I wish that one of the local school corporations would be on an all-year schedule, so that when we’re on summer break I could go work in a “normal” classroom for a while. Just to see how the other half lives.

Working in an EBD classroom is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Some days are good and there are little Aha! moments where you feel you’ve just affected a child’s life for the better, but I have to be honest: each and every day is a colossal struggle. A struggle to learn, a struggle to deal with emotions that cannot be named or even put into simple words, a struggle to keep a modicum of order and sanity within the classroom, a struggle to remember it is not the child per se but their lack of coping skills.

Don and Kellie Rainwater give a good description in their book, How to Manage a Behavior Classroom: The Beginners Guide to Teaching the Emotionally Disabled and the Oppositional Defiant Child (2008):

Most of these children are on medication, but sometimes the lack of supervision at home does not allow them to take their medication on a consistent basis.
[...]
Of these students, one out of two children will be emotionally disturbed. This could range from mild to severe.
[...]
The children that come into your classroom are usually the children that the mainstream teachers cannot handle and even the administration has almost given up on.
[...]
The students you will receive are mainly damaged from family situations…. (pg. 3-4)

A lot of the time I wonder at the fact that I’m not required to have a psychology background. I get frustrated when I can’t help, when I don’t know enough to help a child with this really heavy shit they shouldn’t have to deal with.

Before working here, I never thought of the existence of students like this. It’s still unfathomable.

Patrick

The Partner and I spent Friday night with his elder sister, who was visiting from out of town. We had been hanging out on campus, entertaining ourselves with the sight that is Weekend Before Classes Start. Which means: watching and mocking the scantily-clad gals in stilettos trying to get laid mixed with guys acting macho trying to get laid going in-between the four bars closest to campus. It’s always hilarious. This Friday night we were able to get spots next to a great group of folks, whose main aim was critiquing all the drunks as they passed by us.

Rule #1: If you’re out to get drunk, don’t wear fucking stilettos.

Rule #2: Make sure your skirt/dress covers your ass. Your whole ass.

Rule #3: Drink water.

Highlights of the night include seeing three different gals fall while trying to (1) exit a building and (2) get off the curb and into the street and (3) just walk down the sidewalk, and two random guys pissing in bushes, which were in plain sight. Much to my disappointment, there were no pukers, no fist fights, and no one was arrested in front of me.

We ended our night and proceeded to our car. On our way past a fast food joint, we saw a neighbor, Patrick, sitting/slumped on the stairs.

“Hey, Patrick! Thought you were having a party at your place tonight.”

“Oh my god! The Partner! Anne! [stand up, stumble forwards into The Partner] What’s up?! …Where are my friends?!”

A confused conversation ensues, wherein we manage to learn Patrick’s lost the location of the friends he’s supposed to be with and is so drunk he doesn’t care and just wants a ride home.

Yay, neighbors!

We get him to our car, I point out the little garbage bag in case of pukeage, and we drive home. The whole time Patrick’s all drunkard and yelling out of the window at random people.

We arrive home and stumble out of the car to find his lights are all on, the doors are all locked, the windows are locked, he has no keys, and no damn cell phone. By this point he’s belligerent, we’re trying to get him to drink water, and asking him to remember his roommate’s cell number. It becomes a cycle. He finally remembers the cell number.

I call the roommate.

“Hey, Roommate, this is Anne, your neighbor. We found Patrick and he’s really fucking drunk, and without keys, so can you come let him in?”

“Who? Who is this?”

“Your neighbor. Patrick is sick. Can you come home?”

“[garble, background bar noise, background bar noise]”

Hang up. Text message Roommate.

“This is your neighbor. We are with Patrick. He is very drunk and has no keys and doors are locked. Can you come let him in?”

Reply: “Yea be there soon.”

Twenty minutes pass. Patrick has been wandering around the backyard, yelling, sitting, passing out, trying each door, stumbling about. Two people come into the backyard, a gal and guy. Say they last saw him falling onto the floor of a bathroom at a campus bar and passing out, but they weren’t sure what happened to him.

My thoughts: What the fuck kind of friends are you to see your friend pass out on a bathroom floor and not take him home?

They don’t have the keys, or any cell numbers, and eventually leave.

I message Roommate again. “Patrick is really sick. He’s pissing on the wall. Has no keys. Can you come get him?”

Reply: “What? Whos this?”

“Jesus christ. This is your neighbor. Patrick is fucking drunk as hell, has no keys, can you come let him in?”

“Alright on our way damn.”

Ten minutes later two guys show up, one very drunk, and they wake up Patrick, who has since been passed out in a chair, and they’re all, “Dude, you totally fell down in that bathroom! We didn’t know what happened to you!”

Great friends.

Saturday we get back from breakfast and are outside letting George out to do his thing. Patrick was down with some other neighbors playing cornhole, comes over and is all, “I just want to let you guys know I’m not an alcoholic. It’s just our last bash before classes. I’m not an alcoholic. I’m totally going to make you guys dinner. I’m not an alcoholic. Thanks so much.”

Later in the day, around 5:45, The Partner and I are sitting at the kitchen table eating. There are people outside and it’s going good seeing as how folks have been drinking since 9am. Then some dude says, “I’m going to piss in this plant.”

The Partner and I look at each other. We leap and race each other to the door, as we’re the only folks on our side to have plants outside.

I get there first, throw open the screen door, only to see some skinny drunk dude pissing into my fucking ficus benjamina.

“WHAT THE FUCK, DUDE? YOU DON’T PISS IN MY FUCKING PLANT!”

The guy stuffs himself back into his pants. Looks shocked.

The Partner starts in, “WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOUR THINKING?”

I’m all, “YOU DON’T PISS IN MY FUCKING PLANT! There’s a fucking FENCE there, fucking piss on that!”

He’s all, “It’s only water!” and goes to the fence to finish peeing.

I’m all, “It’s only water!? YOU DON’T PISS IN MY FUCKING PLANT! Let me piss on you, asshole, it’s only water!”

Yeah, the fucking students are back.

Jeff, I miss you.

I’m a little irritated with the new Firefox (v3.5.1) as one of my favorite addons, Mouse Gestures Redox, isn’t working yet. It allows users to navigate via the mouse–e.g., hold the right button and drag down to open a new window. I’m constantly doing it and it isn’t working!

Why is this not a native feature to FF?

The Partner and I went out tonight, which is a rarity since it’s a weeknight. Turns out the downtown Theater has open mic every Thursday (with $2 well drinks, hello!). We met up with some friends and ended up at Zoolegers, partaking in some excellent karaoke. We had to leave, though, as our original plan had us going to the local Hipster Bar to see a friend who came back to the States after being in Dubai for a year.

Let me just say how much I hate hipster bars. It’s all about appearances. At the Zoo, it’s all about community, and having fun, and just being around each other. At the Hipster Bar, it’s all about what clothes you’re wearing and what drink you’re having. –And hey, can you dance to this techno-remix? The overall feel is just one of separation; whereas in the Zoo, you’re bumping up against one another and sharing glances, not making them, and best of all, singing along!

I also have to report that our local Queer Center has moved it’s location. It used to be on the second-story of a building, which was not handicap accessible and not visible from the street unless you were looking for it. It’s now located on the first-floor of a building closer to the heart of the downtown, and has two large windows. We were given a tour tonight by a board member and let me just say, I’ll be the gal hanging out watching films while knitting. It feels comfortable there and I’m really glad they moved to a more prominent locale.

The thing I’ve learned tonight: it’s true, as you age everyone just gets more bloated, so why not just have fun together?

There seems to be a problem.

Click on any intralink and you get a 404.

Am looking into it.

07/20/09: All fixed. Was able to upgrade to the newest WP, so perhaps that was the problem.