After school today, I went to the Coffee Bean because I was so exhausted from a day of dealing with middle school girls and trying to avoid teachers and administrators. I think I walk around afraid now of talking to anyone. I have this anxiety that my life has come down to being the ultimate in mediocrity. Some days when we have long meetings I feel like I’m rotting myself to sleep. I put on my sunglasses in case I fade out, hoping I don’t snore or lean into the teacher sitting next to me.
Don’t get me wrong, I have the best job in the world when I’m teaching and learning; but when you work in a place that utterly defies logic and common sense, you have to give up faith in a religion some people call “thinking.” If you try to get others to think a little, they’ll think you’re trying to be different, and they’ll get revenge on you in little ways you’ll never be aware of until it’s too late. They’ve already “fucked” you over and the feeble-minded have drank the Kool-Aid. It’s the biggest bullshit in the world, really.
But let’s face it – there are much worse things going on in the world than having to observe how jacked up the educational system is in Los Angeles. Today on NPR I heard that Buddhist monks burned themselves alive in China to protest. They must’ve had it real bad to do that. Even though I think about suicide sometimes, I don’t take it seriously because I have a family now, and being there for them supersedes everything. I forget about myself when I think about my family. I forget about how painful it is to live sometimes, how lonely I am sometimes, how bored. Being creative, expressing myself is all I really have to pepper meaning into my life.
Thus, I have this blog as a side note to the novel I am writing called “Hot Cheeto Stains.” I’m not using my real name, of course. Not only is it a little cumbersome, but if I used my real name I’d be writing with restraint and a bit of fear. Honesty is frequently misunderstood. People minds are mush, they’re polluted, repressed, afraid, insecure and totally lacking empathy and understanding. People are eff’d up in so many ways, it pains me to remind myself of how people so willingly want to misunderstand the world around them. There’s so few aspiring sages out there. It takes knowing so much to realize you know so little…and so many know so little they don’t realize just how very little they actually know.
Writing is procrastination, and sometimes I have trouble concentrating. When I can’t concentrate on my narrative, I will write here. In that sense, the novel and this journal will be companion narratives. No one will read this, but in the slight chance that anyone does indeed read it I want to apologize for what probably comes across as a negative attitude. I mostly write when I’m upset or sad, and I am trying cleanse myself. You won’t hear much from me on the good days, but thank you for reading this…and welcome.