the room and honestly it was partly somebody else's fault, his aide she should’ve known and if nothing else, put her body between him and the computer/me/my desk. I wasn’t at my desk because I was helping another kid with his morning work. And like 3 aides were in the back, talking. So that’s what happens when people are dumb on this job. I was annoyed all around, and also feel like physical shit today, even diarrhea, I even had to ask my roommate if I could come shit in the potty while she was taking a shower, and she’s so nice that she said yes. What else can somebody do when that happens, shit in the catbox? So I always poo in the morning and she always showers in the morning, it’s inevitable I’d have to humble myself that way and prove that she’s the better roommate of the two of us. Once somebody lets you shit during their shower (I light a candle after!), you can’t say anything bad about them, or be impatient with them, they’re in the get out of jail free card space forever more

So, I have this other student, Earl, who is a conceptually/verbally gifted child but also someone I previously characterized as the most infuriating and unpleasant child in all of special education because he never STOPS TALKING. never. Not for nothing. Also overthinking everything, asking a million questions, having panic attacks. being theatrical, and all the time looking like a young Jack Nicholson. I’m serious, he DOES. And our classroom characters are comparable to the psychiatric ward crew featured in the film One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, starring Jack Nicholson (great movie). Even the nurse at our school is strict and (scary). I mean there are lots of nurses, but the head nurse. Nurse Ratchet! But at our home/school they don’t give shots/sedatives when kids crash out. If kids crash out too hard (like Earl, who was initally sent back to the hospital), then it’s 302 and back to inpatient.

Earl’s been with us since Christmas, and they say that on the unit, he’s still creating conflict, smearing poop around, tearing up vandalizing people’s stuff, eloping, constantly begging for attention, but in school, he changed this week. He might just be overmedicated. Staring off into space, he looks like Jack N. after the psycho-docts performed the lobotomy on him. Then his Native friend had to mercy kill him (in that film). All the staff noticed. They’re watching him on camera, like how’s he like that (calm) in your class?

Earl hasn’t talked this week! He stopped talking almost completely! I think it’s overall a dream come true! Even at lunch, which was something I used to think he would never learn that it’s a quiet activity. He just sits there, eating and thinking. Because at our lunch, our kids sit at separate tables. Eat, don’t talk. Talking always leads to arguing, because they lack social skills.

But instead of arguing and yelling, suddenly Earl just listens to us, me and my two teammates. He stares at us, never interrupting. He asks us for hugs! He seems to even love me all a sudden. “You have a cool name, you’re funny, I’m sorry that happened to you (computer smash)” like, WHO ARE YOU and where did the hell-child go? He used to argue about EVERY SINGLE THING and often wrong like about what time we go to lunch. He used to be like, What are we doing! Faster! FAster!” and stress me out by demanding to be engaged and entertained (center of attention, too).
But now he sits quietly all day in his chair.
He cried though, like a baby (not for the first time) at the end of the day, after one of my teammates left early for an appointment, saying “Now she’s dead,” although that wasn’t true, she just left early. I wondered if he was clowning us.

I was strict, cold to Earl for 2 months now, because he would just yell at me and insult me, but now he has... He has shut up. I think that he realized that he’s in hell, and it’s the witches brew, me and my two, and it’s our class, and we’re in charge. And you’re not. So be quiet or leave. He won’t leave now. He hangs off of us. It’s so weird. Is it “fawn?” Maybe.

Yesterday, during music hour, he said, You old ladies are almost like…. almost like… three—“ “Witches!” I finished for him with a big smile. “Yes, and I actually AM a witch!” “I knew it,” he said. I said, “Bippity boppity boo! You’re a frog. Ribbit.” “Gribbit” he said, which is his favorite word/animal. Frogs. But I was making light of the fact he just saw straight through us. He gets it. Which means he’ll get to go home soon.

When X raced across the room and smashed the monitor, and I yelled, it wasn’t Tom who stood up and started yelling, it was Brandon, and he pounded his fist on the table and hollered, FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING CRAZY KID! And Tom said, That’s why I want to go home, kids here breaking everything, Why do X have to break the computer!? Brandon was going on and on, so I said, “Okay, but didn’t you break the computer in your last classroom when the teacher was out, a few weeks ago?” “I did not!” I said, Yes you did, so you can be mad, but you can’t judge X, we can’t judge him.” And he listened to that. He put his head down and kept it at that level.

The weather is warmer and it smells like earth, mushrooms, and wild onions. After X broke our new monitor, I lost all ambition to teach. I didn’t teach anything. I worked on my reports and they watched movies. And I took them outside to the playground, and we all wandered off on our own, especially Earl. He’s been walking the perimeter of the fence that encloses the property, looking for bugs and cool things like that, I think.

Everyone’s worried about him, but I’m honestly not. I think we won, and we saved him.

For X, I don’t know if anything can save him. He lives in so many other realities than none of us inhabit. I realized that yesterday, when I took him to the bathroom, and he said, GET AWAY, and I moved away, and he slinked along with me, across from me, not letting me get away, that it’s possible he WASN’T TALKING TO ME because he’s constantly talking to so many invisible people. Sometimes he acts like the floor is lava and hangs off our arms, or acts like he’s dashing across a burning bridge. Sometimes he starts jerking around in his desk, making obscene, strange faces, and even other kids say, What is he doing? I say, I think he’s turning into a wolfman, a warewolf.

Because he asked me to watch videos of that before, and loves it. So he turns into a beast man- and then asks to take a break and goes to lay on the mat, and if the boys lay on their stomachs we have to watch them, before they be sexual in public, in the classroom, but sometimes I feel like only me and Ms. Mary really watch them with the dangers in mind but I also miss a lot. She’s very observant and doesn’t forget. I couldn’t do my job without her. So I’m glad she keeps showing up. Two heads or three are better than one, for witching work.

On Tuesday, I was doing this “science” activity where you put your hand into a brown bag, feel what’s inside, describe it’s TEXTURE, and guess what it is. For Earl, I had him feel two gaming dice, because I know he liked these dice and was interested in DND, and one of them is that kind and the other is like 18 sided. Cool dice. First he asked if he could keep them, and I said no, it’s just for you to check out in class, in school, but then I left them on his desk and decided if he takes them, that’s fine. So he played with them all of Wednesday, and stared at them (looking over-medicated) but I want to add that I think part of the over-medicated behavior is an act. He’s very smart, smarter than most adults, and learns instantly, he accused me and my witches of “favoring” X and he’s right, we do. X has been there the longest and he’s a beautiful kid. Earl asked questions about society and the news that most adults couldn’t come up with. I told his parents what I thought. His mom told him that I was his favorite student, and he told me, but I never actually said that, I don’t think, but I didn’t correct him. Maybe he needed to hear or believe that to calm down and follow me. Let me teach him. But I think he’s faking the silence the same way he faked a seizure a month ago. Bros will do anything. I should probably call his dad and make that connection, but I’m nervous. Most parents believe their kids’ problems are not their fault. But they almost always are. But I gas up parents when I talk to them, I’m good when I’m ready to do that job. I get in the mood to get along. But I’m nervous about talking to Earl’s dad for some reason. And that’s some type of flag. His mom is the epitome of good faith. Earl is a devil’s seed. But I helped him do something he needed to do. We did. We made him give up on something he needed to give up.

Risky Misunderstanding

One thing I think most regular people misunderstand is that by doing nothing illegal, they’re unlikely to be targeted by forces involving the law, charges, prison, being sued, getting locked up. You don’t have to do anything wrong to land there. It can happen to anyone perceived as a threat to white power in any way at any time for any reason they decide to do it. If you don’t have money, you have nothing in court, no matter how many movies they make in Hollywood about amazing pro bono lawyers. They can transfer you out of your state if you talk to much locally. They can and do do absolutely anything they want, if you make them doubt the security they pretend exists when it cannot.

At the Green Party meeting someone said there’s no need to be concerned with security with our communication and documents because we’re not doing anything illegal, and I felt in my gut that that’s so naive. You think because your activities are “legal” police wouldn’t arrest you, given orders by ANY superior? Kafka was saying that in The Trial. Like, (annoyed now), do you (person who said the thing) think that all the people who’s been arrested, imprisoned, and sent to work and death camps over the last 200 years, around the world, and in the U.S. of A., were guilty of something illegal!? You goddamn moron! Go tour some prisons, then come back and tell me we don’t need to meet SECRETLY. Read anything about fascism in any country, and during war, and tell me why people were arrested and executed! Following the law is such a crazy dream to live in. They say the famous Russian fiction writers were capitalists and wrote in a biased way against communism (I never got that impression, and I read most of the translations) I could go on about like Solzehitsyn, but communists don’t like him, and say he was a sellout and all that. So if you’re a follow-the-rules type of communist, don’t read those. Read an anarchist’s account of why they’re in prison awaiting trial. I’m probably screaming at the choir here. But that’s why I don’t really take the Green Party at this time seriously. I just go for a feeling of belonging to something. and to be around other people who hate both democrats and republicans, and don’t want to play their games anymore.

Martinez was on one today and so were other people. Maybe because the change of seasons and impending Easter visit home that most of them have planned. They act out around the visits. Conflicted in all that. So I think that’s what we’re seeing? But my “perfect angel” turned into “pissy angel” at math time, and he attacked staff (so I heard) in the gym and was restrained and that supine lasted like 20 minutes at least, at LEAST.
They were right outside our classroom doors. We heard him being obnoxious the whole time. He pissed himself so that it would be in someone’s face (the person holding down his legs). He begged other students walking by to “be bad” with him. I have barely ever seen this side of him. Misogynistic bratty, endless. He made it back to the classroom but escalated as soon as he asked for a break and I said no? Why did I say no? Because he just fucking came in, the hell you need a break for? He claimed he hates math. Alternate personality.. so, Pissy Angel I want nothing to do with.

Desmond is the tallest (6’2 at 16 years) and our newest students, he keeps rocking then moving then throwing his entire metal/plywood/screws desk I guess that’s his thing (very startling and unsafe). When something happens, I always yell, usually cuss like NO! DAMN! and the desk flew apart of itself with a crash bang. Desmond hasn’t accepting or adjusted to my/our expectations yet. But he will. They have to give up, in a way, first. Admit they’re not in control.

In our classroom, we do the thing where we verbally praise everyone doing the right thing, and give them the most attention, as long as possible.
This is what they say to do (ABA folks) and it seems to work. I can’t believe how quickly kids get to work when I praise one or two that’s following directions. It works unless the kid is on an irrational ride that doesn’t match current events. Then nothing you say can land on the right spot.

When he didn’t get the daily reward, Desmond argued, he said, “All I did was have a little blip! (throwing your whole desk!?). And I’m mad, what can you expect!?” I said IT WAS NOT OKAY WITH ME. WE DON’T DO THAT HERE. NO ONE HERE DOES THAT. IT IS NOT A LITTLE BLIP. They all avoid taking responsibility. Once they realize, like Oh Yeah, I did kind of fuck up there, I wasn’t exactly safe there, then they're willing to consider making a safety plan for next time they get mad or triggered.
And then for however many years necessary we practice using the plan, we finetune the plan, until we can handle rejection, losing a competition, not getting our way, following directions, receiving critical feedback without attacking anyone and until we stop trying to get something we want, including both escape, and positive and negative attention by threatening and manipulating people.

It starts today, Desmond, X, Martinez. It’s your safety plan or nothing, in our playground today, in our hell-spot on earth.
I feel strict about this, but also flexible, ultimately. Other adults are going to say and do shit I don’t agree with, and vice versa, and they’re not going to get fired, and neither am I, because we’re understaffed, so it’s no use complaining to anyone, or arguing, so it’s “time to use our coping skills.”

Desmond yelling, “I don’t have any!” or “[The thing I want] is my coping skill!” (It’s not, if it’s your phone, a video game, or access to specific items that aren’t available everywhere).

For so many kids, playing with a ball is the number one thing that helps. For the other ones, drawing, music, and art. But don’t give them their preferred/reward type thing as a “coping skills.” An mp3 player or technology itself isn’t a coping skill and demanding one won’t help you (kids) at all. Of course weshould take a deep breath, but no one wants to. If they do, they’ll get praise, attention, and a sticker, small toy, or piece of candy.

Kids start asking about their daily reward near the end of the day. Did I earn one? I want this and I want that. For today it was, Do you think you earned one? X said, nah. “Thank you for accepting that. We’ll try again tomorrow.” But Desmond said, “Why not?” he demanded, indignantly. “Let’s just try again tomorrow, buddy,” before he starts on a rampage again. If they’re calm, I might ask, “Do you remember what happened after lunch?”

This afternoon, I took two kids to the bathroom, and when we got there, X, one of my favorite students, cutie pie, sweetheart (we all love him) looks at me and said, “Get away.” I averted my eyes downward and walked a few yards away toward the windows. But he followed me, sliding along the wall opposite of me. (X is EXTREMELY psychotic, even on lots and lots of medication). So, I was practicing de-escalation with body language, and I looked away, outside at the back yard, grass and blue sky. When I turned back, he was gone, and the other kid, Charles, was coming out of the bathroom. I said, but where’d X go? We checked the bathrooms, and figured he ran back to the gym, which he can reach because they never fix the lock on the door the kids always bust out of to leave “area.” They can’t really get that far- def can’t get to outside.

So Charles and I headed back to our classroom (I love Charles, too), and when we arrived, asking, “Did X come back?” Is he here? they looked at us with straight/serious faces and said, he did it again, he broke the computer. He had smashed the computer monitor for the 3rd time (he also broke the large screen TV before we got a new one in thick plastic case). My desk was a mess. So he had ran straight back to class and done it. Why?? I thought, then I asked, and was it perhaps because I set Cori’s paper figurines on top of the paper rectangular cube prism that X had given me the day before? Before we went to the bathroom, he had knocked it off my desk onto the ground. We made him pick it up. That could be it? But you never know, with someone holding like 99 personalities, all of them trying to come out. I couldn’t believe how fast they replaced our computer monitor. Like within 2 hours! In the past, this has taken much longer. When students break your computer in these settings, usually admin does a couple things: blame you, (how could you let your kids smash your laptop don’t you know not to have it out during class?) punishment of not having a computer follows that. or 2) stall to see if you’ll even be there in 6 months because if you quit, giving you new hardware isn’t worth it.

When I.T. brought in the new (to us) monitor, my student said with a rich, low mellow voice, BREAK THE COMPUTER My teammate Mary said oh no, oh no no. Let’s keep this one, or something. I’ll say it again. I love this kid. He could smash a million computer monitors and I’d never think less of him. He’s also maniacally obsessed with scary things, and probably witnessed his family being killed as a toddler. When he looks mad, he looks VERY scary. “Fix your face, damn.” we say. Don’t look like that. Nobody will want you in their group home. He gives us his most winning smile. They replaced the crown on his tooth today, actually, before school, but most likely he’ll pick it back off (the 600 dollar crown) with a sharp pencil, like he did the last two times. That’s what really bothers me, that we can’t make sure his teeth are okay. So he can bite more people, whatever and wherever his future may bring him. Just kidding. Watch yourself, though. Behind the smile is extreme madness. I wish we could protect him forever.

Martinez kept telling me and Mary, “I hate you. I’m gonna kill you! Go kill yourself” He probably told us both like 30 times each. We ignored all of it. I was much more therapeutic today. But I also barely taught any academics Shit was popping off too much for me to do more than read our book aloud and make them count by 10’s. I was glad I got Martinez to focus on me rather than than torment Ms. Mary. Every time he says it, she wants to cry. To me, I want to laugh. We have very different traumatic reactions. I just repeated things with Martinez today that he said, trying to validate He still yelled and stomped around, but I can tell our rapport is still solid.