:with love and squalor

i am a second grade teacher at a failing school in inner city baltimore. once before this i was a contemporary critical theory/ phenomenology/ critical race theory student at a cozy little school that taught me enough to make myself into an existential nihilist, but didn't teach me how it's possible to stay alive in the world that way. sometimes i post about that stuff. other times i post about the mountain goats, the failure of public education in america, baltimore (we have a love/hate relationship), atheism, good politix, and the basic disappointments of the human condition. i've started to amass a bunch of education followers which is GREAT! and welcome! but just know that this is my personal blog and some of the things i post on here are unrelated to education and may be explicit or not kid friendly in some way (personal stuff, poetry, LGBTQ stuff, critiques of capitalism and the state, etc.).

[forn0esis-blog]

I am so sorry I never post on here anymore, and surprised I still have any followers (but appreciative to the ones I do I have!).  This tumblr used to be an enormous support and crutch to me, when I was graduating college and first started teaching.  I really needed this blog to let my emotions out in a way that very few people who know me in real life could see.  I guess I stopped needing it as much as time progressed, but the sad thing is that I didn't channel my emotions into any other outlet; I just stopped expressing myself emotionally or creatively for the most part.

Except now I'm stuck.  I'm really struggling to find a job and it's really disheartening.  I feel like I have a basically spotless resume--I graduated summa undergraduate from a really great liberal arts school, and did so much there, I have a 4.0 master's degree from Hopkins, which is the number one university in my field, and I got into/did TFA, and continued teaching after TFA, and was on a lot of committees and teams and clubs while teaching, too.  I have great references who really believe in me, and I have a steady employment history since about 2007 with no gaps in it (until now).  I am excellent writer and I think I tend to give good interviews and write good cover letters.  I might be a little rusty, and I'm not perfect--in fact I have a lot of flaws--but generally impressing people in a professional/academic setting comes naturally to me an always has, which is how I got into TFA in the first place.

I've been applying for jobs with organizations like TNTP and other alternative certification settings.  I had pretty substantial success (with data and otherwise to prove it) through all three years of teaching, particularly with reading levels and behavior management.  Having gone through TFA, I'm pretty aware of the demands of alt cert programs and I would like to be a coach supporting new teachers to be the best they can be under the difficult circumstances that these alt cert programs propagate.  I don't really endorse these programs, but I feel like I could make a small difference from the inside.  I have even applied to some jobs with TFA for that reason, and you all know how I feel about TFA.  It's actually so embarrassing to me to be applying to (and rejected from) TFA positions.  It's humiliating, but I feel so desperate.  I did basically no networking throughout my tenure with TFA/BCPSS because I felt like I was better and more enlightened than all TFA people and I just couldn't see how TFA could help someone like me.  Now, I really regret the bridges I burned because I really need a job.

I've also been applying to other non profits, which is what I'd really like to do, at least temporarily.  I want an office, with, like, a burlap cubicle.  I want to be able to use the bathroom whenever I want, and have the bathroom be stocked with toilet paper instead of having a child's piss all over the floor.  I don't want people to threaten to choke me, I don't want to sit in horrible meetings with my "math coach" that require every bit of internal strength I possess to not blow a gasket.  I don't expect to love my boss, but I hope not to hate her, either.  My requirements are not that rigid.  I am lucky enough to have been able to save a paltry amount of money to float myself during this transitional time, but as the weeks pass where I spend money but don't make it, my fears increase exponentially.  What if I really don't get a job soon?  It doesn't help that my partner is also out of work.

And I sit around sending off applications and I can't believe the amount I don't ever even hear back from.  It's horribly dehumanizing, honestly it's just fucking rude.  I know it happens to everyone--it's even happening to my dad right now, who has 40 years of experience--but it still makes me furious.  I'm a human being applying to supposedly respectable organizations that make a point of being overly professional like TNTP and City Year, and they don't even email me back?  Like I haven't graduated from high school or something?  It's hard not to think that I'm under qualified but I'm absolutely not under qualified for any of the positions I apply to--I am very careful to not waste my time with things when I don't meet the qualifications.  So it makes me feel bad.  I really want to stay in education because it means so much to me.  And, ultimately, I really want to go back to school.  Possibly next year, to get my ph.d.  So I really need a pretty temporary job.  And yes, I could pretty easily get a job that wasn't in my field, I think, but I'm trying SO HARD to find one that IS in my field.  Because I have some money saved, I'm trying really hard to find something that I might actually enjoy doing and be good at as opposed to hosting at a restaurant or something.

And then feeling bad really makes me realize how much I've gone through over the past three years.  Having this removal from the school makes me notice all the horrible, toxic things that were said to/about me that stay with me.  That was a truly sick place, run by sick individuals whose goals were singularly to break down and abuse their already overworked staff members.  In particular, the words of my AP ring through my head with every rejection I get.  I don't see myself in the same way I did when I first got into TFA.  I feel, like, horrible.  Like I really internalized all the toxicity and negativity that I dealt with every day there.  I had to get out; it was suffocating.  I can't really overstate how dark of a place that school was.  I don't know if I will ever be able to trust anyone in a professional setting again after what I went through there.  At least I learned what working hard means, and I'm used to dehumanizing positions which makes me a great candidate for some non profit orgs.  I didn't realize at the time how much I let the bull shit that they spewed at me sink in.  I thought I had a done a good job of developing a thick skin, and in many ways I did, but some of it got through anyway.  When I went back to visit Simon's Rock, I was literally shocked by how warm and receiving and kind all the people from my past life were.  Like they genuinely remembered me as a smart, capable, hard working, dedicated, passionate, driven person.  It's a side of myself I haven't seen in a looooooooong long time.  I can only hope it's still there.

On top of everything, I feel horrible right now because it's back to school week and I miss my kids soooooo much.  And I miss setting up my classroom and the excitement of back to school and meeting new kids and getting to know them and loving them and how much promise there was, even at a school like that.  I know leaving was the right choice, and I hope to return to the classroom some day in the future, but it's so painful for me and I'm jealous of my friends posting pictures of their new classrooms.  I think I would feel better if I had something else to do.

I don't know what to do with myself.  I was so invested in my role as teacher.  I honestly don't even know who I am anymore without it.  That job was my ENTIRE life for three years, and now it's just... gone.  Kind of like graduating from a college you loved, a pain I am also very familiar with.  It's times like these I really wish I had someone to pray to.  Like to pray to find a job soon and start a new chapter.  It's really hard to close one chapter when you don't have a new one to start.

[sandandglass]

[ngdisnbd]

[forn0esis-blog]

GPOY

[dime-store-boy-deactivated20150]

[2damnfeisty]

Nobody gives the black girl mob credit for being smart as fuck. They clown but at the end of the day they are really intelligent.

[darkwingdux-deactivated20150119]

And it’s not subtle at all. Taystee is a math prodigy in addition to being well-read, Poussey is multilingual, Cindy just knows shit, Suzanne studies Shakespeare, Watson was a good student in addition to being a track star, Vee is basically an evil genius. Piper often learns the most from them; they taught her how to fight and helped translate Pennsatucky’s biblical threat. The show flat out acknowledges the (academic) intelligence of the black inmates time and time again, but the audience collectively ignores it.

[2damnfeisty]

ALL OF THIS

[the-love-of-reblog]

Just imagine though, the Muggleborn 11 year olds show up at Hogwarts, get sorted, enjoy the great feast, and start settling into their dorms all excited about the first year at wizard school. Then they remember, just as the prefect is leaving, “Oh I almost forgot to ask, what’s the wifi password?” And the pure blood prefect gives them a puzzled look, “What’s ‘wifi?’” And just like that, Hogwarts is a terrifying place.

[van-grow]

The Front Bottoms - Twin Sized Mattress

[bmoreblockbyblock]

Here’s the unstitched version.

Forever Together, 2300-2400 block, East Eager Street, Middle East, Baltimore, 2014.

Mural by Stephen ESPO Powers.

[forn0esis-blog]

I visited my alma mater for the first time since graduating this weekend to go to my friends' wedding. The service was absolutely lovely and it was the first time I've been to a wedding for like, a straight up FRIEND, as opposed to family member or someone I don't know that well, so it was super nice, and so odd to be back.

I remembered so much.  I was struck by how specific the memories and the people who came to mind were.  I remember lying on any number of dirty floors with Blake, sneaking into his room when he was at class to make his bed, and lying with him doing "therapy" which meant yelling at the top of our lungs.  I remember when Shelby found cucumbers in the community garden and climbed to the top of the swing on the lawn while Robin took pictures.  I remember sitting in one of the practice rooms while Sean Wang played piano, reading Oedipus Rex for the first time.  I remember Andre throwing puffins at me in the dilapidated Kendrick "Pit" which no longer exists.  I remember meeting Tim, and how deeply I felt towards him, and driving with him to the Mass Pike rest stops and back just to have a break from campus sometimes.  I remember when Nate Anderson took Mindy and me in the middle of the night to his house in Sheffield and how we lay on his deck and looked at the stars, and how I had never in my life seen so many stars, had never before seen the Milky Way with my own eyes.  I remember Mark Vecchio, how much his classes meant to me, how much I loved and respected him, how fucking brilliant and fantastic and inspiring I found him, how my entire experience at Simon's Rock is inextricable from him and the classes he taught and him as a person.  I remember Robin and Mindy and Blake coming to see me in the hospital after the car accident.  I remember sitting with Jamie in his stuffy office in the College Center, talking about books.  I remember going to Siam Square with Robin and Blake, and how we ran into Cody and how he stared at me for the entire meal from across the restaurant just to annoy me, and how very much it did annoy me.  I remember how the earth smelled the spring of my freshman year, when Tim was graduating and I felt like I was losing myself (though I already had, I just didn't know it).  I remember getting high and going skinny dipping with Robin and Shanna and Marcos in Lake Mansfield under a blanket of stars.  I remember living in the mods with Robin and Claire and Nancy and Jenn, how Jenn and I used to try to cook things in that horrible kitchen.  I remember Connor Marston dragging me into the woods in the middle of the night with a head lamp on so that we could "listen to the trees."  I remember standing on the porch of my beautiful Mansfield House, smoking cloves and listening to Bon Iver on my iPod, blowing puffs of breath into the icy air.  I remember when Jay died, when Manuela and I stood on that same porch, and she asked for a sign that he could hear us, and how it started snowing.  I remember early mornings with Hector, smoking cigarettes on the way to Anti Harassment, how cold it was, and for how long it was cold.  I remember Derek driving me around in his Jeep, endless nights with him in the library, being his only friend at Simon's Rock and loving it.  I remember sitting with Claire every night at the wood kiln while she worked on her thesis, smoking hand rolled cigarettes. I remember Cody.  Specifically, I remember falling in (and out of) love with Cody from start to finish, over and over again.  I remember days and nights entangled with Cody in as many ways as humanly possibly.  I remember the range of emotion I felt towards Cody, how intense it was, how much I loved him, how much I hated him, how much it mattered, how much every day with him was both the beginning and the end of the fucking universe, and how tired I always was at night because of it.  I remember the night Savannah and Mallory and I went to the library while it was raining bullets and how the ground felt like it was falling out beneath us.  I remember driving all over Great Barrington with Sinead, trying to find the perfect antique furniture for her thesis performance, and how one guy finally just gave us a couch she liked for free because we were young and beautiful and strange.  I remember taking codeine cough syrup and sitting outside the DAC with Mallory and Savannah and knowing that everything was ending, and everything was going to be different.  I remember sitting on the worn carpet in Cody's Pibly while we both put the final edits on our theses, how his floor was a sea of paper scrawled all over in Mark's beautiful cursive handwriting, a navy blue pen, the color of the sky on Alford Road at dusk, how someone came running screaming through Pibly that they had just killed Osama bin Laden, how Cody and I looked at each other and shrugged, went right on working, because our work was the only thing had ever or would ever matter.  I remember when my work mattered.  I remember rehearsing our speech at midnight the night before graduation, walking outside around Pibly barefoot, trying to encapsulate the most tumultuous four years of our young lives in such a way that anyone who hadn't experienced it could possibly understand.  These experiences were made what they were in relation to the people who touched my life.  They were nothing without those people, people who, by and large, I do not even speak to anymore, not a single one, and not because I don't want to, but because I can't.

Mostly, too, I remember myself.  I remember walking the interpretive trail alone.  I remember the body wracking sadness that crept in, sometimes, usually through the rib cage, and had me bent over in existential agony in a Crosby shower stall.  I remember when I stopped believing in god.  I remember running down Hurlburt Road into the corn fields all by myself, sweat around my collar, trying to take in the beauty around me, through my skin, through my pores.  I remember running the loop to Lake Mansfield so I could cry in peace in the lifeguard chair.  I remember driving to Division Street by myself at night just so I could see total and complete darkness from 180 degrees, and encounter absolute silence, and bask in it, all by myself.  I remember getting my morning coffee in the dining hall and stirring it always 30 times.  I remember sitting by myself at dinner, at a completely empty table, and not caring, giving no shits at all, that I had become one of the seniors we made fun of when I was a freshman, and I didn't care because I knew so much more then, because I had become so wise, because there wasn't anyone I wanted to sit with other than myself.  I remember how much I learned.  I remember how deeply I cared about my school work, how important everything felt, and how valued and appreciated I was there.  I remember how every mentor I had told me how special I was, how important I was.  I remember how happy and proud I was when I got into TFA.  I remember the feeling of promise and newness and its distinct mixture with the agony and frustration and fear of what it would be like after graduation.

On Friday night, some of us went skinny dipping in Lake Mansfield in the pitch blackness.  I didn't want to get in.  Once I did, I went under water, and it was so dark that I felt this intense, primal fear of the silence and the darkness closing in on me.  I did it again and again--there was a familiarity in the fear.  I liked it.

After leaving the wedding, I went to see Mark Vecchio.  Being with him for 3 hours left me feeling more like myself than I have in 3 years.  We talked about my incapacity for feeling lately.  He told me gently that I hadn't gotten better at processing trauma--I had just stopped processing it altogether.  But it is still around me, constantly, in the periphery.  The experiences I've had over the past three years have haunted me, and they will continue to do so unless I learn how to confront and process them.  Though I learned a lot throughout the past three years, and though I appreciate the increased knowledge and perspective I now have, I liked who I was as a person more while I was at Simon's Rock.  I was more complete.  Now I feel disfigured.  Sometimes I laugh about it, but it's true.  It's not a good way to be.  Mark convinced me that it's still in me, somewhere--that person who I was, who he remembers so well, whose essays he can quote--and I hope he's right.  His, Asma's, and so many others who I knew and loved during college--their support and belief in me HAS to mean more to me than the discouragement and hatred of those I've been surrounded with the past three years, because the people who knew me at Simon's Rock knew who I really was.  And being there this weekend reminded me.  I have to try harder to be the person I was when I liked myself more than I do now.  I have to start writing again, I have to start feeling again.  I have to learn how to process the pain and isolation I've become so used to, so that I can start to extricate myself from it.  I have to be better.  I've spent SO LONG focusing on how strong I am, how much of an asset my grit is, how I can survive anything, how powerful this makes me, how I have to sacrifice the softer parts of me to reify the harder parts.  But it was too much of a sacrifice, and I know it.

[abrazosybesitos]

I’m dead

[writerswritecompany]

Frankenstein’s Monster

[insuperabilis]

AT LAST THE EPITOME OF MY FRUSTRATIONS

[forn0esis-blog]

I spent the winter with my nose buried in a book while trying to restructure my character, 'cause it had become vile to its creator. And through many dreadful nights I lay praying to a saint that nobody has heard of, and waiting for some high times to come again.

[forn0esis-blog]

I really hate my own mother sometimes. That's so sad. My mom and I used to be so close, and obviously I still love her so much, but I really can't fucking stand her sometimes, and right now is absolutely one of those times. She's definitely under a lot of stress and pressure right now, which I totally get, but actually... never mind. I'm not going to launch into some protective rant on my own tumblr justifying her outrageous behavior. She is without question the most immature actual adult I've ever met. There really is no excuse for the majority of her bad behavior. I really can't fucking stand her sometimes. The older she has gotten, the more perspective she has lost. She seems to have completely lost any sense of what is/is not an appropriate way to relate to another human being (especially YOUR CHILD). It makes me want to withdraw from her more and more. It's really sad because anyone who knows me knows how close my mom and I have been in the past. We're definitely not that close anymore, which she says is my fault, and maybe it is. But I can't stand her. She and my dad are finally moving next week. If the move being over doesn't significantly improve how she relates to me and the things she says to me, we will become even less close.

[lazyandg]

Summer in Baltimore: Favorite Places

[blownfromthesunintothesurf-blog]

hey look photos of bmore that aren’t all falling apart buildings

[perpetuavix]

I’m packing up to move across the country and starting a PhD program. I have a lot of books I’ve collected about teaching that I don’t really need going forth, and I would love to find a new home for them! I would be happy to send them anywhere in the US, but if you could throw a little money my way via Paypal, it would be greatly appreciated. 

The top picture is mostly math books:

Quick Review Math Handbook (Teacher’s Guide) from Glencoe

Seeing is Disbelieving: 150 Astounding Optical Illusions

The Ideas that Changed The World: The Essential Guide to Modern Philosophy, Science, Math, and The Arts from Encyclopedia Britannica 

A Slice of Pi: All The Math You Forgot to Remember from High School by Liz Strachan 

Easy as Pi: The Countless Ways We Use Numbers Every Day by Jamie Buchan 

The second picture is more general teaching books:

First Year Teacher’s Survival Guide: Ready-to-use Strategies, Tools, & Activities for Meeting the Challenge of Each School Day by Julia G. Thompson-this was a book I bought halfway through my first year. It’s got a lot of good stuff, but I felt like some of it was more applicable to middle/elementary teacher

Teaching With Love and Logic: Taking Control of the Classroom by Jim Fay and David Funke-I wish I had a million copies of this book, because it was the single most transformative thing I ever read. 

The First Days of School by The Wongs-If you don’t have a copy, now’s your chance! 

How to Differentiate Instruction in a Mixed Ability Classroom by Carol Ann Tomlinson-Another excellent resource for pretty much every teacher

Teach Like a Champion by Doug Lemov-Say what you will about Doug Lemov, but there are some solid teaching tips in here (that you have to sort out from the total BS, but still)

The Reluctant Disciplanarian by Gary Rubinstein-It’s short and sweet and pretty funny. 

Discipline in the Secondary Classroom: A Problem by Problem Survival Guide by Randall S Sprick-a little old school (both the book itself and the advice) but still useful

The last picture includes a few more math books I found:

Crossing the River with Dogs: Teacher Workbook and Student Book (they are a set, although the teacher workbook is for an older edition, but I didn’t notice any serious changes)-If you are ever asked to teach a math elective with high schoolers, just use this book. It’s seriously amazing and I love it, and I’m a little more than sad to see it go, but I really want to find it a new home. 

Out of This World Logic Puzzles 

Please let me know if you’re interested in a book. I really, really want to find all of these books new homes with someone who will actually use them. First come, first serve, and I’ll cross of any that are spoken for. I’ll askbox you for an address, so please make sure you have your ask box turned on! 

Coming later: Round 2, with school supplies! 

[forn0esis-blog]

My good friend is offering some awesome resources! Take a look and please signal boost so lots of teachers can see!

[forn0esis-blog]

Some of my employees go to that high school!

I would so love the opportunity to teach a class like the one he was trying to teach and to try to reach students in that way, but it would never happen in Baltimore.

[iflewbikes-deactivated20181005]

Teach a class about racism… and this is what happens.

[glompcat]

Oh hey, an article about my undergrad that actually perfectly captures why I went there.

[superhomogay-deactivated2019122]

go Simon’s Rock!