heart of glass

I am filled with ennui right now. It could be the hot day, or it could just be a case of intellectual overload. I have been thinking critically for three whole days now, after many summer days of sitting around drooling and stuff.

I found an old pal's blog yesterday and read it beginning to end, going back a year or so. It was awesome to read what she has been doing. She never stops moving around and doing cool and important things. She is "Social Justice in Central America" woman, whereas I'm "Look at the lush alien life force that is my hair!" girl. Kind of embarrassing. The good thing is that this "institute" I am doing right now is all about teaching as a political act towards social justice. The leaders are both really awesome and rabble-rousing, and it is inspiring and makes me somewhat excited for school to begin again. I, too, will rouse rabble in my classroom by subverting the dominant hierarchies! Or, I'll do a better job teaching fractions. Or remember to take attendance. Or a little of all of these.

I have been sitting with three teachers each day who I didn't know at all before. Today one of them pulled an NRA magazine out of her bag and started flipping through it. The other two got excited and said that they also subscribe. "WE ALL subscribe to the NRA magazine at this table!" one of them announced to the whole group. "No!" I said, shaking my head and grimacing. "I don't!" I may have also waved my arms around frantically and made a big "X" out of my arms like they do in Japan when it is imperative that everyone understands the "No"-ness of it all.

What if I only wore yellow and drove around in a yellow car? That would be very out of character. Another thing that would be out of character? Not breaking a glass every other day. I just did it again. It was a thin glass, and it shattered into microscopic shards and flecks all over the kitchen. Just like the day before yesterday, I swept with the broom, then spilled the dust pan and swept it up again, then vacuumed, then mopped, then picked sparkles out of the mop, then thought I had gotten glass in my eye, then took out the garbage, then mopped again. I think that stepping on glass is one of my irrational fears. Wait, actually it's a totally rational one. (Having to touch or interact with a fish, to be judged or acknowledged by its bulgy eye or forced to drape its see-through fins over my skin is my irrational one. To have the see-through fins somehow end up in my mouth. To have one waiting in my path with its grotesque mouth gaping, sucking all happiness out of the day). After all, if the glass gets in your foot, it could enter your bloodstream and make its way to your heart. Is that what you want for me? Also, there was a time during my teenage years when my foot really, really hurt on the bottom. I could barely walk, but it looked ok, so I ignored it. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore, and had my mom look at it. She started pushing around, and soon a river of pus flowed, and out came basically an intact wine glass.

So I hope I'm done breaking a glass every other day now.


P.S. I don't like the trend of people saying, "What it is, is...." Example: "What is glass, anyway?" "What it is, is a product of molten sand, cooled..." Why not just say, "It is a product..."?