self-diagnosed ocd strikes again. i lovingly call it "selective ocd" because it only chooses to manifest itself in the oddest of ways (as if there's ANY other way. duh!)
for example:
...while jogging, any cracks, bumps, or lines in the sidewalk that i may hit have to be hit with my right foot...ONLY! also while jogging, any live worms must be "rescued" and put back in the grass.
...it takes me an hour to braid my hair before bed (i cannot stand sleeping with any strands touching my face. you probably could have seen that one coming) because if there is even one lump, i need to unravel and do it again.
...all of the dictionaries in my classroom need to be facing the same way.
...when drinking anything with ice in it, i need to swirl the glass clockwise exactly seven times...you know, for perfect mixing purposes.
...i cannot say "goodbye" first...to the point that a phone conversation will go something like this: "so, call me when you have time." "okay, i'll do that." "great." "i guess i'll talk to you then." "okay." "great." "yeah." "talk to you later." "sure, great!" "good." "okay." "okay." "i'll call you." "okay." "good." ...infinitely. no wonder nobody calls me more than once.
the latest, however, has to do with the cats, ah, the cats. my two, gorgeous, mini-space heaters, my ambient-noise-purr-providers, so much do i love thee. both breeds were listed as "domestic short hair" when i rescued them individually from the shelter. boy, did i get duped. i think "domestic long hair", or even "domestic rapunzel-envy" might be more suitable, if only because "pre-kid's breath dandelion fluff" doesn't qualify as a breed. no kidding. my new daily ritual consists of waking up, closing my eyes and fishing for the pieces of fur strangling them like so much itchy fiberglass, opening, closing and fishing, opening, closing and fishing, then surrendering. i flip on the lights in the bathroom (which take HOURS to fully illuminate while my pitiful peepers writhe in agony, the feline fibres digging deeper and deeper...goddamned energy efficient bulbs!) and spend an hour with magnifying mirror clutched in one hand, tweezers of doom and COMPLETE inaccuracy in the other. i try to fool myself that the one or two strands of fur i liberate from my eyes are it. i know better. it all usually ends in complete surrender, my pudgy little fists desperately massaging each closed eye...exactly what you are told NOT to do when something gets in your eye. hey, to quote a famous song, "it's my party and i'll cry if i want to."
i love my cats, though...they are worth the daily peek into my own dementia.
i kidded myself that i had encountered true bureaucracy--the kind that turns a meek kitten into a raging, betty friedan android. to be honest, i'm not even sure that something this personal can even qualify as bureaucracy. in short, my boss has decided that i am a half-wit. he hired me over the phone when i still lived in cleveland...apparently my stats and credentials spoke for me. i made a misguided attempt to validate his mealy-mouthed ego for it is obvious that principals have outlived their usefulness. there is a reason that principle means an upstanding philosophy and principal means useless paper-pushers who usually sport a mustache (regardless of gender...heh). i sought advice that i didn't really need on an issue that he knew nothing about--classroom management. seriously, the guy couldn't manage a room full of mannequins...i mean, assistant principals. from that day forward, he simply decided that i cannot do my job (check my students' test scores, bub), that i have no control over my students (when they, in actuality, live in a mixed state of terror, awe, and adoration, no doubt!), and that i know nothing of the curriculum (excuse me, didn't i score in the top 15% of test takers of ALL TIME in the praxis? cough).
our department chair, god bless 'im, thought i would be good to head the freshmen honor's class. mumblemumblemumble...something about high expectations, holding the line, standards, achievement gap, etc. i thought it might be fun to teach students the garnishes and desserts of literary analysis alongwith the meat and potatoes of reading and grammar fundamentals. it sounded like we had found each other at last! ah, l'amour! my principal (for i can no longer choke out the word "boss" with regards to him) even approached me as i crossed campus one day. "you got time (sic) for a five-minute chat?" he told me he appreciated my flexibility in the past years when it came to scheduling (insert eye roll). he said he liked my "witty rapport with my students" (pfft! i knew that!). he claimed he respected my, "rigor and high expectations of the students" (okay, this time i KNOW he was lying! on more than one occasion, he has asked me to "be more understanding" about students' struggles...translation? change the grade so our starting quarterback could be eligible). i began to develop my lesson plans for the honor's classes. dreams of complex sentence structure and essays longer than 5 paragraphs and actual comprehension of "the odyssey" began to dance in my head nightly.
the upshot? he decided (unofficially...the coward is leaving before the announcement gets made) to give the freshmen honor's class to a guy who worked at the school three years ago, who fucked off at the end of the year, so miserable teaching there that other teachers noticed his markedly depressed moods, and who came crawling back to the school with a list of demands already laminated. must be nice.
so here's the deal: i shall take the freshmen who are at a 3rd grade reading level, tenderize their little brains with information until they are tasty and juicy (mmmm...brainssssssss), and then have them score even higher on the standardized tests than the honor's kids! the gauntlet has been thrown. the glove has slapped me in the face. that man just made my list of things to do today.
i'm comin', and i'm bringin' the big pain with me. he has been warned.
