on history and violence.

so it's that day again.

we all sit on pins and needles, a little nervous, in the words of seamus heaney "a little emptier, a little spent."

i've written about september 11th before back in 2009, when i was still relatively new to teaching, and last year, on the tenth anniversary.  i've said just about all i have to say.

in some ways, this day seems ordinary.

but, as i sit in my dim office about to go home, i have realized that it hasn't been an ordinary day after all.

i haven't been myself today.  i've not joked around or spoken to many people when i didn't absolutely have to.

i've been in a mood today--not wanting to deal with the trivial problems of my students.  my very young students who were six years old when the twin towers fell and who, for the mere reason of their age, have no real recollection of just how big a deal today is.

i resent them for their innocence.  for their carefree-ness today.

i hope they enjoy their freedom and that they never have to divide their lives into two categories--pre- and post-.

that's all i have to say.

on tears.

geez, guys.  i've turned into quite a sap.

i've never been like this before--mushy and weepy and breaking down at every little trivial emotional moment.

for the longest time, my best friend and i have joked that i'm dead inside--unable to form an emotion when dealing with art--film, tv, books, etc--or people who i don't really have a deep connection with.

i was like "oh, he broke up with you?  that sucks."  not all "ohmygodwhatonearthwillyoudowithouthim...i'm so sad, let's eat cookie dough and brush each others' hair."

hell, i'd only ever cried at three movies in my entire life--life is beautiful (but, curiously, only in italian--the english dubbed version just doesn't do it), up (bite me, pixar) and steel magnolias.

don't get me wrong, i could cry.  but only when it was entirely necessary.  especially when i was feeling super-stressed or worried.  i'd save it all up, have one good breakdown, then buck up and carry on.


then my dad died. 

and i cried. (duh).  a lot.

and ever since then, it's like i'm no longer dead inside.  emotion pours from me my eyes all the time.  i'm no longer in control.  i'm like a freaking girl.

i hear a sad song, i cry.

i see a lost dog on the side of the road, i cry.

i watch a sad commercial, i cry.

this may come as a revelation (especially given the content of this blog as of late), but i hate crying in front of people and will mask it just about any way i can.  out of sheer willpower i will force the tears away just to avoid anyone seeing.

this has been harder lately.

i went to see that stupid freaking pixar movie, brave, with a dear friend a while back.  even though rationally i knew that the mom wasn't going to die and that everything would work out in the end, i couldn't help but tear up.  (stupid pixar and their stupid forced emotional manipulation.  fuck you, pixar.)

while making dinner for my best friend a few weeks ago, i thought he was upset with me and i cried.  like a baby.

while sitting in my office at work the other day i heard a song on my ipod that reminded me of fishing.  which reminded me of my dad.  and i cried.


tonight, while reading a blog about how someone celebrated their parents' 60th anniversary, i cried.  my eyes are still wet while i type this.

so, what's the point?

i don't know that there is one.

i don't like this, that's for sure. 

i'm not the girliest girl you'll ever meet, so this crying at the drop of a hat thing is kind of pissing me off. 

but i can't help but think that it's a natural part of this disaster that's become my life of late.  i hope that this, like so many other things, weakens and fades away.

and that one day i'm dead inside again.  only then can i really feel like me.

on extreme violence.

as part of my new job as a full-time professor, i have been required to attend a spattering of meetings and seminars this week.  this has led to a lot of boredom but also a fair amount of excitement--excitement that was entirely unexpected.

it all began with boa constrictors and miniature horses.  did you know that the US government has redefined what a disability is and what constitutes a service animal?  yeah, me neither.  anyway, apparently people can have miniature horses as service animals and just about anything--snakes included--as therapy animals. 

just try to imagine this is you will.  you are sitting in a classroom, taking notes, trying to concentrate, but the horse standing next to you keeps whinnying(sp?) in your ear.  or the girl in the corner keeps stroking the snake she carries in her bag.  weird.  just plain weird.


after the tons of excitement that was the ADA meeting came my favorite experience on a college campus thus far:  crisis management.

with the rash of random mass shootings lately, the state of texas has revamped its active shooter protocol and we, the educators of the state, have to relearn everything as well.  it basically went like this:

police officer:  you know how before you were just kind of supposed to lock the door, turn out the lights, hunker down and pray?

us:  yeah.

officer:  yeah, change of plans.  you'll still want to lock the door, turn out the lights and pray, but the hunkering down, not so much.  instead, you need to fight. if a shooter comes into your classroom, use extreme violence to take him down.

that's right, folks.  we get to beat the shit out of someone with anything we can find to prevent them from killing people.  we were also informed that if someone happened to accidentally, oh i don't know, maim or kill the shooter in the process, that no one would really care.

chairs, backpacks, desks, computer monitors, tv cabinets, you name it--they are all weapons.  we also learned how to appropriately hit and kick people to inflict the most damage once they are on the ground.  don't screw with me, peeps.  just saying.

after this very informative meeting, we were placed in a simulation to try out our new combat skills.

it went a little something like this:

officer:  i'm going to need a volunteer to act as our pack leader.  remember, this is a fight for your lives!

my good friend and colleague:  i volunteer as tribute!

(laughter erupts, fifteen minutes go by, we manage to subdue our giggles and get our heads back in the game)

officer:  okay folks, you'll notice there are rolls of toilet paper on your desks that have been labeled with a variety of items you might find in a classroom.  let's have a real quick safety briefing here.  the toilet paper is standing in for the actual object.  if the roll says "chair," pretend it's a chair.  it's not a command telling you to throw an actual chair.

us:  wait...what happened during yesterday's session?  did someone actually throw a chair?!

officer:  i can neither confirm nor deny that.  are y'all ready?  GO!

gun shots are heard and we rush into action, having armed ourselves with our toilet paper weapons.  the room we were in didn't have locking doors, so we turned out the lights and split up, half of us on one side, half on the other, waiting for the attacker to enter.

gun shots rang out (like a bell); yelling and screaming ensued.  we waited, crouched like lions waiting for a nice, juicy gazelle.

finally the attacker came in.  we pounced into action, bombarding him (another police officer in an extremely padded suit) with our toilet paper weapons.  someone grabbed his leg, knocking him off balance, and another person grabbed his arm.  he released the gun and we kicked it away, maintaining a hold on him.

i guess feeling that the situation wasn't quite under control, someone then proceeded to pick up the room's trash can and repeatedly bash the attacker over the head with it.  she hit him at least ten times.  it. was. awesome.

finally someone called out OK!  THAT's GOOD!  and we all stopped attacking, laughter replacing violence. 

the chief of police walked up to the poor "attacker" and asked if he was ok.  it took him a second, but he finally got to his feet, smiled, waved, and left, complaining of dizziness.

we milled around a few more minutes, laughing, smiling, trying to slow down our furiously beating hearts.  eventually we looked to our police officer instructor.

officer:  wow you guys.  i should have stopped that three minutes earlier, but i was having too much fun watching. 

with that he released us, and we left, filled with adrenaline and just a bit in shock.

i learned about miniature horses, snakes and participated in a small-scale version of the hunger games by helping beat the crap out a police officer; what did you do at work yesterday?

on narwhals.

okay, let me begin by stating that i am a fairly intelligent person.

i went to a good high school.  i took honors classes and made excellent grades.

i went to college.  i went to graduate school.

i have spent 19 years of my life in school.  i have been a student of life for much longer than that.

so, perhaps you guys can forgive me for this one little thing i seem to have overlooked for my entire life:  NARWHALS ARE REAL ANIMALS! 

like real-real.  like swimming around in the sea as i type this, eating shrimp apparently and rubbing their horns on each other.  freaky.

i have spent my entire life thinking of narwhals as some mythical, magical creature—like unicorns, fairies, centaurs, and dryer sock goblins, if you will.

then, earlier today, when reading one of my new favorite blogs, brittany herself, i had my mind figuratively blown.

i mean, how many of you guys knew that these things were real?!  and why didn’t you tell me?

i think my lack of knowledge here is pretty understandable when i’m bombarded with pop culture and internet trash like this:

source: http://www.mcphee.com/shop/products/Avenging-Narwhal-Play-Set.htm

source: http://citycyclops.com/10.06.08.php

source:  http://www.etsy.com/listing/77474427/shark-vs-narwhal-16x20

but seriously—how did i not know this?!  how did i make it through 19 years of school without ever stumbling upon this little factoid?  i took biology.  i studied evolution.  you would think that an actual mammal with a wicked freaking horn would be discussed in one of those subjects.  but apparently not.

i LOVE aquariums.  i visit them rather frequently.  i have never seen a narwhal.

none of the zoos i’ve visited have had them, either.

that seems to be a serious oversight.  if you want people to know that narwhals actually do, you know, exist, you need to let the people see them.

or maybe that’s the thing.  knowing about the existence of narwhals is a club.  and the first rule of the narwhal club is that you don’t talk about narwhals.  or their actual existence.

well, i’m onto you narwhal club members!  your secret is out, and i’m going to tell everyone i know, and they’re going to join your secret little club, too!

so, of course this discovery set me off on a google firestorm. and Oh.My.God. what i found will amaze you (and possibly horrify you if you ever plan on swimming around in the arctic ocean [which may or may not be why i’ve never seen a living narwhal in a texas zoo, just spinning my wheels here folks]):

• they are real!
• they only have two teeth; for males, one tooth grows through the narwhal's upper lip into a swordlike, spiral tusk up to 8.8 feet long! some of them have two.
• some female narwhals grow these teeth-tusks, too, but theirs aren’t nearly as long or impressive.
• they are mammals—related to dolphins and orcas.  technically speaking, they’re porpoises
• they usually swim in groups of 15 to 20, but sometimes are spotted in groups of hundreds—or even several thousand—YIKES!
• they communicate with clicks and whistles
• they eat shrimp
• they can swim really, really deep—like 4500 feet deep without breaking a sweat (or whatever the equivalent water-mammal bodily secretion would be)

now, expand your knowledge and check out this wicked video of narwhals:

on damages.

it's funny the way our minds work.

you live through something major, and for the immediate future after said survival you panic that it will happen again.  or at least i do.

my pup is sick.  he has a corneal abrasion/ulcer that popped up sunday night.  he didn't do anything in particular to cause it and the vet said it's a pretty common occurrence with his breed, so she wasn't too shocked to see it. 

he had to have his eye dilated (like a human--i know, it's weird to me, too), a funky light shined in it to see what was going on, and is on an aggressive treatment of dilation drops, antibiotic drops, and pain meds for the foreseeable future.

he's been so utterly listless the past couple days.  he eats, drinks, and does his business, but otherwise he just sleeps--which is very peculiar for this particular little hellcat.

i'm filled with panic.

this has become the norm for me, unfortunately.

my mom gets the sniffles--i panic.

my best fried sneezes--i panic.

one of the dogs has the slightest ailment--i panic.

ever since my daddy passed i have lived in a fairly predictable state of panic.  i've come to expect it, but it is certainly not welcome or healthy.

it's as if i'm just waiting to relive the events hell of the last seven months all over again, with a different cast of characters.

as if i'm eternally waiting for the other shoe to drop. for someone else to leave.  for grief to take me under one more time, never to surface again.

but i take the fact that i recognize this panic as nonsensical as a good sign.  at least i realize i'm being ridiculous even if i can't ebb the flow of panic welling within.

my little buddy's eye is all messed up right now.  but he's okay.  the vet thinks he will recover completely. 

i am going to keep telling my panic-filled psyche that over and over again in the next few days, hoping that eventually it will stick.

on masks.

spinning.

that’s the sensation that’s most apt.

every day i feel as though the world is spinning out of control and that i must cling tightly to the earth just to stay on. 

everything important is beyond my control and i have answers for nothing.  it seems i have lost my voice—unable to adequately discuss or describe anything at all, regardless of how banal.

at least that’s how this deep well of grief feels.

some days are better than others.

some days i wake up and feel okay.  i almost forget how tremendously sad i am.  i get out of bed; i get through my day; i may even laugh a few times.  some days i get to be the closest version of myself i can be.

most days, though, i wear a mask.  this mask tells the world that i am fine.  i am strong, capable, and able to handle anything the world throws my way.  that i am happy.  that i am so glad to be where i am, doing what i’m doing.

this mask is just that—a façade to make the rest of the world comfortable, so no one has to know how truly down i am.  so no one feels obligated to treat me delicately or ask how i am when they don’t really want to hear the answer.  so no one can get in, get attached, and then break my heart when they leave me, too.

while i know that nothing will ever stop the pain, i do hope that it will diminish a bit with time—dulling to a level i can bear without having to mask myself each day.

i’ve been very quiet since my daddy’s death and have intentionally avoided writing about it here because i don’t want the people who are closest to me to know what a mess i am and to worry.  sometimes i think i’m too good at masking myself and they might assume that everything is okay.  but that’s not the truth:  i am a disaster right now.

i’m trying every day to stay positive and look for the good in life, but some days it’s very, very hard.
 
i’ve been lucky in my life to never have lost anyone who was very close to me.  that, it seems, is a mixed blessing.  yes, i’ve never had to grieve, but i also never learned to grieve, so i’m left to figure it out on my own.

many people would probably tell me to talk to someone.  those people mean well but obviously don’t know me at all.  i don’t talk—especially not about mushy-gushy emotiony stuff.  that’s not me, and i can’t see how it could do anything but make me more uncomfortable. 

i’m aware that talking it out helps a lot of people and that sharing a common experience can be affirming, but i’m not a joiner and have never wanted to share.  i especially don’t want to share now—when i’m raw and hurting and vulnerable.

so i read.  and i listen.  and i watch. 

and i find solace in the characters i encounter who have shared common experiences but who cannot talk directly to me, engaging me in conversations i don’t want to have.

instead, they communicate with my soul, telling me that it will all be better someday.  that everyone goes through this and i just have to bide my time and be patient.

patience has never been a virtue i possess, so that last bit is especially challenging.

but i will get through this.

i will miss my daddy fiercely.

i will love him always.

i will continue to remember.

but i must not dwell.

and i must begin leaving my mask behind.

dear universe,

will i ever feel up to writing again?

when will i stop filling up pages then throwing them in the trash--not because they're awful, but because i don't care?

~b