November?

Dear FutureMe, Just got my last email, writ one year ago today. Inspired to write again. G. stopped communicating in February, has been using for who knows how long, was fired, wrecked the car into a jalopy, and is now in the hospital awaiting surgery for who knows what. A. has been removed from his bedside and is in a shelter. J. is clean and sober and is trying to keep rowing her own boat on a clean river and deal with the situation with G and the family with some honesty and conviction, without compromising her sanity or sobriety. I do not have a job yet for the coming school year and feel totally demoralized by my loathsome department chair and his tiny, miserable self who chose to hire the infant straight out of school who he can control and intimidate over middle-aged, experienced, talented and passionate me. Working in the public school system is a continual mindfuck: everyone dancing to the mad Big Test Score fiddler while singing about wanting a relevent and meaningful, student- centered, critical thinking curriculum. Trying to dance to two different tunes makes for broken legs. I'm tired, but love teaching teenagers, god help me, and don't want to do anything else. I am fighting like hell to stay optimistic. Medication helps. It's too pathetic for words. I can't say I want out of my earth suit, however I still want less of my earth suit. I have two chickens now, Flavia and Pearl. I stole Pearl from C., who will notice when she gets back from France but who will laugh when she finds out. The horses are being neglected by the absent-minded, and distracted hippie house and horsesitter. Eleanor the Pea Hen is missing and my hope is that she is sitting on some eggs, perhaps over the straw wall and not gone to a greedy coyote. Troubador does not seem to be in mourning and is still in full, glorious feather. All of C.'s beautiful planting is disappearing into the high grass. Jim has founder, yet again, and is restricted to the round pen, out of which he keeps breaking and hoovering at the grass like a bulimic on a binge. My poor, beautiful, big old boy with an eating disorder; we are two peas in a pod, as they say. Before she left for France, C. discovered an enormous tumor in the back of Dante's mouth and after it was removed, the vet determined he had melanoma and is "in his last year at best, and it is not at best." Just in the last week he seems to be growing a bit weaker. I am spoiling him with too expensive organic food and herbal supplements and lots of clean water but he seems to be in pain and is eating less and less. I am too afraid to look into his mouth to see if the tumor has returned. The horror of loving a dog is that he will leave you. I miss my dear friend C. I wish she would come home soon and help me care for myself and her animals. I wish she would come home so we could talk for a thousand hours and notice all the details of living, together. The pain of losing G. to drugs is softened by her extraordinary wisdom and love. The animals help, too. R. is a totally, absurdly self-absorbed 17 year old. Like Troubador, she is constantly admiring herself in any reflective surface. She is probably failing all her classes and will probably be a beauty school dropout. I refuse to battle her everyday over school, and will not claim her failure in any way, anymore. At least she is not out doing drugs and sleeping around. And she is kind, for the most part, to me and to others. She seems to be keeper of the lonely and gender-confused teenagers at our schools and is the passion behind the GSAs right now. I am happy to have the tenderhearted boys in eyelashes and glitter flittering in and out of the house. They sometimes bring me a flower or some chocolate: tiny treasures as acknowledgment of my acceptance and celebration of their struggling selves. Better them than het. boys with an agenda drooling over R. She is just not ready for that, and is afraid of their advances. It is far easier being "Queen of the Queers", where the boys want her only for her friendship and makeup expertise. R. has been invited to visit J. G. on the set of "Lost" in Hawaii in October or next February. R. will be in makeup and celebrity heaven. Want to mention my interest in J., my "dream man" for twenty odd years. And that's all I want to say about that. The remodeling should begin in a couple of weeks: having trouble choosing colors for the house-need about 7 grand more for the whole deal. It will come. And it will feel so good to go into the winter with new wiring, better heat, no leaks, new windows and doors and fresh paint on this 106 year old house. At least she doesn't shake when the wind blows; her old beams solid fine grain old growth and foundation good local stone. Time for coffee and the garden. Be well, current and futureme. Remember to breathe, stay hydrated, show up, and such. Life is beautiful, if only in the tiniest moments. Must remember to notice the tiniest moments. My arms are around me. love, Me.