I’m feeling the dementia kicking in early. A message from someone who supposedly knew me when I wore a locker key on a fluorescent green lanyard around my neck and corrected everyone’s grammar in a sniveling, completely unironic way: 
Posts under ‘Thinking’
What it do?
Leveling out
“When I look down, I just miss all the good stuff. When I look up, I just trip over things.” - Ani DiFranco
Wallflower in bloom
Anyone who actually knows me, knows that I am an extremely introverted person. I don’t eschew the term “wallflower,” as it sounds like a lovely thing to be. Lovelier than one of the dense weeds that grows in the middle of a room at least.
Brainstorm
I tossed and turned last night, dreading this day that has trickled between my fingers. It’s nice when you don’t know whether something you did was right or wrong, good or bad, but your time to act is gone. Nothing’s changing the choices you made, so you may as well exhale.
Ready for better
Wednesday was a terrible day at work. Not I.S. 666 terrible, but functioning school terrible. The schedule was wonky, due to half the middle school being out on a field trip. I also didn’t have my co-teacher, Karen, there so I didn’t have the extra help to put the kibosh on misbehavior. Today, Karen stepped out again for a meeting, and some of the kids were ready to play.
Billboard, get ready
If I ever have an angsty multiplatinum album, I think this might be the cover:
Lost, but invented
I’ve been meaning to blog for a few days now, but this was the week that got away. The two times I sat down with the intention of writing this very sentence, Blogger wasn’t working for me. I’ve found that the pressure at work fluctuates week to week. It tends to be on one week, off the next.
The stuff someone is dying to know
Q: I am seventeen-year-old boy from Belgium. I love ur blog! While u write letters to me? Where is ur postal address?
The searcher
I spend a lot of time imagining strangers wandering into my apartment or rifling through my bag. What would they make of my things? Would they see in my minor packrat streaks that I’m forever ruminating about the past? Would they rightly surmise from the worn post-it notes that I have a hard time relaxing?
My night
Funny how the day slips away even though I’ve been telling myself, “This is my night,” since I walked underground to go to work this morning. I had a meeting after school and then I waited and waited for a bus. I decided to take the subway that would force me to go out of the way instead. I stood, holding onto the dirty silver bar like a baton. I noticed a graduate of I.S. 666 on the train. He didn’t notice me. I overheard him talking about the first time he smoked pot. He’s just started ninth grade and maybe I seem really Pollyanna about this, but geez, too soon! He’s already on edge, because he’s fourteen. The child doesn’t need drugs, too.
