Almost Summer

I wish I could bottle this cool breeze and save it for later. Because I know we’re going to need it.

I don’t want it to go to waste, so I’m going to close my eyes and enjoy it. It’s like cool caresses on my skin.

(Lower Castaic Lake, CA)

“The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless,

It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,

I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,

I am mad for it to be in contact with me.”

From Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself.

To my family and friends who think I don’t love them because I don’t interact with them on facebook

I’m not sure how I feel about Facebook. On the one hand, I can see the value in being connected to people – people you haven’t seen in a while and people you see everyday, but connected in a different way. You pick and choose what part of your (somewhat narcissistic) reality to put out there and they can pick and choose what to see.

On the other hand, though, I’m tired!

81. That’s how many unread messages are in my gmail inbox. I’ve actually read them already, but I marked them as unread because I need to respond to them.

122. Number of unread blogs in my reader. I’ve skimmed these, but kept them unread because I want to read them later. Each morning, when I open reader, it’s easier for me to just go through the ones I don’t want to read. By the time I’ve done that and saved the good ones for later, I’m too tired to read any of them.

The same with the emails. It’s satisfying to delete unimportant emails, but that number in parenthesis next to “inbox” keeps growing and mocking me. Yesterday I made myself get it down into the 80s. It was over a hundred. On my to-do list I always write “emails.”

(There are also a ton of other, more important things on my to-do list, like, run, laundry, vacuum, iron, mend clothes, call the VA, haircut, shoes for wedding, and FIND A JOB!...so forgive me!)

So can you understand why I avoid facebook? I get email messages from facebook: “So and so wants to be your friend...” I usually delete these (feeling good getting that inbox number down).

Sometimes it’s someone I’m genuinely happy to see there in my inbox, and I make a rare trip to facebook to accept them, ignoring the many (I can tell there are a lot because the scroll bar is so small) other friend requests, friend suggestions, event requests, event invitations, cause invitations, requests for farm equipment, mob weapons, hearts, drinks, food, etc...oh, please stop! Exit! Exit facebook before someone sees that I’m here!

I’m not saying I’m so popular that I can just ignore potential friends. I'm saying, I don't know how you do it – get all the things done you need to get done and still have energy to talk to people on facebook. I’m saying I don’t want to be haunted by someone I knew 10 years ago and didn’t really like anyway, who had a late night wandering the facebook universe, looking for people he knew. He was probably drunk too.

So I just hit delete. Sorry, you are not intruding on my morning like that, making me feel guilty that I don’t get on facebook enough. I have 209 facebook friends who can do that just fine.

And I'm sorry I'm never on facebook! Can't we just go get a cup of coffee? Or you can help me pick out shoes for the wedding...?

My boyfriend and I are fighting right now. Of course, in this modern, technological day, we are going back and forth over emails, Google chat and texts – not actually talking to each other.

Last night at 3 a.m., my resolve dissolved. I needed to talk to him! I texted him, but he was already asleep. I paced my room, not knowing what to do with myself. The agony of missing him and wondering about how he felt for me was excruciating. I felt like the only thing that would ease it was sleeping pills, several shots of something strong or going for a 2-mile sprint.

So this morning, I checked my phone. Nothing. I checked my email. Nothing. I initiated a video chat. Nothing. After 10 minutes of nothing, of waiting for some response from out there in the ether, I was about to succumb to my craziness.

Then it dawned on me: how in the world did people managed in the days before the internet and telephone? I imagine Elizabeth Bennet, pacing her room for days...weeks...going on walks through the countryside, the questions unanswered, the worries eating away at her soul...as she waits for a return letter from Mr. Darcy.

(The BBC version is by far the best. Watch it all on YouTube.)

And I thought, maybe I’m being a little bit of a baby.

I realize this more and more...

The best thing about traveling is coming home.

To my soft, clean bed. To my clean, bug-free home. To stacks of mail all for me, mostly junk.

No more living out of my suitcase. I can unpack and do all my laundry.

Give the gifts I bought, and see how much people like them. Eat the candy I bought.

Get back into a routine. Feel refreshed. Appreciate the good things, and have a new view of the bad.

Take the things I've learned about how different people act in different places and look at the world with a new perspective.

Daniel Suzuki. My boyfriend and Apple Store employee.

He can.

And he does.

Donating Plasma, Part II

I drank a lot of water...just like Biomat said.

I passed out and peed my pants.

They probably had to sanitize the chair after I left.

I'm never going back.

(After it happened, I went online to see if I was a freak, or if this kind of thing happens all the time. There was not one word anywhere about anyone passing out donating blood and peeing. One girl passed out after a belly button piercing and peed. I found solace with her. This article is dedicated to all those who have been betrayed by their bladders and become completely mortified. You are not alone.)

Me vs. High School: My First Day Subbing

Or

The Day I let Teenagers Defeat Me

I was exhausted.

Seriously. Think about it...it's a constant battle against 30 kids, all day. I think teachers should get paid way more. I know people always say that, but I experienced it first hand.

I subbed for Ms. Ibraham, a math teacher at Corona High. This was the only info I had that morning, as I parked my car (in faculty parking! Yeah!) and walked onto the quiet, dewy campus.

The secretary gave me a folder, the classroom key and a bathroom key (teacher's restroom! Yeah!)

When I got to the class, I couldn't find any lesson plans. I was terrified. At the sub orientation (3 hours of filling out paperwork and 30 minutes of training), we were told to just follow the lesson plan, and we would be OK. I panicked, realizing the crosswords and mazes I had brought were not going to be enough.

While I was frantically searching, a student walked into the room. She turned out to be Ms. Ibraham. I was so happy that she was there, I got over how young she looked.

"This is my first day," I told her.

"Don't worry, it's so easy! Just have them do a page in their workbooks, and then give them these handouts. That will keep them busy all period. I usually let them talk quietly while they work. If anyone gives you any trouble, write their name down, and I'll take care of them tomorrow," she said.

"What if someone is really bad?" I asked.

"Dial this number," she wrote it down, "and just ask for security to come to class."

Ok, I thought, more relaxed. Give them busy work, and school security has my back.

She left, and I mentally prepared myself for the students...I.e., I prayed:

"Give me the strength to not be afraid of these guys. I mean, they're only kids! And I'm an adult. But I was a kid once too, so I should just remember what it was like, and treat them like people. And if it doesn't work out, I'll get to start over the next period. And after five periods, I get to go home. And I'm making $100! Well, more like $80, after taxes..."

It went on, as I tried to psyche myself up.

I prayed a lot that day.

First period was geometry. It was soon apparent that Ms. Ibraham also lets her students listen to iPods. Or maybe they were testing me.

When I handed out the Halloween word search (isn't it a little early for Halloween?), one of the students asked another, "Why are we doing this?"

"Busy work," the other replied.

So cynical! But true. I responded with, "It's so I don't have to actually teach you anything." Hey, they're people, right? I was just being real.

With ten minutes left of class, the students somehow silently, yet unanimously, agreed to stop working.

They talked, and I sat there, not sure what to do, and honestly, afraid to say anything.

A new period, and a more-brave me. This was the fundamentals of geometry class. I actually spoke with the students, walking around and helping with the assignment (trying to, at least). Halfway through, I pulled out the "Would You Rather" cards I had brought, and asked them questions like, "Would you rather be a great singer in a really bad band, or a bad singer in a really great band?" and "Would you rather change color with your emotions, or have your arms flail around wildly whenever you walk?"

That was fun.

There was one girl in the class who scared me. I felt like I was back in high school, and she was so loud and tough. But I think I won her over with the "Would You Rather" cards.

She asked me if they could watch the school's student-run news channel, and I wanted her to like me, so I said ok.

Next period was geometry again. They were unruly from the beginning, so I decided to bribe them:

"As soon as you guys finish your workbook assignment, I'll turn on the TV."

I didn't realize the student news channel only broadcasted once a day.

And when I turned on the TV and didn't see it, I knew I couldn't go back on my word.

"C-SPAN?" I tried.

"No," they shouted in unison. "Jerry Springer!"

I could just picture it. An administrator checking in on me and finding us all chanting, "Jerry, Jerry, Jerry!"

"No Jerry Springer. It has to be somewhat educational."

"Jerry Springer is educational. It shows you how not to be a dumb ass," someone said.

Such language!

I settled on "The Price is Right," with the volume turned all the way down.

And I pulled out the "Would You Rather" cards, but this class was too cool. So I walked up and down the aisles, telling kids to put away their cell phones, trying to help with the geometry, and trying to keep the terror that was slowly mounting inside of me from being evident to the students.

Finally, lunch. Relief. Daniel came by and picked me up, and we went to get a Slurpee. But halfway there, I realized I didn't have time and we had to go back.

I was late to fourth period, and running up to the class, saw a man with a walkie-talkie, holding the door open for students. I ran up to him. "Am I late?" I asked, ridiculously. Of course I was.

Fourth period was pre-calculus. How could I tell these kids what to do when I couldn't even do the math myself? I sat at Ms. Ibraham's desk, trying to remember what I had learned more than ten years ago. I could only do half the problems.

Every ten minutes, I would get up and walk around the room.

Then I'd sit back down.

I felt like a fraud.

And I was seriously bored out of my mind.

Fifth period was a break period. I sat in the teacher's lounge wondering, "What is wrong with me? Why am I so timid?" I vowed to be better.

I went back to the classroom, ready for my last class. Fundamentals of geometry again. This was the period Ms. Ibraham had warned me about.

"Hello guys, I'm Ms. Marquez. Today we are doing a page out of your workbooks and a worksheet. Let's just get through this so we can all go home."

I walked around, talking to students, confiscating graffiti-covered paper, returning stolen notebooks, urging, cajoling, and even arguing with students to get them to do the work.

One guy, who had been out of his seat the entire period flirting with a girl, felt like he should defend her when I told her to do her work. "Why should she start the word search? She's not going to finish and then she'll be bummed." He looked like he was my age. He was probably use to teachers leaving him alone.

"Because we're in class, so we should just do the work," I tried. "Is that a good enough reason?"

"I guess..." he said, muttering something else under his breath.

I didn't think to ask him where his assignment was. I didn't dare tell him to go back to his seat. I realized I was being a wimp. I'm not in high school, I told myself. I'm the teacher!

At one point I told another kid that he was really making me earn my money. Where did that come from? At least it shut him up.

It was around that time I noticed my phone was missing.

Maybe I left it in Daniel's car, I thought, as I search under Ms. Ibraham's desk and in all the drawers. Maybe someone took it, I considered, as I search (again) through my lunch bag.

Finally, the last bell buzzed, and I was free. I gathered my things, looking one last time for my phone, and locked the door.

When I got home, ready to ask Daniel if he had my phone, the first thing my mom said was, "Your phone was stolen."

How did she know?

"We got test messaging on our plan today, and I tried to text you with 'We have text messaging,'" she said, "and I got this text back: 'You had it.'"

"So I texted you again: 'What do you mean?' And I got this message back: 'Cuz this phone got jaked.'"

Can you believe that jerk said that to my mom?

And "jaked"? You mean, "jacked"? You can't even spell right, you little punk! (I looked up jaked in the urban dictionary to make sure it wasn't some new, high school lingo. It is, but a different usage. Little thief can't even spell. What a high school.)

Daniel even called my phone to talk the kid into turning the phone into the lost and found the next day at school.

The kid asked if he would get a reward.

WTF!?

I went through many emotions that day. Incredulousness, rage, self-pity, amusement, and finally, annoyance. With myself. I had let those kids walk all over me.

I wanted them to like me. I wanted to be the popular sub. So pathetic.

It took a while, but now I want another chance to do it right.

I don't have to be Sergeant Marquez, but I will not be a pushover. And I don't have to be completely open with them. I will be Ms. Marquez. I can teach, or, in some cases, I can just supervise. I can influence a few and keep the rest in line.

Ding, ding. Ready for round two.