Tomorrow is the last day of April, almost May 1st. That means there are 17 school days and 23 regular days left on my sentence. Every day, I wake up imbued with the spirit of movie version William Wallace. I clench the sides of my sheet into my fists, my body shoots up into the Fowler’s position, and I scream, “FREEDOM!!!!!” I yell so loud, I startle the two homeless men rummaging through the trash bins in the alley outside my window.
We are still shallow in our school’s ABC countdown, which will soon terminate the school year on the letter Z for Zip-up-and-go. Today was H for Hawaii Day, but it quickly turned into L for Lockdown Day when a serious domestic dispute broke out in a home that shares a wall with our upper elementary. That’s life in the ghetto! We also had our first student faint from heat exhaustion, a whole month sooner than last year. That’s life in the climate change capital of the United States!
I’ve actually enjoyed and am proud of my ascent to America’s greatest kindergarten teacher, but I’m also filled with “essential worker” fatigue and resentment. If my heart weren’t connected to two-thirds of my class, I’d of quit each and every time I was lauded for turning children into students and parents into allies (OK, you can only quit once, just go with me). If I’m so great, how come I can’t afford safe housing, health insurance, and the means to properly raise my boy? Society is broken when a beloved teacher doesn’t have two nickels to rub together, but in less than a month I’ll be watching the collapse from a farther distance.
Which brings me to today’s takeaway. On my to-do list to ghost Arizona, I’ll be suspending or canceling all my online subscriptions. Even the paltry amount it takes to broadcast over iTunes and Spotify or keep ads off this blog. The podcast links will expire in the order in which they were posted. My domain will go down, but you’ll be able to read my nonsense from its free WordPress parking space. YouTube will remain. I’m going to post one more epic rant about the failed gentrification of my once great little brick apartment building. Although, on a brighter note, some of the stupid white paint, applied after the hostile takeover, is starting to peel off.
Finally, I’ll pull an Adele, and say hello from the other side. Can you feel the fresh ocean breeze and cool mountain air?? I still have some unbelievable stories to tell, but they are better suited for a book. I’m again aiming to write a great novel before I drop dead under the crushing weight of late stage capitalism.
Stay back, aliens! Humanity will see this through on its own.
It's Best If You Don't Reach Out 