God I am so pitiful. I haven’t posted on this in how many months? I’ll blame it on my job; I’m an English teacher, and I truly believe that teaching sometimes sucks the very life and soul out of me.
Don’t get me wrong, I am a good teacher, but I think that’s why it drains me. I work at it. I have to grade papers constantly just to keep my head above water, I have to constantly read for my lectures, and, if I don’t do this, I feel really guilty. Just like I feel guilty for not updating my blog, when in all actuality, nobody gives two shits about it but me. But I like guilt. I like to wallow in it and then try to figure out why I like it so.
You know what scares me? The thought that I’ll never get one damn thing published. Sometimes I think that’s why I will go for days without working on my novel. Because if it’s not finished, then I don’t have to face sending it out to try and get a) representation and b) published. And I don’t have to face having people tell me it sucks. Because that would be like telling a mother her kid is butt ugly.
I guess I could always publish the sucker myself, like so many seem to be doing lately…NOT. Call me a snob, call me whatever you want to call me, but I can’t do it. If a publisher doesn’t think it’s good enough to publish, then I sure as hell am not going to do it myself, then post on Facebook for everyone to “buy my book” when I know damn good and well nobody wanted it.
That’s a pet peeve of mine lately: self-published books. I’ve read some, and the ones I read were fracking BAD. I mean bad as in grammatical mistakes, no character development, a plot line with gaps so huge you could drive pregnant elephants through them, just not good writing. And it’s published. And people read it and write reviews such as “it’s sooooooo amazing!” OK, maybe I’m just bitter and jealous.
So I’ve gained about 20 pounds since last year. Why? I guess I like to eat unhealthy crap. And I’m not exactly broken out with the love of exercise. Just something else to feel guilt about, “how I’ve let myself go.”
Whenever I’m on the higher end of weight, and I’m reaching for clothes in the fat end of my closet, I also reach for the “magic cardigans” or “magic jackets.” You know the ones. The ones you whack on over the top of something in the hopes that these garments will suddenly camouflage all of that 20 pounds and no one but you will ever know it. Then, once your willpower and discipline return, the magic garments can once again be stored in the spare closet.
The longer I live, (and yes, I have a birthday next month, and hell no I don’t tell anyone which one it is) the more convinced I get that most people are basically crazier than shithouse rats. What is a shithouse rat? Well, really I couldn’t tell you. I assume it’s a rat that chooses or is forced to live in a shithouse. Hence the craziness. If you’ve never had the pleasure of visiting a shithouse (think outhouse) then you haven’t a clue, if you have visited one, you know what I’m talking about. But seriously, people are barking. And most of them take themselves far, far too seriously and someone, somewhere, has convinced these people that they are far more intellectual superior than they actually are. I don’t disabuse them of this notion. I just write it all down.
What is with this sense of entitlement I see in young people, meaning my students, these days? How the hell did they get this idea that in order to succeed and make a good grade in a class (more specifically MY class) they only need to show up and then turn in some kind of half-assed paper and all will be zen and one with the world? Seriously, the thought of reading an assignment before class doesn’t enter into most of their fluffy little heads. Because that’s what I’m there for, I’m the one who’ll tell them everything they need to know about whatever novel/essay/short story/poem they were supposed to read, because to actually read it would interfere with texting/socializing/’mudding(I’m still not sure what this is, but apparently, kids in rural areas do it) and watching Jersey Shore.
And don’t even get me started on Snookie’s best-seller novel.