Intrepid Girl Reporter

It feels like the accumulated stress of the past two months or so has settled into my bones, weighing me down. It’s difficult to explain this feeling of emotional and mental fatigue – as though all the crying and yelling has actually drained the energy from me, like a long run, but without the ensuing endorphin rush. I should probably start running again.* I don’t sleep a lot in an escapist manner, but when I sleep I sleep longer and harder, my dreams more surreal, waking more difficult. These are not real stresses, not stresses like having to provide for a family or going hungry, but nobody told my subconscious.

I spent today drafting my policy memo, which was satisfying but not as much as I would have liked it to be, and came back and found the apples IGRB and I picked. I should not have been surprised that they smelt of rot.

As I mentioned a few days ago, we spent the last JF meeting discussing charity vs. justice – charity is palliative, whereas justice involves fighting for deeper, structural change. And when I am lost in my own self-centered miasma of negativity, I wonder what needs address with me: the symptoms or the person, myself. Something usually comes along, however, to remind me that there’s a world beyond my navel; in the case of today, I wrote a paper about the need for economic justice in addressing the spread of HIV/AIDS, because most funding in the particular area I’m covering is focused on treatment of the symptoms and not the larger problem. And then I spoke – briefly, via the written word – with a friend who means a lot to me, and who is facing loss right now in a way that dwarfs me. Which is a reminder that some justice can be fought for and attained, and some things are unfair by their very nature, but that all of them extend beyond my own petty concerns.

I’m going to try and keep this blog a work-free zone with the exception of child-related matters. Suffice it to say that my lack of posting here can be traced in large part to work-related matters that make me feel like my brain is leaking out my ears. Also, that I am not wanted. I have a drawing of six boxes on a Post-it note that I stuck on my computer in my (still very hot) office to remind me to compartmentalize. I still feel like I’m going to get an ulcer.

Things I have eaten for breakfast lately that are not actually breakfast foods:

Godiva macaroons

gum

We talked a lot tonight in JustFaith about the difference between charity and justice, and it really struck a chord with me, and I was going to write about it, but I’ve realized now that all I really want to do is go to bed and silence the thoughts thundering around in my head. So I guess I’ll talk about it some other time here.

A four-year-old called me stupid and told me to shut up today.

Somehow, the fact that I also saw her licking the asphalt of the basketball court doesn’t really make me feel better, despite the manner in which this undermines her credibility.

Does anyone have any ideas for a 1,000-word policy memo?

To quote my mother: “So…you’re supposed to write about a problem? In society?”

I’m professionalizing my Facebook profile, so I wanted to immortalize my description of Summerbridge here.

From “job description”:

1. wake up, go to work
2. work: teach middle schoolers (from lesson plans)
3. have meeting at work where we talk about work. and lesson plans
4. go home, talk about work some more, as well as middle schoolers and lesson plans
5. sleep
6. write more lesson plans
7. eat candy I had previously reserved for student incentives, rationalizing it by telling myself that they are unlikely to earn it
8. eat other food while thinking about other things I can do to my students, like eat freezee pops in front of them
9. write some more lesson plans
10. sleep
11. dream about Summerbridge; middle schoolers; freezee pops; lesson plans; or some combination of the above.

More later today.

Paul Simon’s hair is heartbreakingly old, and tonight on the Colbert Report he pretty much disavowed one of the first Simon and Garfunkel songs I ever loved: “Red Rubber Ball.” Apparently he wrote it for some quick money in London, and not to remind me permanently of sunny mornings in Yerkes 205 at My College. I am embedding the video below to express my disapproval.

Although the idea of time travel makes me uncomfortable, I would like to utilize it to see some of my favorite bands in their element.

Brendan, please tell me you’ve seen this.

I have such a huge crush on Reihan. But he’s probably too smart for me.

I’m more excited than I thought I was. Let my excitement be warranted, Barack. Please.

When I was little – like, little little – I totally romanticized politics. I dreamed about elections for everything, for every class, because I am competitive and I LOVE TO WIN, and I was always super disappointed that we never had them. In fourth grade I gave a speech about gender equality for the Tropicana/4H Speech Contest held every year in Bradenton and, much to my surprise, I failed to advance. When I got to the contest, the other speeches were about things like names and people’s tonsillectomies and their heroes (often baseball players), and it struck me that possibly I had lost because I took entirely the wrong tack (and took the whole thing too seriously). Looking back, it was either that or that I was growing up in the wrong school district/city/community/state. Probably both. The next year I gave a speech on Pig Latin.

Later, when I got to high school, I ran for sophomore class VP. Unopposed, which I didn’t know until I got up there. It has always struck me as ironic that, given the fact that what I really wanted was not to rule but to win through vigorous competition, the only time I ever landed in office was the time I didn’t really win at all. (ETA: I ran for president on September 11 for the junior class. And lost. But it didn’t seem super important anymore.)

There aren’t a lot of ways in which I am envious of my younger self, but this is one of them. I don’t have the inclination to cling so vigorously to one side anymore. I would like to be drunk right now (maybe off joy and not alcohol, given the events of last weekend) and screaming “YES WE CAN!” with a crowd of like-minded supporters. But there are a few things stopping me from doing so. Living at home seems like the obvious choice, but it’s actually not in the way that might be assumed; unlike most people, I probably could party with my parents if I wanted to, but the sharp divergence in the past election has rendered the mood less than celebratory. Still, though, being exposed so consistently to such continually different approaches – proffered by people who are not racist, are not fundamentalist religious zealots, and generally don’t fit any of the other stereotypes of the opposition – means that I can’t align myself with masses of people claiming to have defeated the Dark Side. Am I happy Obama won? Yes. Am I hopeful? Yes. But what I’m mostly prepared for is another presidency with missteps and controversies that never satisfies anyone completely – I just want this one to set us back on track, to help us pick up the many messes we’ve created over the last several (okay, mostly eight) years.

I genuinely – really, really – do not believe that either candidate would have meant America’s death as we know it. Obviously, I think one guy’s going to do a better job than the other would/has exercised better judgment thus far. Still, though, all of the history I know suggests that both parties are equally prone to scandal, bad judgment, and the presumption of the role of caretaker for the American people. What I hope happens is that this election forces the GOP to get its shit together and the Democrats to rise to the occasion that’s been given. What I hope (and believe) will happen is that we’ll have a better presidency than the last one. I have this nagging feeling that my refusal to wholeheartedly embrace one side without looking back makes me no better than an appeaser, but I still can’t shake the equally nagging feeling that to do so would make this election as simple as it’s been given credit for. So I’ve cast my vote, rejected most of the rhetoric (at least in this situation – I think it’s mostly because being president is such a huge job, unlike, say, educational commissioner, where you would at least have a smaller number of issues over which you could potentially disagree). Which seems like a fitting situation for the girl who won the only office she ever held by accident.