My Cardboard Balcony

I drank a glass of weak Scotch at my high school reunion, and suddenly, I was hallucinating about drum circles and cigarette binges behind the old gym and make-out sessions in the locker room after badminton matches. We were all joined at the hip then - all so close that we may as well have been conjoined twins - so it didn't feel too different. Once I felt the urge to throw up, I went outside and sat at the gazebo set up for weddings by the hotel. This inn hadn't changed since I was at least ten, and now, almost twenty years later, the ivy had grown thick enough to serve as akin to a woolen coat in the winter time. I was almost tempted to sneak off for a pack of Camels, but my coughing fits had gotten worse recently, and I didn't want to risk a pulmonary embolism. Inside, my former peers were getting drunk, dancing, and showing their asses to the smartphone cameras. Meanwhile, my wife was probably worrying about me. I didn't care. I yearned for a better glass o...

Phew. Long week. Some behavioral issues in one of my classes, but mostly chatting - nothing major. I've managed to have my students read their first official texts within two and a half weeks, though that's in part due to the 4x4 block putting everything into double time. I've been grading efficiently, updating whiteboards efficiently, drawing up assignments efficiently (thanks mostly to colleagues). In short, I feel very successful as a teacher. My worry, of course, is that not everyone sees me as a successful teacher. I've already made a few mistakes - not doing signing out properly with borrowed books, missing a meeting, accidentally editing shared documents. Thanks to last year, I'm on the upswing of my good ol' trauma pendulum; I'm back to being hypervigilant of everything I do, from what I say to how loud I am to what decisions I make for the students to every little slip-up and error. It's exhausting. I'd like some balance, thank you very mu...

No Work Was Done Today by Belinda Roddie My classroom was like a sauna. It was not relaxing.

The Model by Belinda Roddie The model was tall, as she had to be, and took me out on quite a fancy date. I didn't mind how she loomed over me; in fact, I felt protected, like my fate had been preserved by a fine Amazon, a glorious crusader who would fight to keep me safe. We ate filet mignon and drank champagne until our heads were light and our lips shook with laughter. She then said that she was done with modeling. I thought about that, how my first impression had been her advertising shirts I bought and perfume I could not afford. Perhaps an end to that would end other mishaps.