The Resulting Wretchedness

One of my students had that phrase in his paper this morning, and well, it just so effectively captures my emotional state at this moment.

Well, I sent an email last night at midnight to Israel. It wasn't the go to hell you bastard email I should have sent, but it wasn't a groveling missive either. There was still a part of me that wanted to hang on to the idea that maybe there was something I hadn't conceived of. That he being systematically nibbled to death by mutant salamanders living in his toilet, or slowly being dissolved in a vat of acid by his ex wife or some other Sci-fi 2 am classic film plot idea. (Does NYC even have salamanders? Would I have to import them?)

No response. No phone calls. No emails. No excuses. No plausible deniability. No mitigating circumstances.

No hope.

So it's over people. He was acting wierd and I was right. My only regret is that I held on as long as I did. Actually no I do regret that I didn't sleep with him. Truly, because then I could just say well he was just another cheap piece ass that I won. But no. Now I have to sit here like Kevin Costner showing the Kennedy assasination in the film "JFK" ( Back and to the left, back and to the left). I have to keep going over and over in mind what the fuck happened? Because what the fuck did happen? As if knowing the reason would make it better. As if it would somehow lessen the blow.

But as Miracle Gro says, it doesn't matter, after me, no grass grows.

And isn't better to know than to pine and sit and make excuses and wait?

Oh yeah, I feel a lot better.

My students know something is wrong. Two of them told me they loved me today. They come in and sit in my office. They call me a genius. They ask me how I got to be this smart.

Right, so smart I was taken by a mop with an accent. That I actually thought that I might have what other people fall into easily.

Sometimes my students ask me what the hardest part of my job is, and I always tell them the same thing: being right.

And after two years of all this effort, where am I?

The same place I started: crying at my desk at work as I help my students achieve what I can not.

I stand by what I told Eric when he left, "Just shoot me, it would be kinder than what you are about to do."

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