Thank you in advance for your cooperation.

I will fight
To the end
For the right
To feel

The weight of
My words
In my hands

Intoxication that
Ensues
From the scent
Of my pages

Flittering through
Front to back
Back to front

Savoring satisfaction
Of personal goals
Met and exceeded

As each is placed
Upon the shelf
Among all others

Reminding me always
Anything is possible

I have lived
I have survived
I still am alive

To spin my
Yarns
To tell my
Tales

Refusing to be
Pushed
From my place
On this stage

My fate
My destiny
As was meant
To be

Standing
At the manmade altar
Dressed in gold
As if possessing
A direct connection

To the Lord
Our God

Men of sin
Most sadistic
Vile unconscionable
Acts against the
Innocent

Professing to the
Holy Father
To be on the side
Of God

Rallying for
Themselves
In defiant
Denial
On this the
Holiest of days

A slap in the face
Of Jesus

Who suffered
At our hands
And weeps for
Our souls

Pedophiles
Rapists
Sexual abusers

Unveiled
Accused
Spotlighted
Before God

Identified
By untold numbers
Of victims throughout
Our world

Impenetrable codes
Of secrecy and silence
May keep them
From the wrath
Of man

Pales to nothing
In the shadow

Of the wrath of God
They will be forced
To withstand

These are not
Men of God
They are demons
Disguised

Hiding in the halls
Of God’s house
Preying on the weak
Trusting souls

Standing
At the manmade altar
Dressed in gold
As if possessing
A direct connection

To the Lord
Our God

Men of sin
Most sadistic
Vile unconscionable
Acts against the
Innocent

Professing to the
Holy Father
To be on the side
Of God

Rallying for
Themselves
In defiant
Denial
On this the
Holiest of days

A slap in the face
Of Jesus

Who suffered
At our hands
And weeps for
Our souls

Pedophiles
Rapists
Sexual abusers

Unveiled
Accused
Spotlighted
Before God

Identified
By untold numbers
Of victims throughout
Our world

Impenetrable codes
Of secrecy and silence
May keep them
From the wrath
Of man

Pales to nothing
In the shadow

Of the wrath of God
They will be forced
To withstand

These are not
Men of God
They are demons
Disguised

Hiding in the halls
Of God’s house
Preying on the weak
Trusting souls

He said he gave her the same smirk right back when she passed out the graded tests at the end of class and his was a big fat A, then proceeded to tell him that she was giving him a zero on the assignment. His question to me, “Why does a teacher who teaches advanced math treat kids like their idiots?!”

Good question…

My immediate response is to fire off an email requesting an impromptu tête-à-tête; and had this been elementary school, I would have done just that. However, we’re in middle school now and everything has changed. He asked that I please just let it go because it’s not worth her excluding him from class and taking it out on him because she’s mad at me for confronting her.

I want to respect his wishes, but the thought of that uppity witch giving my son grief for no good reason and getting away with it, is gnawing at my insides! That’s the one thing I’ve always done; make certain that his teachers know me, and know that his academic career is something I [we] take very seriously. He’s been an honor roll student since first grade, and the thought of him having to put up with nonsensical bullshit from someone whose job it is to educate and prepare him for college, for whatever reason, absolutely chaps my ass!

It’s almost as if they look at middle-school aged kids as a bunch of rowdy heathens that have no interest whatsoever in learning, and that couldn’t be farther from the truth in our case. Cole loves learning; reads anything non-fiction he can get his hands on, filling himself with all the knowledge and information he can contain. And just because he wears the same size shoe as his father doesn’t mean he has an adult sized mind! He’s still a child and while I certainly don’t expect him to be coddled and pampered, I do expect him to be treated with the respect his age and intelligence warrants.

Thought I would feel better after venting, but all I’ve managed to do is raise my blood pressure. Must meditate….

On my visit last Wednesday, he was very happy with the x-ray results, in that my bone is healing nicely, just as it should, with the nightly bone stimulator treatments, but he was concerned that the wound was not healing as it should, and so sent me to the wound care specialist.

Very nice doctor and RN treated me yesterday at hospital; removed the dead area of tissue so that the skin can now properly heal from the inside out. Showed hubby the proper way to clean and dress the wound daily, and sent me home with a bag full of supplies, until the insurance reviews and approves the necessity of providing supplies to me. They also spoke of skin grafting they think will be necessary once the wound has had a couple weeks to heal.

While all this sounds simple and effective, I’m looking at the calendar and counting down the days until January 1st, when my insurance coverage starts all over and a $5000 deductible must be met before the insurance actually kicks in and starts paying for anything, and wondering just how much healing they can get done in the next twelve days; because after that, I’m on my own, whether they like it or not.

This past week the insurance rep came to the office, went over selected coverage, explained the new premiums and such and sent me away with a signed document showing that my 24 annual premium deductions will total $10,500 for 2010. Add the $5000 deductible to that I will be paying a whopping and nauseating $15,500 next year for health insurance!

That’s Fifteen THOUSAND five hundred dollars for health insurance…

FUCK!

Now, before anyone starts in on me, I am well aware how thankful I should be that I work for a company who is even offering health insurance, and I am very grateful; but still…

My husband gave me a gentle reality check when he reminded me of my mother’s unexpected trip to the ER when she was here in November to take care of me and help out immediately after my surgery. She was having belly issues and when she called her doctor in Cincy they told her to get to the hospital STAT. Turns out she has diverticulitis and was experiencing her very first flare. Welcome to the club little mama!

Anyway, she just received the bill from the hospital a week ago, of which her insurance covered completely, outlining each and every expense incurred during her little five hour visit and it was $7300. YOWAZ!

Okay, so twenty grand for health insurance might not be a drop in the bucket of overall expenses we could incur in the span of a year, but damn that’s a lot of my money! Still, I would prefer to select my own coverage and my own physicians rather than have the government do it for me.

Sometimes I just want to be a kid again…

It starts the same every time. She has a story she wants to share, and being her friend and loving her like I do, I’m there for her and more than happy to listen; though it’s the same worn out tale she’s been weaving for almost a year now and always ends in a river of tears. But while the lesson has yet to be learned, I’m not giving up hope.

I know what she wants, whether or not she’s ready to admit it to herself; and she knows I’m right. She wants to be loved, plain and simple. But she’s not going to find it in a local pub, filled with other lonely women looking for love and men just looking to score.

It’s the attention that makes her high; gives her a feeling of invincibility, self-assuredness, validation as a single woman in her late thirties. That is, until the euphoria diminishes and she’s left alone, wondering why they never call just to chat or want hang out; and why not one of them has, or will ever, buy her dinner, take her to the theatre, cook for her, introduce her to their family; or any of the things that people in relationships do.

Yes…she wonders why.

Uh, could it be because she’s not dating; not in a relationship with these men. She’s just fucking and recognized as the one sure thing the minute she walks through that door; every Thursday night, like clockwork.

Enough with the excuse that she was married with a baby right out of high school and just now sowing her wild oats; the thing she has that her little girl friends don’t, is twice as much living experience, but she still lacks that sense of self; still filled with little girl insecurities.

She works so hard for all that she has, yet she gives herself away; to anyone who will have her. And still she wonders why she’s alone.

Times may have changed, but people haven’t. A whore is still a whore, no matter the age. And don’t get me started about safe sex practices and her lack thereof; or the example she’s setting for her teenage daughter!

I did say I wasn’t giving up hope, didn’t I?

Perhaps if enough regulars do the same, they’ll fall off their high horse and return to the rest of us, down here on planet earth.

With that being said, so opens my own personal café jillé and the commencement of Project Blue Ball; may Starbucks reap what they sow!

Perhaps if enough regulars do the same, they’ll fall off their high horse and return to the rest of us, down here on planet earth.

With that being said, so opens my own personal café jillé and the commencement of Project Blue Ball; may Starbucks reap what they sow!

Fold the paper in half. Pinch the tip. Open it back up. Write your name next to the pinch mark. Write the date underneath your name. Write your class period under the date. Student number in top right corner. Index cards folded on the left corner by height; exactly half an inch wide. Run your nail along the fold to crease it good and tight. Open back up. Bullet point your vocabulary words along the crease. DO NOT SKIP A LINE!

She’s an old crotchety teacher and my son is fed up. Said she is too anal and he can’t take much more of her micro-managing! He also said half the time she makes no sense when she’s teaching the class. This is a child in advanced classes. Honor Roll student throughout his academic career, so I have no doubt that he knows what he’s talking about.

Pissed beyond belief that he brought home an A- due the fact that he did not perfectly align the date underneath his name, along the pinch, made by the fold, instructed by the teacher, who taught the class, that one day drove my baby mad!

He also voiced his concern over the fact that she yells; incessantly. Said he thinks she’s been teaching too long and she believes the only way to communicate and get the attention of the class is to stand up front and yell; even when all eyes are on her and she has their total attention.

What does one do in a case like this? Do you go to the school with your petty complaints? Fretting over whether or not it will get back to the teacher that you were the one who complained and then hope like hell she doesn’t take it out on your child? Do you make excuses and urge your child to overlook these issues that could potentially damage his class performance, in a subject that he once considered his favorite? He certainly isn’t going to say anything, he has too much respect for her to do that. Besides, that’s a parent’s job.

Though I don’t really believe he wants me to do anything; he’s simply making normal conversation, telling me about his day. But I see the frustration on his face and hear it in his voice. But still, I believe this is something he needs to deal with on his own. Or perhaps just grow accustomed to her ways and demands, and make certain he follows them to a T; lest he continue brining home A-’s.

We’ve all had crotchety teachers, coaches, co-workers and bosses; at least I have. And while I might have hated every minute of it, I sucked it up and did what I had to do. I believe it’s the little things like this that builds character and prepares a child for some of the not so niceties of the real world.

I could, however, do without the 8th graders dropping F-bombs and throwing around sexual innuendoes at every turn. But that’s another story for another time.

We’re not in elementary anymore, Toto!