MUST.RESIST.URGE.TO.SLACK. And of course, the longer I don't write, the more I don't want to write because now I have like a small novel I have to enter in here to get all caught up. Oh, the drama.

So a lot has happened. I suppose I should move in chronological order. This goes way back, to before Halloween. The tuesday before Halloween I was feeling really depressed. On tuesday morning, I was on the verge of tears before I even got off the train. Part of it was I had a dream on monday night. I dreamt I had a boyfriend, and we were just hanging out watching tv lounging on the couch. I really miss that. It's been a long time since I've had that feeling. Over a year now. So I wake up all disappointed in my social life. I've had to drop two more of my friends. Although I don't know if you would call it really much of a drop. Basically they never call or email or give any indication that they know I'm alive unless they need me to do something for them. If I need something from them, forget it. My friend S. from my sophmore year of college, he doesn't call me four five months. When does he finally remember my phone number, when he needs a good psychologist for his brother. I make a few calls and get back to him. What does he do? "Oh thanks, but I found one on my own." Well, couldn't you have done that before I made all those calls, schmuck? But I ask him to proofread a document for me and three months later, THREE MONTHS, I still have yet to get a single comment. So basically I decided enough of that relationship. The problem is neither of them will notice for another half a year, so very little satisfaction there. Back to my depressed mood. So I have few friends. I don't like anyone in my department at work. I have no boyfriend. I haven't been to the movies in two months because I don't want to go by myself. (I like talking about a movie afterwards. I really love scary movies, and there really isn't any point if I can't sit next to someone and make scarky remarks about the special effects.) I don't want to go to work because unless I take a sledgehammer to their little heads I'm not going to make a dent. I have one kid who keeps getting D's, and he keeps coming to me and saying "I don't get it, I would have gotten an A in high school." This claim makes me wonder about his high school. I've been telling him for two months he needs to get a writing tutor. Does he? Does he send me his stuff to proof read? Does he go to the writing center for help? No. I've suggested all of these things, but he still doesn't get it. And they are all pretty much like this. So I'm getting all depressed on my way to work.
I know this is a big build-up, but I'm trying to give you my emotional state when the next thing happened. I was teaching, and I decided to make them do an in class writing on violence in the media. (It was their suggestion. I'm not a total dictator.) So I'm putting the question up on the board and while I've got my back to the class a student asks, "How tall are you?"
Now I should explain. I've tried to protect my identity here as much as possible, but in order to understand, I'll have to give some description. I'm four six. That's a real height. Most people when they guess my size say five feet. There is this idea that a real person can't be under five feet. I'm not a dwarf or a midget. I'm just tiny. People have asked about my height since I was about twelve or so, which is when I stopped growing. I'm not particularly sensitive about it. I've gotten used to men on the street saying "Hey shorty, you're lookin' good." I've gotten used to having all my clothes altered. I've even gotten used to children staring at me as I walk past them. I understand that my height is unusual, but what I never expected was a student to ask me about my height in the middle of class. I am a very laid back teacher, and I often tell stories about my personal life. (For example, in reference to an article we were discussing I told my class a story about my ex-boyfriend's mother. She sank her car while showing a house. My then boyfriend and I came home to message on the answering machine, "Um, my car is at the bottom of a lake. Can you come and pick me up? Oh and bring my extra set of keys because my keys are still in my car." ) So I can see in a way how they might get the idea that it was ok to ask me that question. Part of it, I say this a week after the fact, was that I was already depressed, and the idea that my students see me as some kind of human anomaly, well, it didn't really help my mood. Luckily, I had my back to the class. At first, I didn't answer. I thought that might send the message. Well, not being the most perceptive group, nope, she kept asking. She asked five times. And then I admit I did the wrong thing, and I told her. I was just shocked, and I didn't really think about anything, but what would get her to stop asking me. So I told them, "Four six." I didn't ask why she wanted to know, but I found out. One of the other students asked her out loud why she wanted to know. She replied, with absolutely no embarassment that it was for a bet. When asked what she bet, it turned out it was a quarter.
Luckily my back was to them, and they couldn't see the expression on my face. It was really all I could do not to run into the bathroom and flush myself down the toilet. First, if the question had been asked closer to the beginning of the semester, I wouldn't have been as offended. When people first see me , I expect a kind of mild shock. But they have gotten to know me, I expected them to have moved past that stage by now. Second that it was a bet and not just a question. And finally that it was for a quarter. That I was humiliated for such a small amount of money. A friend asked me, "Would you have a felt better if it was for twenty dollars?" And the answer is yes. I can't really explain why, but then it would have been in a way more important or something. Somehow a bet for a quarter made it more demeaning. It is kind of like the movie Trading Places, when the two older men ruin a man's life for a dollar bet. Ruining a man's life would be bad no matter what, but to do for a bet is reprehensible. To do it for a mere dollar bet is despicable.
So that was my day at work. Humiliated by my own students. I'm going to stop here in the story because I have other thing si need today. No really. But don't worry, the rest of the story gets better.
And later I even have a question that I'm going to ask of you the reader.
No, there will not be a quiz on this later.

O damn it I just spent a half an hour updating my blog and then my computer crashed and wiped it all out. And I just don't have the energy to do it all again today, but rest assured tomorrow I shall regale you with tales of sin and scandal

For now I would just like to say that I have a crush on a guy named Max. I feel like I'm twelve again. I have actually reverted to calling friends and asking them to interpret his behavior. "Oh he walked me to the elevator again today. Is that a good thing? Do you think likes me, do you?" I'm sure i'm going to get smacked sometime soon. It's getting to that annoying point where my friends are going to start saying "ok you need to do something about this." At which point I finally get to make that performance art class I took in college a useful learning experience. "Max, I would like to do an interpretive dance of my feelings for you. While I put on the antlers, you probably want to cover yourself in this plastic tarp so as not to ruin your clothes." Oh to be young and silly again.

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