March 12th, 2002 CE

Well, I didn't get the long-term sub position, didn't get my book finished by the end of the year, and many other "didn't's" that could fit into that list. The girl I've been whining about for the past few months (when I've bothered to write; I'm sorry if you've been checking here, hoping to find some update) recently announced that she and her boyfriend are getting married. Even sent along a picture of the ring (which, I must admit, is a pretty nice one). Oh, and I have a severely weird relationship with one of my other friends, which could go any way. But I'm not going to talk about all that. I've got a weightier issue to talk about; one which I, oddly enough, can't talk about to anyone but myself, because they'd either a) fail to understand why it's a problem or b) be personally prejudiced in a way which makes their answers somewhat irrelevant.

The question before me is: Am I a Texan, or am I an American living in Texas? Since I'm sensing blank stares, mixed with a couple horrified ones, let me clarify. I'm not asking because I'm trying to figure out whether or not to join a militia which claims that Texas is a sovereign nation, yada, yada, yada. Rather, I view it as questioning whether or not I wish to begin identifying myself with, for lack of a better term, the Wyrd of Texas. Do I wish to take a mental and spiritual step of that magnitude, one which can alter my own Wyrd as surely as adoption would have?

There are good reasons not to, of course. I have always envisioned myself as being essentially rootless... able to slide into a new place and begin to feel like a native. It's something that I feel comfortable with, and it would be hard to abandon. There's also the fact that I more or less hate the weather in the southern part of the state; I want four, fully differentiated seasons, instead of summer, still summer, not summer, and almost summer. Then there are my neices, who live in Massachussetts and might benefit from my presence. In accepting them as my neices, I accepted some responsibility for their upbringing (late though I came to the job). How can I discharge that responsibility from 2000 miles away?

But to stay in Texas, and consider myself a Texan, has its own attractions. I have friends here... people I consider family, even if we haven't taken formal oaths to that affect. Declaring myself Texan would strengthen these bonds, providing another level of commonality between us, and remove some of the feeling of being an outsider that I feel whenever someone hails Texas in Sumble. And the kin aspect doesn't include my blood kin, either; my younger brother and parents all live here, and likely will for a long time. Plus, there is the simple fact of becoming a Texan, of tying myself to the Wyrd and Orlog of this state. Something about that idea is attractive in a way that tying myself to the Wyrd of other states isn't; I never felt inclined to call myself a Kansan, despite living there for five years.

The pros seem to outweigh the cons; even I can see that. But that leaves the question: Am I avoiding the declaration of being a Texan because I have true reservations about it, or because I'm unwilling to take a major step? I've encountered the second again and again in myself... I can handle smaller steps, but the larger leaps intimidate me. If I'm not answering this question because I fear what it might mean, what does that say about myself, and my dedication to the virtue of Courage?

Am I Texan, or am I an American living in Texas? I don't know. I think I want to be Texan... but something keeps me from it.

April 13th, 2002 CE

It occurs to me that many of you might not be aware of how the life of a substitute teacher progresses. Since today was fairly typical, I'll give you a quick summation. First, however, keep in mind this quote, from the Onion's Astrology section for the week of April 7-13, 2002

Virgo: (Aug. 23—Sept. 22)
You will achieve modest fame as a lion tamer, but audiences won't like you nearly as much as the man who has absolutely no control over the lions.

Now then, my day as a substitute usually begins with a phone call at about 6 in the morning. For those of you who regularly wake up earlier than this, you may be saying "So what, so it's six in the morning." Well, keep in mind that there's no guarantee there will be a call at six in the morning... there might be a call at five, or there might be one at seven, or there might not be one at all... you can never know. Now then, realize that, once that call comes in, you have a choice to make... either go to a long day of work, or go back to sleep. If you had to make this choice right after getting out of your warm... soft... comfortable bed, which would you choose?

Now then, let's assume you do the responsible thing and accept the job. Depending on the time of the phone call, there are several things that might happen. If it came in at five in the morning, you're probably going to go back to bed until six, making sure to turn on your alarm... you'll want that extra hour when the kids are hyper after lunch. If the phone call came in at about six, you can begin a leisurely preparation for work... jump in the shower, shave, brush your teeth, and get on the road to whichever school you're supposed to go to (you do remember, right? There are six high schools in your district), grabbing breakfast either on the way, or as you go out the door. Of course, many of the calls will come at seven o'clock, and you have to be at work for a 7:30 show time, so you usually wind up simply wetting a washcloth and wiping yourself down, rinsing with mouthwash, and eating a banana as you try not to be late for a job you didn't know you had. If you're really lucky, you get a call to come in at 7:30 at about nine in the morning, which means you have to do the quickie version of getting ready while trying to find the number for the school so they know why you're late... oh, and most of the published numbers for local high schools will simply be automated information lines.

So, now, you get to school. Did you know that your assignment is, to an extent, pot luck? And that they can fill any free hours you have with any kind of class they want? "Social Studies/History" has, in the past, included such classes as Biology, Algebra, Physical Science, Boys Basketball, Co-Ed PE, Drama, Teen Leadership, Photography and Band. This is, of course, in addition to classes like World Geography, Government, Economics, World and American History, Psychology, and Sociology. Unless you know the teacher you're working for (and with an average school size of 2500, chances are you don't), it's a fun and exciting adventure figuring out what you have to teach today.

So, you have your assignment, you're at the school, and you've somehow found the classroom (and I say somehow because, while several of the schools have the same general floorplan, all of them number differently). Well, first you have to hunt down a teacher to unlock the door. Then, you have to hunt around the room for lesson plans. Sometimes they're right there, on the teacher's desk. Sometimes, they're on the overhead. Sometimes, in the teacher's mailbox, or delivered by the teacher's friend or team leader. My personal favorite was the lesson plans which were given to a student that the teacher had met in the donut shop. Odds are, by the way, the lesson plans you are given are far from complete (unless they consist of "stick in this video and make them answer the questions on this sheet"... you will find yourself proctoring many videos). Even if the lesson plans are complete, most teachers neglect to tell you about any idiosyncratic classroom rules they have. Do they normally let this student sleep, or students listen to headphones while they work? Your guess is as good as mine.

Now, of course, we have students coming in. You're greeted with reactions from "YES, we have a sub!" to "Hey, do you remember me?" to "You know you look a lot like Drew Carey?" You've had about 5 minutes to look over the lesson plan and guess at what you're supposed to do, and now you're on stage. Center stage, every eye fixed on you. This is why I am glad I took improvisational theater. You get to identify yourself, get everyone to sit down, shut up, and listen to you (did I mention you cannot touch the students? Can't even tap them on the shoulder, since doing so will quite possibly cost you your job?). You get to answer questions about the health and disposition of a teacher you did not know existed until 30 minutes to two hours ago. You get asked questions about due dates of assignments that are not mentioned anywhere in your lesson plans (if you've found them by now), and you get to make snap decisions about the trustworthiness of six different students asking to go to the bathroom.

So, now, you get to take roll... as a teacher, it is one of your state-mandated duties to take as accurate a roll call as possible. You get to make those micro-second pronunciation decisions on Hindi names which seem to have only consonants and the letter Y. You get to try and pronounce names made up by mothers who were on heavy pain killers at the time. You get to puzzle out names that are spelled OIUYBIOYGL;ksdgb;sj, but pronounced "Brendan"... most of the students you encounter, incidentally, are terribly offended when you mispronounce their name. But, after crossing out a couple people, then correcting it because they showed up late (or the announcements have just told you that some bus got stalled), you've finally got your roll finished.

Now, you get to teach. Sometimes, it will be a matter of putting in a tape and pressing play. Those might seem like the easy days, but remember that you will be seeing the same segment of film 3-5 times today. By the end of the day, you've got the dance steps down pat from watching Romeo and Juliet until your eyes bleed. Also, while this is happening, you have to make sure no one sleeps, people keep working on their "Study Guide", and keep the class quiet while a string of people ask to go to the bathroom. If you're not watching (and watching and watching and watching) a movie, you might have a worksheet to do. STUDENTS ARE INCAPABLE OF DOING WORKSHEETS. This is a fact borne out by empirical evidence. They cannot remember if their normal teacher requires complete sentences. They seem confused by the statement "This must be done individually; no groupwork". And two out of every five will not have brought a pen or paper with them. They seem amazed that such things would be necessary in a classroom.

Maybe you're given actual teaching to do. This is great fun... but, of course, you've only had five minutes to look over the material. As the day goes on, your lectures get better and better, but until then, you have to figure out what small notations on the notes left for you mean, and figure out what is important to tell them because it will be on the test, and what can safely be ignored or downplayed. Do this without knowing any of the rest of the staff, and never having seen the test/quiz/assignment. Did I mention that your performance will be graded by the teacher you're replacing, based on how well you prepared the students for the next day of class? And that, many times, you'll find that you know more about the subject than the teacher does, and that several things in the notes you're given are flat-out wrong?

Ok, now the problems come up. You remember that lion-tamer quote at the top of the page... well, you're the lion tamer, only you have no whip, no chair, no relationship with the lions, and rather than a revolver you've got a two-shot derringer that might be loaded with blanks. You've got someone misbehaving... snap judgement on character: are they worth writing up? Oh, and don't forget that if you write some of them up, you'll get accused of racism because you didn't catch someone else with another skin color doing the same thing. Then there are others who will stand up and threaten you... and, of course, if you touch them in any way, shape, or form, you might get fired if they bitch enough, unless they hit you first. If you do write them up (assuming, of course, you are capable of memorizing 20-25 names with one pass of the role sheet, and thus know what name to use), you're having to spend several moments of class writing up their various offenses, then somehow summoning an Assistant Principal to remove the offending student (which can range from pushing a button to sending down a runner... occasionally, a nearby teacher will be off and able to do it, but you have no idea which ones).

So, your day continues. Each hour, you have to learn the names of 20-25 more students as quickly as possible. You have to constantly monitor your speech to avoid saying something inappropriate, and gently deflect questions about your personal life that you don't feel like answering. You wind up pleading the Fifth a lot, simply because you know that you have 20-25 cameras in the room, each looking for some offensive statement to pounce upon. Don't particularly care about conflict in the middle east? Will it be the Jewish, Muslim, or Christian student who turns you in for insensitivity if you say so when asked? Happen to find females attractive? Who's going to say you made inappropriate, uncomfortable sexual remarks simply because you said, in answer to the question "Are you gay", "No, I like women"? Paranoia is now your watchword, if you want to keep your job, because you can be sure at least one student in class has an agenda and is willing to go through you to get it completed.

Lunchtime comes. Assuming you have some sort of meal (either brought from home or from the vending machines), you get to sit around in uncomfortable silence while people who know each other talk around you in the teacher's lounge. If you have lunch duty, you might be informed about it, you might not. Sometimes, you might get to eat quietly, but that poses another problem... these teachers you are snubbing are the source of future work. Annoy them, and you miss out on jobs, meaning you miss out on money, meaning you're suddenly not working for a couple weeks at a time. So, you get to talk to people you don't know, and guard your speech again. Fun.

Finally, the end of the day comes. Your sixth period class couldn't understand you are slightly testy at the end of the day, and you have to remind yourself that they are not to blame for the Hel of your previous five hours. You finally turn everything in, and head for home. People wonder why you're so tired, if you only went to work for seven hours. They don't understand that it isn't seven hours of sitting at a desk, answering phones. It isn't seven hours of putting flanges into slots and lifting and toting. The closest analogy is that it's seven hours of acting. It's seven hours of faking enthusiasm for the same damn assignment, pretending not to want to kill the student who asks the same question you've answered thirty times, seven hours of stepping in front of a hostile audience and making them do what you want simply by the force of your charisma, backed up by whatever knowledge you possess of the topic you have to improv about. Seven hours of improv from which you start cold, have to carry by yourself, and are responsible for the behavior of every member of the audience... an audience who, for the most part, does not want to be there.

I love teaching, don't get me wrong... but I really get tired of some of the crap associated with being a substitute, sometimes.

May 6th, 2002 CE

I am going to be completely fucking useless for weeks. Not because of depression, as is my usual reason for being useless, but because of utter elation. I have met someone. I dig her, she digs me back.

She digs me back.

Yeah, I know, it sounds incredibly friggin' hippy to say "she digs me back", but we were getting exceptionally sappy over the phone, so I think I can get away with a few euphemisms for the mixture of love, like, lust, and admiration we feel for each other.

I don't use proper names on this journal, but those who should know will know that this is the wonderful female that I met at the Our Meadhall Moot. We didn't hit it off immediately (though, she was immediately thrown at me by a mutual friend), but our bond sorta grew. I sat with her during her tattooing, and then things progressed.

It's kinda weird to have to stop right there, but I'm suddenly aware that it's not just my life I'm journalling... it's parts of hers, as well, and I'm not going to say much more about that. Since the moot, however, we've been talking on the phone a ridiculous amount... I'm probably going to have a fair bit to explain about my calling habits when this month's phone bill comes in, but I'm walking on friggin' air. I'm pretty sure that, if I work tomorrow, the kids could crucify each other in class, and I'd just applaud them for paying attention in Roman history.

I'm in what's probably a pretty dangerous state, right now. I'm constantly distracted by thoughts of her. I'm calling students by her name... not because their names are close, or because they look like her, but simply because she's on my mind. I can't even concentrate on things I know are important, simply becase I'm thinking about her all the time... wanting to hear her voice, missing her presence, wondering what she's doing. I'm out of words at this point... I can't seem to express all I'm feeling with the mere words of the English language. I find myself wishing I were a painter, or a sculptor, or had command of some other medium, because I feel so constrained by words when what is coming through me is pure feeling, beyond comprehension by anyone not in love.

She's an Odin's woman, and her Dad is an ex-Marine. I joked that, traditionally, I should ask her Dad's permission to court her, and that I had my choice... I could ask a berserking warrior god, or the Allfather. She then told me her dad is a berserk. I'm reminded that the other man in her life (the one whom I am incredibly jealous of, since he lives closer than 900+ miles away) is also a warrior. I think I paled a bit at that, but I don't care... I love her so much that I'm hailing Freyja in the middle of the day when I crack open a Dr. Pepper. Freyja, who I used to be fairly certain was simply not taking my calls, is now getting daily hails from me. Odin, or, as I know him, The Boss, is just getting a large degree of good feeling from me.... at sumble this weekend, I'm going to be hailing those two like crazy, and probably being exceptionally annoying.

Hail Freyja! Hail Frey! Hail Odin! Hail my love, my a chuisle mo chroí!

May 13th, 2002 CE

I am so much in love that it's almost painful, these days.

Meine kleine Walkure (a misspelling of the German for "My Little Valkyrie"; I don't feel like fucking around with umlauts) is an incredible woman. I love her so much that sometimes I think I'm going to burst, and she loves me back. I'm getting absolutely nothing done these days, because I'm spending my time talking to her. Every chance we get, we're talking on the phone, or on-line, or some way we can talk or chat or whatever. She has a webcam, so she sent me a brief video e-mail... just her waving to me, standing up, turning around, then sitting down and blowing me a kiss. I watch it frequently, just so I remember how fantastic she looks... I get to pick her mind whenever we sit down, and though she's younger than me, I am constantly amazed at how much I have to learn about life, and how much she can teach me.

The bitch of it is, we can't get together. We just can't. I can't afford plane fare up there, she can't afford plane fare down here. Neither of us has time for the cross-country option, and that generally costs as much as plane fare once you pay food, gas, and lodging. We love each other, but we're denied even the simple pleasures of a casual caress, or a brief cuddle, to say nothing of more carnal entertainment and the complex joy of waking up together, comfortable and close. It's like we're on opposite sides of a plexiglass wall.... or a one-way mirror. I can look at her (she has a webcam; I'm looking into one). We can talk to each other if we use the phone. But actually touch each other? It's denied to us.

We're actually nauseating the people around us, at times. We're getting cutesy when we talk... I feel like I should be disgusted with myself, then "Somewhere Out There" comes on the MP3s and my eyes start misting over as I think about her. For the past week, I've been sleeping, quite consciously, on one side of the bed, leaving the other side of the bed for her. She's been doing the same, and we've been taking up the same positions on the bed... I'm leaving open the right side of my bed, and she's leaving open her left. At Sumble on Saturday, I hailed Odin and Freyja before even thinking about my recently-graduated brother, and I can barely look at other women for the wanting of her (I said barely... I may be in love, but I'm still me).

If I could make a living in Massachussetts, I'd be there tomorrow. I'd sell off what I had to for air fare, throw my clothes in a bag, and send my mom an e-mail telling her to box up what's left and send it to me. But I can't, so meine kleine Walkure cries for the wanting of me, and my heart aches for the missing of her.

June 6th, 2002

Leaving Boston was the hardest thing I've done in a long time. Going into the hospital, way back in the spring of 1989, might have been as hard, but it still doesn't compare in my mind to the fresh wound of leaving Boston when I really didn't want to. I can still remember the look in meum mel's eyes as we sat on opposite sides of the airport glass, and that image is obscured by the tears that were in my eyes.

Yeah, tears. I was damn near bawling in Logan Airport, and if I get to visit again, I'll probably do it again. But, I'm starting at the end again, and I need to go back to the beginning.

My kitty managed to get some cheap airfare up to Boston, and she decided to float the cost, this time, with the anticipation that I'd pay it next time (hopefully, the beginning of July). So, I flew out of IAH, switched planes in Philly, and met my love again in Worcester, MA. I can still remember her running across the street to pounce on me. I still get weak when I remember the smell of her hair.

We spent the week together, and I can never remember a time I enjoyed more. Even with her at work during the weekdays, and accidentally missing my flight out of Worcester and having to buy tickets for the next day out of Logan, the week was fantastic. I even loved doing the dishes during the day, simply because I knew it would help her to be happy when she got home. Our rides in to work usually wound up with her sleeping on my shoulder most of the way in, but I didn't mind... it was amazing and satisfying just to have her close to me.

Now that I'm back in Houston, I miss her terribly. I don't like living without her... I don't like waking up in the middle of the night to an empty bed, even though that's how I've slept for most of my 24 years. Now, after one week, it seems lonely and empty. I want to come home to this woman, even though we met in person not much more than a month ago. I want this woman to come home to me, even though sometimes it feels like we're moving so fast that it scares me. I put a picture of her over on the pictures page; it should be easy enough for you to find, and I'm too lazy to link, right now.

Hail the Gods, for bringing this woman into my life! Hail my love, without whom I feel alone!

June 14th, 2002 CE

I have come to the conclusion that resumes have become completely pointless. I've been applying like mad to various school districts these past few weeks, and that's all they are... pointless.

You see, every place I have applied has wanted the exact same information, almost down to the wording. Of course, all of this information is available on a well-written resume, but they also refuse to look at resumes... "Just fill out the application." Meaning, of course, that one winds up filling out the same information that is on your resume several times, each time introducing the possibility of a mistake. I don't have a resume so I can show people what I've done, and what my skills are... I have one so I can quickly reference all my information, so I can write it down in their bloody little spaces.

Then you have references. You only know so many people, and it's a burden your friends and co-workers to have to write six or seven different letters of reccomendation... or fill out several different reference forms... all of which ask for the same goddamn information. It's enough to drive a man mad. If the school districts had a brain, they'd simply create a clearinghouse for applications... everyone fills out a single application, gets one set of references in order, and then the schools can check with the clearinghouse whenever they need a new teacher. Looking for a Physics teacher? Apply to the clearinghouse for someone who can do that. Getting it to work, money-wise, would be hard, but a single application fee (say, $30) would cover most of what you needed, and would free up a lot of time for teachers-to-be.

Of course, this could all be worth it. Meine Katzchen is going to be moving here in September... just before my birthday, actually. I need to find an apartment, and have a teaching job, so I can support her when she gets down here... it'll be some time before she can navigate through the hellacious environment which is applying for a job, or get started in school. I miss her so much... it's not even been two weeks since I left Boston, and I still can't think of how I lived before her. I still sleep on one side of the bed.

July 28th, 2002 CE

Searching for jobs sucks ass.

The main problem I have is that I have to apply to each school district separately, and you have to apply to several districts. I know I've annoyed the Hel out of my references, because each school district wants to contact the references separately. Each school district asks the exact same questions on their application, making filling them out a mind-numbing process... you get to fill out the same information seven or eight times, just so they can ask you the same questions again and again.

I'd probably bitch about this less if I had a reasonable chance of getting hired. But I don't. I've got three strikes against me. 1) I'm younger than most candidates, so every principal looks at me like I don't know anything. 2) I'm an ACP candidate, so I don't have any "real" teaching experience... nevermind a year of substitute teaching, and the fact that ACP pre-assignment training basically shoves a practicum down your throat... I can't show that I've got a year of experience, so I'm obviously useless. 3) My certification area is history, which means I'm basically a dime a dozen. This doesn't even include the fact that I'm not a coach, and a good half of the open positions in history require you to coach. ARRRRGH!

However, my girlfriend just informed me that she's bought the tickets to move down here. This makes me incredibly happy... I've been too long without her in my arms, and the loneliness is starting to make me ache. However, it also makes me incredibly nervous, because I don't have a job with which to support her. I want to be able to give her everything... or, at the very least, a roof over her head, a warm bed to sleep in, and food to eat. I know it's macho bullshit, and I know that she'll likely have to work to help us survive, but I want to be able to support her. I want to be the breadwinner, not just because it's "my duty as a man" or some shit like that... it's that I want her to be taken care of. I love her so much that I can't stand the thought of her not being taken care of, and I want to protect her.

I joked in my gang awareness class that, if I didn't find a job soon, I was going to have to turn to prostitution to survive. That got the appropriate laugh, but I'm beginning to feel that desparate. By the Gods, I need a job. Every district seems to be saying "We don't have enough teachers!", but none of them are hiring.

Vale. I'm off to speak to the Elder Kin about these things. I hope that your families are well taken care of.

August 6th, 2002 CE

"Everything will be OK."

That's what my fraulein said to me tonight. I learned today that I didn't get the job I thought I nailed (it was filled by an in-district transfer). I'm running out of places I can apply, and I'm starting to look into alternate forms of employment... temping, substitute teaching, even technical writing. I'm stressing out big-time, I've got a meeting with a teaching headhunter tomorrow.... but my girlfriend just assured me that everything will be all right. I nearly cried with relief.

I don't know that everything will be all right. Things may go wrong tomorrow or the next day, and I'll be five steps back from where I was. But meine Walkure will be with me, and so it will be.

Everything will be all right.

August 24th, 2002 CE

I think I'm getting sick of RPGs... or, to be more precise, my current group and 3rd edition Dungeons and Dragons. Every game, I wind up going away tired and unsatisfied, more annoyed with the evening than relaxed. It seems that every freakin' session turns into a rules-gripe-fest, punctuated with one of the players telling us about his trials and travails as a steroid-using body-builder in a college town. I am sick to death of hearing about the state of his libido due to his drugs and dietary changes, or about the "sick chicks" he attracts. I'm tired of having to argue with him every time I make a ruling, and having him bitch because I make them work for their XP.

I am also sick of 3rd edition, a statement which is sure to draw howls of protest. I am sick of minisculely worded rules with 30 billion special cases. I'm tired of it. I don't want to spend any more time looking up what the precise syntax of a special ability is, just so I can keep playing. I know it's not entirely the game system's fault; I played some very enjoyable games of 3e with different groups, wherein rules discussions were a normal thing which were quickly resolved... but 3e encourages this shit with the tiny-type syndrome. This is probably also why I'm never going to play Palladium again... I like some of the ideas of the game, but I don't feel like dealing with all the exceptions to the rules.

I think, what it's going to have to come down to is me writing a new system. I'm going to have to buckle down and write it, and figure out how to make a system that will do what I want... simple to learn, relatively realistic, and with a streamlined system that encourages innovation, rather than lawyerball.

On the homefront, I'm still looking for a job. Cypress-Fairbanks has finally deigned to give me an interview, and I've got another in Lewisville on Tuesday. Climatically, I'd prefer North Texas, if for no other reason than there must be fewer mosquitos than down here. Practically, however, I'd much rather Houston. I don't have to move things as far, or juggle as much straight off the bat. It would be easier living near my parents, though I want to be out of the house, too. Meine Katzchen is coming in three weeks, and I want to be able to take her to her new home when she gets here... I probably won't be able to... even if I got hired today (presumably at some time other than 1 in the morning), I won't make enough money right off the bat to put us up in an apartment by the 14th.

*Le-sigh*. Well, I guess I better get to sleep. Katzchen is at the East Coast Althing, so I can't talk to her tonight... I'm going to miss her for the two days she'll be out of touch. I do love that girl... I just wish I could provide for her the way she deserves. Anyone know tomorrow night's lotto numbers?

November 5th, 2002 CE

Oi vey, what a couple of months.

On September 5th, I found out that I had a job in Smiley, Texas, teaching 6th grade social studies. Not precisely what I spent all summer learning to teach, but close enough, and an actual job that would pay actual money (in theory; that'll come later). I started on September 9th, meaning I had a weekend to come up with a week's curriculum for a class I didn't know existed. Since Meine Katzchen was moving out here on the 13th, I also had to find a place for us to live once she got here.

It's now been two months. When you take into account the lower rent, I'm making about what she was up in Boston... but that doesn't take into account the fact that we now have to provide for two people, pay gas and car insurance, and try to resolve our bills and obligations from the previous twenty plus years of our lives. Things are tight, and Texas's unemployment system is being evil. I keep hoping we'll pull through, but I find myself scared every time my check comes in... I know how much it will be, and I also know I can't cover everything with just what I'm making.

Say what you like, but I think a teacher should be able to support himself and a significant other on what they make. Even if I was living in Smiley (a town of under 600 people), by myself, I think I would be hard pressed to make ends meet on the pittance the State of Texas calls a base salary for teachers.

Between Katzchen and myself, things fluctuate. Money concerns are causing strain... I wish to the gods I could just let her stay home and do what she likes, but we're both realizing that a tight wallet isn't going to save us, here. Our other main obstacle is me... I simply don't know how to function as part of a couple. This means I trip up a lot, and her stress levels rise. I've also come to the conclusion that I'm a selfish bastard... when I turn metacognitive, I realize that a lot of my moment to moment thoughts aren't really concerned with the truth of our current conflict... just with increasing my own comfort. I like to think that, over the past couple months, I've gotten a little bit better, but I know I still have a long way to go.

I think I'll stop here for tonight. Hopefully, now that things are settling down into a cycle, I'll be able to spare a few minutes for the journal more often. I hope all who read this are well, and I hope to the gods that things keep going well for me and mine, just as I hope they go well for you and yours.