Saturday, April 8, 2017

Not Syria

I am reading The Things They Carried--a high school classic that was never on my syllabus. It's beautiful and sad. There are reasons the canon is the canon. I worry about the future like I'm looking through a cloud. I know I could walk through, but I can't see right now.

I figured out the tack to take with the troublesome third grader. He yells, "OBJECTION BORING" in the middle of activities. I used to remind him it is hurtful to talk during other people's scenes. Now I deadpan, "Overruled" and he clams up.

No matter what depths of hell a student pulls their grade from through late work and office hours, they always manage to grub for a B. "Focus on writing the paper, not doing the math," I say. This guy was in prison for years, and he still just wants to get a B for arbitrary reasons.

Three scenes in a row I wasn't in in last night's show. I put my forehead against the backstage and waited. This is not what I had imagined. I like groups of people, but I dislike large plates of food. I know we eat that much individually, but all at once it seems scary. Where will it go? Inside us? Like a reverse alien shooting out of someone's chest. Instead we swallow it down.

I'm reading about Syria and Puhg watches a Vice about plastic in the ocean. I can't move. I live here, I should be happy every day. Jury still out on how we can save the world.

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